Chapter Thirty-Seven

Katy

“Jesus, Katy. What the hell?”

The room starts spinning as Sammy slips an arm behind my back, hoisting me up to a sitting position on the floor of my closet. Instantly, my stomach revolts. Hot lava burns its way up my esophagus to the back of my throat.

“Toilet!” Sammy shouts, giving me a shove.

I leave a trail of vomit the whole way, unable to stop the violent eruption once it starts. While my sister holds my hair, I purge every drop of liquor and then some before resting the side of my face on the cold porcelain. I can’t even allow myself to think of how disgusting it is to have my cheek pressed to the toilet seat because right now, it feels too damn good.

“You text me begging for a girls’ day, so I knock off work and drive over to find you like this?”

Everything inside me starts to crumble as I recall my earlier conversation with Mullins’s mom.

Her weepy eyes find mine as she asks the question I’ve been dreading since the shock of her sudden arrival. She’s driven nearly three hours, from Arlington, to ask me this question. Guilt, fear, and a hundred other emotions race through me as I join her on the swing Gavin installed for me.

“What happened?”

Her presence only makes what happened more real. I haven’t visited her because I wasn’t prepared, and by the way I’m feeling, I never will be.

“Alicia,” I whisper mournfully, “she was hurt really bad after the explosion. Those injuries were grave.”

I’m hoping for cloudy skies.

The clear image of Mullins on her knees, visibly shaking, with that monster above her, has me reeling. Her mother studies me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did she suffer?”

“Not long,” I say, without adding more detail. I can’t do this, and I know I can’t, but I’m being cornered, and there’s no way around it.

“I’m so sorry I missed the memorial.” She jerks her chin, dismissing my apology. She’s not interested in that. She came for answers.

“Katy, please tell me about my Jessica. I can’t keep wondering about how my daughter died.”

Biting my lips, tears come easily as I think about my best friend, about the way she looked at me, giving me permission to end her life to save my own. I’ve avoided this for so long, and that avoidance was countering a destructive tidal wave. Alicia takes my hand in hers. “Mija, take your time, but please tell me.”

Mija. Daughter. She’s calling me her daughter. I know little Spanish, but I do know that term of endearment. With no idea on how to navigate the horrific way she left his world, I decide to answer the questions she asks as honestly as I can. It’s not until sometime later that I realize I’m having a panic attack right in front of her. She consoles me until we’re both sobbing on the back porch. Alicia leaves a little more enlightened than when she came, but I can still see her hesitation to go as she waves at me from the side of her truck.

“You look like hell.” My eyes move across the room to where Sammy’s standing with her arms crossed on her chest. She looks pissed.

Responding would require too much of an effort, so I merely nod and groan.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I try to ignore the tremor in her voice because I simply can’t handle any more guilt right now.

Shrug.

Her face turns beet red as she slinks down the wall, sitting on the other side of the commode. The woman I respect more than any other releases a sigh of defeat.

“What the hell did you survive all that shit for, if you were just going to come home and fucking kill yourself?” She pulls her knees to her chest, hugging them close. “At least if you’d died out there, it would’ve been with some dignity.”

Her words should strike a chord, and I’m sure they will fester later. But right now, all I want is for her to go away and stop looking at me with such disappointment. I want to wallow, and for the first time since I left Germany, I want to grieve my best friend.

“Can you go?”

Sammy’s mouth gapes open. “No, I will not go. You need me.”

I shake my head. “I’m sick,” I mutter, dry heaving into the bowl.

“You’re not sick. You’re fucking drunk. My God, I didn’t realize it’d gotten this bad.”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrow. “You are so far from fine.”

“Jessica’s mom visited me today.”

Sammy’s eyes bulge slightly, and I can see the understanding pass through her.

“I know that was hard, Katy, I do, but yesterday was fucking awful. And despite what you’re going through and how you’re trying to handle it on your own, you’re fucking up more than you’re actually handling anything. So, this, dear sister, is your impromptu intervention.”

I’m too dizzy for this conversation. Squinting, I try to focus on her face, to make it stop moving so I can read her expression and decipher just how angry she is with me, but it’s of no use. Between retching and the brain fog I’m in, I just can’t participate in this right now. Lifting my hand to shoo her away is a monumental task, one that only further incites her rage.

“You need to talk to someone.”

“You mean you,” I mutter. “And you don’t want to know what happened.”

“I have an idea,” she whispers, “but if you don’t want to tell me, Gavin deserves to know.”

“Fine, thanks for the advice, because there’s no shortage of that in my life. I’ll make girls’ day up to you.”

“I’m not finished with you just yet,” she snaps, jumping to her feet.

Great.

“Can you hurry?”

My sister scurries out of the bathroom, returning with a book in her hand. One I’m intimately familiar with. “What the hell is this?” She waves the journal Dr. Schmidt gave to me, the other hand resting on her hip.

“What if Gavin walked in here and found this shit instead of me, huh?”

“It’s homework,” I slur.

“Homework? This thing is filled with letters to another man.”

“Dr. Schmidt told me to write to him,” I drawl, trying not to gag. “I keep it locked up.”

“You keep it locked? Well, how’d I get my hands on it then?”

“I was writing to him this morning, and I forgot, and because you’re too nosy to—to give me any fucking prrrivacyy.”

She flips through, reading letter after letter, her eyes narrowing in my direction. “Are you in love with him?” There’s no accusation in her tone. This is pure fear. She’s afraid I’m going to lose my family. Ruin my life. Well, welcome to the club, Sis. So am I. I don’t need her concern.

“I miss him…stop reading that, please. No one else is supposed to read it!”

The book slams shut, and my sister slaps it down on the counter. She stares at me for a moment before her features begin to soften. “You need help.”

“I’m getting help.”

Her tears make me feel even more like shit than I already do. I’m beginning to sober up, and shame is quickly setting in.

“I don’t think it’s working.”

Rolling away from the toilet, I rest my head against the wall, looking up at her forlorn face. “You think I don’t know this?” I stammer.

Tears line my sister’s cheeks as she moves to sit beside me.

“Babe, families take care of each other. Gavin loves you so much. We all do. You’ve got to wipe your eyes and realize we aren’t the enemy.”

“I’m not her,” I confess. “I’m not the one who left.” I look over to my sister. “And I don’t think I ever will be.”

“Fine. You’re someone else. I love you anyway, and I’ll always have your back, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you continue to fuck up. You can have all the time you need, but this”—she holds up the pint of vodka—“this isn’t the way you’re going out.”

She stands up and starts a shower. “Your son’s going to be home soon, and I’m pretty sure your husband is ready to throttle you. Get your ass in this shower, and I’ll make you look presentable.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I love you, Katy,” she says as she pulls a clean towel off my shelf. “But it’s time to try and get back up, okay? Even if you only make it to your knees. And if you get knocked back down, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” I ask.

“Promise.”