Things We Didn't Say_ A Novel - Kristina Riggle [87]
“No good at all.”
She covers her eyes with her hands.
I want to feel sorry for her. But I’m tired of coddling. I did it too much with Mallory, for too many years.
I can’t think of anything nice to say, so I follow my mother’s advice and say nothing at all, instead standing up to go check on my kids.
Chapter 37
Casey
The sun is like knives in my eyes, and my gut feels like a wave pool.
I deserve every bit of it.
Hangovers are just as bad as I remember, but now, new and improved! With extra shame!
Since Michael walked off and left me here, in the few minutes that have passed, I analyze last night. It seems clear that Mallory tricked me. Like the biblical serpent. Of course that sounds hollow to Michael. I’m supposed to be the not-Mallory. The anti-Mallory.
Maybe all is not lost. I can rally. Buck up. Show Michael how sorry I am by being the best stepmom ever, his ally in this time of crisis.
First. Need water. And a smoke.
I stand up too quickly and crumple to my knees on the wood floor.
Jewel is walking past. “Casey? Are you okay?”
“I’m feeling a little sick, honey. I’m okay.”
“Do you need some medicine?”
“Thanks, honey. No, I’ll be all right in a while.”
“Oh. I’m going to get my checkers set. Dylan said he’d play me!”
I’m not the only one trying for redemption. Dylan can’t stand checkers.
My phone is still in my pocket. It beeps softly. Must have missed a call.
First, I drag myself to the kitchen for water. Dylan is putting a pan in the sink. I stand in the entry for a moment, watching him, savoring the relief of his presence. He notices me at last. “Hi,” he says, points at the pancakes. “Want some?”
I shake my head, my stomach curdling at the very idea of solid food.
Dylan looks me in the eye, and I recognize that look because I just saw it in Michael’s eyes.
Disappointment. In me.
I take the water and my parka out to the back patio.
It’s shady back here, and the snow comes up over the tops of my unlaced boots. The cold feels like a tonic. Cleansing. I dab some snow on my face, in fact, to perk myself up.
I sit in a patio chair and check my messages while I light my cigarette.
Five texts and three calls, all from Tony, with increasing worry. We missed our early-morning call.
I text back: Dylan’s fine. I’m in trouble, though. I messed up.
A few puffs later, my phone chimes again.
Uh-oh. What?
Fell off the wagon. Hard.
Can I call?
Better not.
Want to meet?
Not now. Wish I could. GTG.
I let tears run down my face as I ponder how much I need to be around someone who would understand.
Upstairs, changing my clothes, I note that my side of the bed is rumpled. My side, the side I didn’t sleep in last night. Of course. Where else would she sleep? The wood floor?
I have to tell Michael the truth, I can see now. All the truth. Starting with my brother, and the drinking. He might not hate me if he knows why, not that grief is an excuse, I’ll make sure to say that. He’s had enough excuses, I know.
Trouble is, he’s got so much happening now with Dylan, and Mallory making herself at home.
If I can get just a minute alone with him, I can start to explain. I can fully apologize, tell him I have a lot to say, which will help explain it, and we’ll talk as soon as we can but I’m here for him, for Dylan, for all of them.
My hands shake as I button my shirt. I’m so dizzy I can barely stand. But no. A hangover now is not allowed. He needs me.
As I leave the room, though, I hear his low voice in Dylan’s room. They’re talking, no doubt, about last night and what else is going on that caused Dylan to do this crazy thing. Such a good kid, too, so we all assumed. Never gave us any trouble. Between Angel’s anger and dieting and Jewel’s stomachaches and the visitation drama we were so relieved that he was on cruise control.
Michael will handle it, because he’s a terrific dad.
As I descend the stairs, a memory worms its way out of my hangover fog. Mallory telling me that Michael won’t have another baby with me. This was probably part