A Fistful of God (18 page)

I got up and limped closer to home. Was Mom looking for me? Why would she, though? I’d walked out on her when she needed me. She’d be glad to be rid of me, especially now that she’d decided to start drinking again. Would she care that I cared, that I wanted her? Would she care that I wanted to come home?

She knew she shouldn’t drink. She wanted to stop. I’d read her face when she said it. That wish was so true for her, it was her center. She’d promised me she wouldn’t lie and promised she wouldn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. She’d poured the rest of the bottle down the sink, and she’d said she didn’t want to drink anymore, and even though that wasn’t a promise, it somehow seemed stronger than any promise.

Well, hadn’t I made promises, too? Hadn’t I said I’d stay with her as long as she needed me? Hadn’t I broken it? And yet I still remembered how much I loved her when I said it.

She was the drunk, but she hadn’t broken any promises this time. I had.

Maybe she knew I needed her, but how could she know I wanted her? How could she know I loved her?

I’d left her with bleeding hands and a towel to sop the blood. I didn’t know why my mother had to be a drunk, or why I had to become a monster—a putrid, pus-filled, hate-filled repulsive nothing.

Oh, God, I’m sorry. Help me get home. Don’t let me be too late. Please! Oh, God, I want my mom!

16

Two days of walking had shredded my feet. By late afternoon, all I could think of was home, Mom, and, how much I hurt. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d find when I reached the apartment. And what could be, if we both could let it. And what ought to be, if things were as perfect as I’d imagined before. If Mom wanted to climb out of the muck and vomit of her drinking, who was I to stop her? But I couldn’t help wondering what state Mom might be in now. If she could give in to the bottle when she was upset but sober, what would she do when she was frantic and half-drunk?

Three times I stopped to make a collect call, but I never got through. Twice, the busy signal, once, no answer. The busy signal turned into a promise for me. Me, who’d given up on promises. But if Mom was home and on the phone, at least I knew she was alive. She hadn’t bled to death. I stumbled along the street, sobbing, not caring that I earned more strange looks than ever before. I clung to the sound of a busy signal.

“I’m not
just
a drunk,” Mom had said. And, “I don’t want to drink anymore.” I clutched those words and I hung onto my cross, too, my fist tight around it, dragging the chain against my neck.
Please, God
. Please,
what
, I had no idea, but God ought to be able to figure out what I needed.

I had hours more walking before I made it home, and my feet hurt so badly I didn’t think I could do it. But I had to. I’d gotten myself this far, and I couldn’t expect anyone to show up and stop me from making more of an idiot of myself. What if I made one more promise to God. Let me get home safe, and I’ll—what? What
hadn’t
I already promised?

Keep her sober, and I’ll never yell at her again. Keep her sober, and I’ll go to Mass every Sunday of my life. I’ll be good, and I’ll never whine about Miguel. I’ll stop lying even if it’s just to make her feel better. Keep her sober, and I’ll go to those stupid meetings.

And now, I promised God if He would get me home, I wouldn’t care if she was drunk or not. But no. I would care. I just wouldn’t whine.

As I trudged along Colorado Avenue, past motels and car dealerships and shoe stores, I thought of Andy, and the way he used to grab hold of my shirt even when he slept. He wouldn’t let me put him down. Maybe I needed to be like that little kid where it came to God. Maybe I needed to make sure I never let go of Him.

I refused to stop. If I did, I’d never start again. I dug my freezing hands in my coat pockets, wondering if I could come up with one more terrific bribe for God so He’d pick me up out of the stinking street and whisk me home without my having to take another step. What would Lucy say? Not about making bargains with God but about what God might want. I couldn’t remember anything she’d said. Wait. I remembered the day she’d told me to keep my thankfulness.

I snorted. What a stupid thing to remember. What did I have to be thankful for? My own stupidity? The fact that alcohol was invented? Mom?

What? God wanted me to be thankful for Mom?

And what if He said yes? What if that was His side of the bargain?

So I ought to think about Mom and be thankful
.

