Shake Down the Stars (27 page)

I can't help but smirk. Why is he so impressed by such an asshole?

Selwyn continues. “It's no problem, man. It was a pleasure to help. You and your family are welcome back whenever you want. Okay. No, you don't have to do that! VIP? No, man, I couldn't. Seriously, man, season tickets are more than enough.”

Margot smiles and calls out, “Girls, looks like Aunt P is staying here. Say good-bye.”

They run up the steps and give me a hug. I hold them longer and tighter than necessary. I dig my nose into their hair and kiss the tops of their heads as if already having to say good-bye for an entire year.

“Geez, Aunt P,” Sophia says, squirming away. “You'll see us next week. Mom says you're babysitting.”

“Yeah, Aunt P, not so tight.”

Selwyn lets out a hoot. “That was Curtis Randolph! He's sending over a signed football and season tickets in the VIP lounge!”

Mom smiles. “You deserve it. Thanks again for helping my daughter in her time of need.”

“There's no need to thank me. It was my pleasure. As I told Curtis, you all are welcome anytime.”

“Well, thanks again.” She shakes his hand, then says, “Girls, I know you heard what your mother said. Time to leave.” They run down from the porch and to the car. “Well, are you coming?” Mom asks.

“She's staying,” Margot says, in her singsong voice. “She's staying here with Shaaaaawn.”

Mom gives me a look and tosses her eyes, then throws her hand as if to say she's done with me before getting to her car.

I step down from the porch as Margot gives Selwyn a hug good-bye. When she hugs me, I remain stiff. “I wish you wouldn't,” I whisper.

“Decision's made, P. Try to chill out.”

Mom starts for the main road. I keep my mouth shut as Margot walks to her car and climbs inside. The girls turn in their seats and wave good-bye as the Mercedes pulls away.

We continue to wave as the car heads down the long driveway and out onto the road. It's when they're no longer in sight that I burst into tears. I cry just as I had in Selwyn's office, without any warning whatsoever.

“Kilowatt? Oh, Kil,” he says, taking me into his arms. “Hey now. What's wrong?”

“I can't stand my mother. I can't stand my sister. I feel like I'm just—this piece of shit.”

“What? Come on now. You all will figure things out. Sometimes you have to have an argument or two to help get to the bottom of things.”

“I don't think you understand, Selwyn. My fucking sister is sending the girls away. I don't get along with my mother; I don't get along with my sister. If I had any feeling of family, it was from my two nieces. And now she's sending them to boarding school?”

“Kil, you're upset because you just heard the news, but we don't know what's going to happen. She might even change her mind—or you'll visit them.”

“I don't want to visit them; that's the point. I want them here. They hardly understand what real life is about as it is, and living at a boarding school surrounded by snobby rich kids will only make matters worse.”

“Try to calm down, Kil. We all survive our childhoods.”

“Do we?” I suck air through my teeth. “They're only ten, Selwyn.
Ten.
They're going to feel completely abandoned. And there's not a thing I can do about it.”

“Kil, come on now. Calm down.”

He tries to take me in his arms, but I step back and cover my face with my hands. “Just give me a second, all right?” I keep my face hidden. I feel hot tears wanting to break free again, but I hold them at bay. By this point I know I should find a meeting or call Sherry or both, but I don't want to. I'm tired of talking and crying, crying and talking. I've had it.

“Kil? You okay?”

“Yeah. I'll be all right.” I take a deep breath. He tries to take my hand, but I won't let him. I slowly wipe my face and eyes. When I'm more composed I say, “Can I ask a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I'd like to take a drive. You know, just to clear my head a little. Do you mind if I borrow your car? I still need to get some clothes from my place, and if it's all right with you, I'll go get my things and come back. Would that be okay?”

“Are you sure you're okay? Why don't I come with you?”

“I need to be alone. I'll go get my things and come right back.”

“Okay, Kil. You do what you have to do to take care of yourself.” He kisses my forehead lightly.

“Thanks, Selwyn.”

I
'm spinning as fast as Sophia on the tire swing that hangs from Selwyn's tree. When the beat changes, I kick my leg up high and spin again. The song is by a teenaged country-pop singer the girls love. I know every word and sing along at the top of my voice. I twirl and two-step, laugh and sing.

•   •   •

A
nother country song is playing, but this one I don't recognize. Nor do I recognize the voices I hear:

“Do you want help taking her to your car?”

“No thanks, man.”

“You sure?”

“No, man, I can handle her. But thank you.”

Someone shakes my shoulder, but my eyes have been glued shut.

“Piper.”

