Chapter Eight
the wake, I headed over to the office to take care of a few orders that were pending in our warehouse. I knew I didn't have to work. But I also knew that, death or not, customers were still waiting for their orders. Our ability to survive the loss of our leader was dependent on the rest of us doing our jobs. I waved to a few of the warehouse workers and handed over the orders that were waiting to be filled.
"Get this out as soon as you can, okay?" I said to the shift manager. "I know they know about Mr. Yates, but let's keep the orders rolling out as close to schedule as possible."
"Will do, boss!" Burt nodded as he took the paperwork and surveyed the order. "How was the end of the wake?"
"The usual: lots of crying and mourning and gossip," I said.
"That's how it always is, isn't it?" John said. "The rich go out rich, and the poor get tossed in a pauper's grave."
"I don't know about that," I said shaking my head. "I mean, Mr. Yates came from nothing and worked his way up, you know."
"Sure, but he had all the money in the world to go out on," Burt said as he checked off boxes on the order, making sure he had everything in the warehouse. "His family is going to be just fine, but what about the rest of us? Who's going to lead the company now? Are we going to lose our jobs when the new guy comes in and decides that what we've been doing no longer works?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" I said, trying to stem the concern I heard in his voice. "I'm sure Mr. Yates had a good plan in place in case something like this happened. Let's give it a few weeks before we start to panic."
"I'm just saying that I've seen it before, and it doesn't end well for those of us on this end of the equation," Burt warned.
"I promise I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I hear something," I said, turning to go back to my office. I couldn't show it, but I was worried too.
I'd started working at Baby Steps in high school, and over the past decade I had worked my way up to warehouse manager. Mr. Yates had been a mentor and a father figure to me as I'd made my way through the ranks. I was now making a good living managing the warehouse. But I wondered how that would all change if a new CEO came in and took over.
I said goodbye to the warehouse staff and headed home to make dinner for Riley. When I got to the house, I found Mama asleep at the kitchen table with a half-empty bottle in front of her and a lit cigarette in the ashtray. This was getting dangerous, and I needed to do something about it.
"Riley!" I called up the stairs. "Are you home? What do you want for dinner?"
"Up here, Leah!" Riley called down. "Pizza!"
I grabbed the phone and dialed the pizza place around the corner and ordered a large to be delivered. Then I shook my mother awake and helped her to her bedroom.
"Mama, you have to get help," I whispered as I tucked the blankets in around her. "You can't go on like this."
"I'm fine, girl," my mother slurred. "The last thing I need is you nagging me about something you know nothing about."
"Mama, it's not safe anymore," I said as she looked at me with watery eyes. "I can't leave you here alone, and Riley is too young to take care of you. We have to change this."
"Get the hell out, and let me get some sleep," she said pushing me away as she rolled over and curled up. "I don't need your high and mighty attitude, missy."
"Mama . . ." I pleaded to her back. I waited but soon heard the sound of her snoring. I knew she'd be out for hours.
I walked back into the kitchen and dropped down into the chair my mother had occupied. The walls were stained a dull yellow from her years of smoking. I knew that if the alcohol didn't get her, lung cancer would. The problem was I didn't know how to stop her.
"I'm sick of this," I said as tears welled up. "I'm sick of being everyone's keeper."
"What's wrong, Leah?" Riley said as she entered the kitchen, holding a sheet of paper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said wiping my eyes and trying to put on a smile. Riley was having none of it.
"Gram's a pain in the ass, isn't she?" she said without judgment. "I get sick of her being drunk all the time."
"She's just sad," I said, trying not to unload my personal feelings on the twelve-year-old.
"Oh give me a break, Leah," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Gram is a major downer, and I'm tired of her constantly being drunk. It's embarrassing. Why don't we just throw her in rehab and be done with it?"
"Riley, what's gotten into you?" I exclaimed.
"So, what are we going to do about it?" she asked. Her jaw was clenched, and I could see that she was itching for a fight. Sometimes she reminded me so much of Molly that it hurt. "I mean, this can't keep happening, can it?"
"I don't know," I sighed as my shoulders sagged. I leaned against the counter. "Gram won't go to rehab and I can't make her. She's never going to stop drinking, so I don't know what to do."
"One of the counselors at school gave me this," Riley said as she held out the sheet of paper. I took it and scanned the page. It was a detailed outline of how to stage an intervention.
"Did the counselor say anything about this?" I asked as my face burned with shame. Someone at school knew what was going on in this house, and they were reaching out to a twelve-year-old. How much worse could this get?
"She just said that the intervention might be the last step in helping Gram find a way to get out of her addiction," Riley said. "Can we try it, Leah? We could call Patrick and get him to help, couldn't we?"
"Let me think about this," I said as I thought about how we could bring my brother, Patrick, into the mix. Just then, the doorbell rang. I handed Riley two twenty-dollar bills and said, "Tip the delivery person five—no more!"
"Gotcha," Riley said as she took the money and went to retrieve our dinner.
I read the flyer again. Molly would know what to do with Mama. Molly would have handled this with her usual flair and forthrightness, and she would have made it look easy. Maybe that was the problem: Molly made everything she did look so easy. Maybe things had been a lot harder for her than we thought, and now we were getting a peek into what drove her away.
By the time Riley brought the pizza back into the kitchen, I'd set the table and had decided to call Patrick after we ate.
*
After dinner was over and the dishes were done, I took my phone out of my purse and went into the living room to call my brother. It had been almost two years since we'd last spoken. As the phone rang, I thought about what I would say to him and how he might respond.
"Queen of Peace Parish," a voice answered the phone. "How may I direct your call?"
"Father Patrick Walsh, please," I said. There was a click and the phone began ringing again.
"Father Patrick Walsh," my brother said into the receiver. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Patrick?" I said quietly. "It's Leah. Please don't hang up."
"Leah," he said, and I could hear the suspicion hanging in the air between us. "What do you want?"
"I need to talk to you, Patrick," I pleaded before rushing into the rest of it. "It's Mama. She's not doing well, and I need help figuring out what to do with her. I know you don't want to have anything to do with us, but we need you, Patrick. I need you. I need your help. Please don't hang up on me."
I began crying as the weight of everything came crashing down on me. I needed my brother more now than ever before, but I wasn't sure he'd be willing to help. So much time had passed since Molly disappeared, and none of us had listened to him while we'd still had the chance to help her.
"Don't cry, Leah," he said softly. There was a long pause before he spoke again, "Let's meet at the parish and talk about what's going on. When are you free?"
"I have to work, but I could come by when I'm done," I said. "I'm usually back in the neighborhood by six so I can pick Riley up, and she's usually in bed by nine. Can I come see you in the evening?"
"How is she doing?" he asked. I could hear the softening of his voice as he asked about his niece. "Is she well?"
"She's good," I said. "Growing like a weed and getting to be more like Molly every . . . I need help, Patrick."
"I know," he said, and my fears began to abate. "Come see me this week, and we'll talk."
"Okay," I said as I sniffled and choked back everything else I wanted to say. "I'll call you when I'm on my way over."
"I'll be glad to see you, Leah," he said before the line went dead.
I sat staring at the phone for a long time, hoping that I hadn't hallucinated the call, and hoping that Patrick would actually help me make choices that would be best for Mama, Riley, and for me. Given our history, I wasn't counting on anything.
Not just yet.