In the middle of the next block, a sports car pulled a U-turn and squealed against the curb beside me. I bolted halfway across someone’s lawn before I heard him. “Aidyn!”

I spun around, hobbled back to the sidewalk and peered through the open window.

“Aidyn, it’s Doug Sharpell. Do you remember me?”

Mouse-fingers playing in his beard and laughing with Daddy. Mom’s face when she talked about him. I nodded.

“Mind if I give you a ride?”

I hadn’t even made that bargain with God, and He’d kept His end of it.

I collapsed into the seat and watched the electric window close me away from the cold. I tasted the warmth of his heater, and I settled into the soft seat, sighing.

“I’ll take you wherever you say, but I hope you let me take you home.”

“Oh, home. I want to go home.”

He didn’t start the car right away. When I turned to see why, I caught his grin. “I’m going to call your mother. Do you want to talk to her?”

“I do, but I don’t want to get out of the car.”

He handed me a cell phone and leaned his elbow on the steering wheel, waiting. I punched in our number and for once, Mom answered.

“Mom?”

“Oh, Aidyn. Oh, thank You, God. You’re alive. Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m with Doug. Mom, I’m sorry.”

But at the same time Mom was saying the same thing, “I’m sorry,” over and over. We were like a chorus that couldn’t get its tempo down. Then she said something I couldn’t catch and my heart broke again. But I’d made a promise. “Mom, listen, I’m coming home. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming home.” I choked and couldn’t go on. Finally I got out, “Mom?”

“I haven’t been drinking. Not since you left, baby. OK? I promised I wouldn’t lie to you, and I meant it.”

“I know.”

“I love you, Aidyn. Maybe I can’t prove it but—”

“You don’t have to. Mom, I just want to come home now, OK?”

Doug took the phone then and told Mom how long it would be before we’d get there, then snapped it off and started the engine. I closed my eyes, playing the sound of Mom’s voice over the phone, steady, serious, scared, loving.

“Aidyn? Are you asleep?” I shook my head and he said, “I don’t want to scare you, but your Mom’s hands are pretty bad. She needed a lot of stitches.”

“Did Elaine take her?”

“No, I did. She called me, and I came right over and took her to the hospital while Elaine and Jackson and a whole gang of people from your youth group went looking for you.”

“Really?”

“I have never heard such fear in anyone’s voice. Your mother was terrified, worrying about what you’d do.”

“She was drunk.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. What gave me the right to tell him that?

“I think,” Doug said slowly, “a lot of that had already worn off. Shock does that to you.”

I watched him for a minute. He kept his eyes on the road though I’m sure he felt me staring. Had I already ruined things for Mom?

“Did she tell you?” I whispered.

“That she’d been drinking again? Yes.”

“And that—”

He didn’t fill in for me that time.

“That she’s—”

Why couldn’t he make it easy for me?

“That she’s an alcoholic?” My stomach dropped when I whispered the word.

“She did.” He sighed.

“She was afraid to tell you.” I stretched, and my blistered feet pressed the insides of my shoes. They’d gotten to be so sensitive that it felt like flames licking the sores. I swallowed and tried to ignore the pain. “She wouldn’t have lied to you, though.”

Doug laughed. He stopped for a light and turned to me, his hand stroking his beard. “She certainly didn’t lie. She walloped me with the details. I got the idea she was trying to scare me off.”

“But she likes you.”

He turned forward again. “I’m glad. I like her, too, but I can see she’s very unsure of herself. That would be natural, though.”

“Why?”

He glanced at me. “Why do you think she started drinking so heavily in the first place?”

I didn’t answer. The car’s heat made me sweat and reminded me of how long it had been since I’d showered. I wondered if he could smell my stink. I wondered if I sickened him. But then, Mom hadn’t.

“Aidyn, listen, we’ve got a lot to work through. Well, of course, you and Beth have done a lot, but you’ve got a lot more to do.” I expected him to give me another mini-commercial for Alateen. “I knew your mom had a bit of a drinking problem. I’ve tried to keep in touch, you know, and it was pretty obvious. I wish—hindsight speaking now—I wish I’d come back a long time ago, but I don’t know if I could have changed things for her. Or for you.”