I know I'm sitting upright, though, with my head smashed into what feels like my desk at school. “Gladys?”

I feel the same hand again and another shake. “Piper?
Piper!
”

I manage to lift my head. As soon as I open my eyes, the room spins and my stomach churns. “Ow.” I wince.

“Come on. I'm taking you home.”

I stare into Selwyn's face—all six of them. I watch as they swirl around and around one another as synchronized as Uranus's moons. “Juliet?” I mumble. Uranus's moons are named after characters from Shakespeare's plays. I continue going down the list—“Puck? Portia?”—before closing my eyes entirely.

“Oh no you don't. Wake up.” This time he holds me at the shoulders until I'm sitting upright.

I try to remember what's going on and where I am as I look around the room—or, rather, the bar. Because that's where I am apparently—inside a dive bar with booths and a jukebox and a small group of patrons too busy drinking or dancing to the awful country music to pay me much mind.

Selwyn tries to lift me at the elbow, but I fight him off. “Leave me alone,” I gripe. “Go away.” I grab the nearest empty glass. “Barkeep! I'll have another!”

“Oh no you don't,” Selwyn says again, taking the glass from my hand. “You've had more than enough.”

The bartender walks over and places a cup of coffee in front of me. Selwyn thanks him.

My stomach lurches at the stench. “I'd prefer more scotch, thank you.”

Selwyn pushes the cup under my nose. “You're drinking coffee here or at my place. Which is it?”

I rest on my elbow as I gaze around the bar. I try and try to remember how I ended up here, but nothing comes. I turn to Selwyn. “Remind me again? Where am I?”

“Downtown Livermore. If you're not going to drink that coffee, let's get the hell out of here.” He pulls hard enough that in no time I'm off the stool and trying to find my balance on the shifting floor. I lift my foot as if stepping over a large boulder. Selwyn drags me along, but the sudden motion sends my head and stomach into a simultaneous death spin. “Bathroom,” I mutter. “Quick.”

Selwyn says, “Excuse me, sir. Ladies' room?”

“That way.”

He pulls me by the elbow through the bar. I clutch my stomach as he practically pushes me through the bathroom door. I run to the first stall and throw up within seconds. It's as if no time has passed at all, really. No meetings, AA or otherwise. No sobriety chips. No Sherry. Here I am again, head over toilet.

When my stomach has finally emptied, I get up and wash my hands and rinse my mouth with water. It's when I'm getting a paper towel that everything starts to come back: the girls and their good-bye; the drive to my house to pick up clothes; more crying and the thought that I should call Sherry. But instead of calling, I headed back to Livermore, or more specifically, to the nearest bar in Livermore for just one drink before returning to Selwyn's.

I press my back into the wall and sink slowly to the floor. It's official. I'm a two-time loser, and my sobriety's literally down the toilet. I choke back the tears that want to come. I'll never change. I'm a total failure and alcoholic fuckup.

I find Selwyn at the end of the hall with a perturbed look on his face. I see now how disheveled and worn-out he looks. “Why didn't you call your sponsor?” he asks.

“Yeah, that would be the question, wouldn't it?”

“I'm serious. If you knew you wanted a drink, you should have called her or me. Or you could have gone to a meeting.”

“Oh, suddenly you're an expert on sobriety? That's great. Just what I need right now, someone else on my fucking back.”

“I'm no expert, but I know childish behavior when I see it.”

“No lectures, right now. I know perfectly well that I screwed up.” I try to walk past him and back into the bar, but he grabs me by the arm.

“This way.” He pulls me toward the entrance. I see he already has my wallet and keys. “I paid your tab. We're out of here. Thanks again, man,” he says, waving to the bartender and shoving me out the door.

I'm surprised by how dark it is. “What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

I see his truck parked next to his BMW.

He opens the door to the car, and I climb inside. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Seat belt,” he says, putting the key in the ignition.

I oblige. “So?”

“You called. You were so drunk I could hardly understand what you were saying, so I told you to give the phone to the bartender so he could give me the address.” He shoots me a look. “If you knew you were so upset that you wanted a drink, why didn't you ask for help? You have people who want to be there for you. Besides that, I was worried sick. I had no idea where you were.”

“Sorry.”

“Empty word at this point, Kil.”

“But I am.”

“I don't think you get it. I was
worried sick
.”

I lower myself deeper into the seat. “Could you cut me some slack, please? I feel bad enough as it is. I know I messed up.”

He doesn't respond, though, and he doesn't say a word during the entire drive back.

•   •   •

“K
il.”

The smell of coffee wafts under my nose.

“Kil.”

