Say You'll Remember Me(36)

What was that? Who was that?

She’d been so scared.

What that must have been like for her. Like a living nightmare. Wandering lost through the dark, not knowing where you are, not recognizing the people coming to help you.

I was so grateful Xavier had been there. And I was embarrassed too. I didn’t want him to see this side of us. I didn’t want anyone to see it.

I wanted it to not exist.

Jeneva and Xavier had Mom sitting on a stool in the kitchen when I dragged myself in. Red rivulets were running down her shins, her clothes were dirty, she had avocado leaves in her hair.

“Where’s Dad?” Jeneva said, putting a paper towel under the faucet.

“I don’t know.” I sniffed.

Xavier had a hand on Mom’s arm. He was still keeping her calm. He made eye contact with me and even that brief connection made me feel better too.

“Samantha, why don’t you go find your dad,” he said, calmly.

I nodded, grateful to be told what to do when I was too flustered to think for myself. I turned for upstairs.

Dad wasn’t in their room. He wasn’t in their bathroom either. I popped my head into the boys’ and Grandma’s rooms, all of who were still asleep, thank God.

He wasn’t here and his car was gone.

Where was he?

I jogged back downstairs. Tristan was in the kitchen, hugging his arms around himself and looking wounded. Jeneva had cleaned up Mom’s legs and Xavier had gloves on now, dabbing her knees with a cotton ball.

“Dad’s not here…” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“What do you mean?” Jeneva asked.

“He’s not here. His car’s gone. I don’t have my phone—” She didn’t even need me to finish, she was already dialing.

We watched her face while it rang. He didn’t pick up.

“Dad? Where are you? Mom was out in the yard, call me back.” She hung up and looked at me. “Do you think he had an emergency? Why would he leave?”

Mom started crying again.

“It’s okay,” Xavier said, setting down the cotton ball to squeeze her hand. “You’re all right.”

“This was completely avoidable,” I said, giving Tristan a cutting look.

He glared at me. “Just so you know, I didn’t leave the door unlocked.”

“Well then who did?” I snapped.

“I don’t know, maybe Dad, who’s like, wherever the fuck he is?” He cocked his head at me.

I looked at my sister. I didn’t even think of that…

“Also, your raggedy-ass air mattress was flat when I came in to get my headboard. I found the hole and put duct tape on it and filled it back up for you. Not my fault you two humped it into the carpet.”

Shiiiit.

“Tristan,” I stuttered, “I’m—I’m sorry—”

“No, seriously? Fuck you, Sam. You’re a bitch for that.”

His chin quivered and he spun and went back to the basement.

I closed my eyes and let out a tight breath. How was I supposed to think Dad could’ve left the door unlocked? Tristan was the chronically irresponsible one, and my brother liked to be petty, it only made sense…

I slumped.

Xavier worked on Mom without looking up.

I put my palms to my eyeballs. Then I went to wash my ear. I had to stick a square of toilet paper to the hole to stanch the bleeding and I came out wearing it instead of waiting until the bleeding stopped because I didn’t want to leave Xavier alone with my unpredictable family.

Xavier finished with Mom and put Band-Aids on her scrapes.

“She might be sore,” he said, peeling off his gloves. “Will she take pills?”

Jeneva let out a long breath. “It’s hard.”

“Do you have anything liquid? Children’s Motrin?” he asked.

“For the boys, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s give her that.”

Mom swatted at it when we tried to hand it to her. Absolutely refused to take it.

“Could we mix it into a drink maybe?” I asked.

“She’s not really good about drinking,” Jeneva said. “It’s a struggle every time. She mostly drinks at meals, but only because she’s used to it.”

Xavier stood there with a hand under his chin. “What if we put it in a shot glass?”

We both turned to look at him.

“We all take shots with her, only hers has the medicine in it,” he said. “She might do it as a reflex.”

Jeneva was nodding. “That could work…”

I filled three shot glasses with apple juice from the fridge and put the Motrin in the last one.

We stood in a circle around Mom and handed her the Motrin.

I raised my glass. “To Dad. Who has a lot of explaining to do.”

Jeneva scoffed. We clinked with each other, Mom included, who followed the prompt, and we all threw back our drinks.

It worked. Mom swallowed the whole thing.

“Genius…” I breathed.

“Huzzah!” Mom yelled, holding up her glass. She was smiling.

I looked at her, wearily.

A tiny glimpse of the old her, brought to the surface by the familiar routine of pounding a shot in the kitchen.