So we all felt guilty. I sat up. “For me?”

“Being the child of an alcoholic isn’t easy.”

He wasn’t kidding. I watched the familiar streets pass. Being Mom’s daughter wasn’t going to get any easier, but I hadn’t decided to come home because I wanted
easy
. I wanted Mom. I’d committed to love her no matter what. And now, as I faced my first chance to show her, I realized she would be sober. God sure knew how to keep His bargains, even when He wasn’t the one to make them.

Doug had to grab my elbows from behind and lift me up the stairs, because I couldn’t put any weight on my feet. I stumbled through the apartment door, fell into Mom’s arms, and we both sobbed. Somehow I ended up on the old couch, loving its familiar, broken springs, and Doug had my shoes and socks off. Mom sat next to me, one of my hands clasped lightly in both her bandaged ones. “Aidyn,” she said. “Baby, you’re OK.”

All I wanted right then was to look at her, into her eyes, puffy but clear and steady; and listen to her voice, shaky and hoarse, but not slurring. Mom sober—that was all I’d ever wanted.

“Are you hungry?” Mom asked. “I’ve got some soup. It’s still hot. I’ve been waiting for you to come…” Her voice broke.

“You get it, and I’ll get some medicine on these feet,” Doug said. “I don’t think you’ll get yourself a trip to the hospital. Nothing looks infected so far, just painful.”

“That’s good,” I told him, meaning the hospital trip.

Mom cradled two cups as she came back in. “It’s easier for me to carry them this way,” she said and handed both to me. “This one is cocoa.”

I drank the whole cup off without stopping for breath.

Mom laughed. “I’ll make some more—” But I stopped her.

“No, Mom, I just want you here. OK?”

She gave me a look, shy and delighted, and tucked her arms around her waist.

“Mom, your poor hands.”

She shrugged. “I really messed myself up.”

Doug came in with a first-aid kit. “I didn’t tell her who’s been calling.”

Mom smiled. “Miguel. He called three times, baby. He’s so worried. I called him as soon as we hung up, as soon as I knew you were safe. He’ll come by tomorrow.”

“He will? But—”

“The police found his dad. He’ll have his trial, and we’re all hoping he gets a good sentence. It won’t be long enough, but it will give Miguel and his mother some time to figure out what they need to do next.”

I closed my eyes. All the while I’d been looking for him, he’d been looking for me. Could I have done anything more stupid?

Doug finished smearing my feet with something that stung worse than the ruptured blisters had.

“Mom, I have to talk to you.”

“OK.” Her eyes never left my face.

Doug packed up the first-aid kit and walked back to the bathroom. He didn’t come back, and I reminded myself to thank him for giving us some time alone.

“Mom, I love you.”

She closed her eyes, tears spilling across her cheeks. She wiped one gauzy hand across her face. “I love you too, baby.”

I pulled her hand down, holding her by the wrist so I wouldn’t hurt her worse than I had to. “But I hate it when you drink.”

She let out a sharp breath. “So do I.”

“I won’t run away again, I promise. That was really stupid. But I don’t know what to do when you drink, Mom. I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t promise you—”

“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to try, OK? I mean, you’re already trying, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.” She lifted her chin and met my eyes. “Two days sober.” She stared at her hands and sighed. “A few days ago I told everyone two months but now, all I can claim is two days.”

“I know.” I caught up her other hand and held them the way I’d learned from Lucy, softly, gently. The wrappings had come loose and I saw bloodstains on the inside, and red gashes laced with untidy black stitches. I tucked the gauze a little tighter, making sure not to touch her wounds.
God, I hope You’re with me. I hope You help me keep my promises.

“I guess I have to practice saying stuff like this, if I go to those meetings, you know?” I took a deep breath and blurted, “My name is Aidyn, and my mom is an alcoholic.”

She bent her face to my hands, shaking hard. I lifted her chin up so I could watch her while I said, “My mom is two days sober, and I am so proud.”

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