A Fistful of God Read Free Page A

juice pooled on the edge of the sink and dripping to the floor. “You’re out of control, too.”
    I snorted. “I’m not the one with the hangover.”
    Something sparked in her eyes. “For once, neither am I.”
    “That’s ‘cause you’re already half bombed.”
    “No, I’m not.” She shook her head. “I know I’m shaky. I’m getting rid of years of booze. I can’t expect to feel great overnight. But I am feeling better.”
    Something hot and acid crept up my throat. She always said that. She’d stumble through the door, shaking with need, then she’d hug that first glass and say, “This has been the worst day, but I’m feeling better.”
    Now she held out her arms like she wanted to hug me, too. I purposely flinched, but it didn’t work that time. “I’m sorry I hit you, baby. I know you hate me because I didn’t love you enough. I’m sorry I was always drunk when you needed me.” She gave up reaching for me. “I’m so tired of being sorry.”
    “I have to get my shower.” I turned away, as much to hide my shock as to leave. “And then I have to go to the Donaldsons’.” I glanced around. I tried to keep the kitchen clean, though how many times had I spent all my energy cleaning up her mess instead? “If you’re so wonderfully sober, maybe it’s time you took over the housework.”
    Mrs. Donaldson opened the door when I knocked. “They’re still napping. You can take them to the park after they finish their snack, but be home by five. We’re going to my in-laws’ for dinner.” She made a face, and I laughed. She hated taking her kids there, but it was family so she felt obligated. “My husband should be home by then so you won’t have to stay.” She bustled off to her room to finish getting ready.
    I sat at her kitchen table with my history book. I had to study for a test on Monday, but the words went blurry. I yanked off my glasses and rubbed away the tears.
    “Aidyn?” I looked up. Mrs. Donaldson’s pale face had gone red. “Is your mother all right?”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why?” She hated attitude, but I didn’t care. Why should I have to tiptoe around her feelings, too?
    She bit her lip. “Lucas heard you yelling again and it scared him.” She watched me for a minute, but I stared at my history text. “You know, if you need to talk, I’m here.”
    I shrugged.
    “It can’t be easy with your mother the way—” I jerked my head up and she stopped. “Oh, Aidyn.”
    Everybody in the apartment building knew about Mom.
    She glanced at her watch. “I have to go.” She sounded like she had a time bomb ticking off her last minutes. “But I’m usually here when you get home from school.” Her face went red, but I was just as mortified.
    I said, “OK,” and we both knew I’d never confide in her.
    By three I had the boys at the park. My watch must have broken. It stayed three o’clock for the longest time, only inching to one minute past, then two, after what seemed like hours of agony.
    Mom’s meeting started at three. My world would stay riveted to three in the afternoon for the rest of my eternity. What did I know about AA meetings? People introduced themselves, said what they were—the one word that defined them all. I tried to imagine Mom saying, “My name is Beth, and I’m an alcoholic.”
    My mind could not grasp that last word. I’d never heard her say it, and I’d never said it about her. Knowing is so different. You can know something and never have to admit it out loud, and that makes it bearable.
    Maybe it was easier for Mom to say she was a drunk. Maybe it was easier for her to tell strangers what she was.
    If I’d gone to the stupid meeting she wanted me to go to, I’d have ended up having to say practically the same thing. I shook my head. How could I say that about my mother ? How could I ever admit to that horrible, stinking shame ?
    I tried to move my lips across the words. “My name is Aidyn and my mom—”
    Lucas tugged my arm.