I open my eyes and stare directly into Selwyn's face. One face this time.

“I made breakfast. Get up.”

I moan loudly. My head feels as though it's being smooshed by an anvil. “I hurt.”

“Breakfast is getting cold. You need to eat somethin'.”

I roll onto my side as slowly as possible so as not to make my head pound any more than it already is.

“Come on. You need to eat. Breakfast is waiting.” He claps his hands next to my ear. “Up and at 'em!”

“Could you not do that, please?”

He claps again, louder. “You mean that?”

I moan and sit up. He hands me the mug of coffee, and I thank him.

“Breakfast is out on the balcony.” With that he turns and leaves.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the empty room. I have a strong feeling he's not speaking to me. Last night he forced me to drink a glass of water, and he put me to bed in the guest bedroom, where I've been sleeping, without a word. I don't blame him for giving me the silent treatment. I can't imagine what it was like for him to find me in a bar as drunk as I was. I can't believe how much I've messed up either. How do I start over? Is it even possible?

I take another sip of coffee. I can't fathom the idea of eating anything, but I also don't want to piss Selwyn off any more than I already have, so I moan softly and get out of bed.

It's already warming up outside, and the table is set. There are fruit and more coffee, bagels and cream cheese, and eggs.

“This looks great.” I doubt I'll be able to eat more than a couple of strawberries but hope I sound polite.

“Dig in.”

I stick to my coffee while, vampirelike, I try to duck from the sun in the event that I evaporate. Selwyn has what looks like legal documents out and basically ignores me. I want to apologize, but I know he doesn't believe I'm sincere. If memory serves, last night he called my apologies “empty.” And I'm starting to agree. I feel my head pound and close my eyes. I can't believe I've fallen off the wagon. I'm not even sure what it means, except all those months of sobriety feel wasted. I'm obviously a drunk to the core, and this both shames me and terrifies me. What do I do now?

I look up at Selwyn, who continues reading.

“Sorry about last night, Selwyn.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“But I am.”

“Kil, I've been thinking.” He removes his reading glasses and sets his documents next to his plate.

“I know. Don't worry. I'll leave as soon as we're finished eating.”

“It's not about you leaving. I meant it when I told you I think we have a connection, and I hope you can see how much I care for you. Thing is, Kil, I don't want to be with someone who caves every time she doesn't get her way.”

I raise a brow. “Caves? I was upset. I had another fight with my mom, and Margot's sending the girls away. Yesterday was awful.”

“Yeah, but that's no excuse for disappearing the way you did. Going off to some bar where God knows what could have happened to you. I don't know what I would've done with myself if you'd been hurt.”

“I said I'm sorry.”

“You need to do better than that. You're not the only person with troubles in this world, and troubles don't give an excuse to act poorly. And when people want to help? A person shouldn't try to push them away. You say your sister's selfish, but you've got some of that in you, too. You gotta stop acting like everybody owes you. A turnip can't be anything but a turnip, and your mother, unless she decides to change, can't be anything but who she is now. You worry about how she behaves. At what point do you worry about how
you
behave?”

He's right, and I have absolutely no retort or reply.

He says, “You told me about the teacher who was like a father to you—”

“Mr. Hoffman.”

“Have you have ever tried to find him?”

“I wrote him once when I was in high school, but I never heard from him and didn't bother trying anymore.” Already my lack of effort seems infantile.

“Try again, Kil. And again. That's my point. You act like life owes you something, Piper. You have so much going for yourself. When are you going to stop looking to other people to be kind to you and
you
be kind to you?”

I think of Sherry:
“Grow up. Forgive yourself. Like yourself.”
“But I'm not sure it's possible to have a better relationship with myself if I keep messing up. Look what I did last night.”

“Yeah, keep saying that. That's the easy way out. Excuses. What if you stop with that mess and start telling yourself how good you are? You have a lot of love inside you. I know you do. I see it when you're with the girls. And I know you still carry the love you have for your child. Think about that. Think about all the love you have, and let it help you.”

Now I think of Deacon Morris. “Since when did you become so knowledgeable?”

“Since I had to go through hard times myself. When Momma passed and I had no brother, no mother. Like I told you, my dad died when I was a boy. So I was alone, and then Charlene did what she did. Yeah, I had to do a whole lotta soul-searching. Tough times, Kil. Tough times. But I came out on the other side the better for it. That's what I want for you, to come out better. No matter what happens between us, I want to know the best you. Not the so-so you, or the half-trying you, the best you. And listen, Kil, whether those girls go to that school or not, they're going to need you. They need a
role
model.
Show them how to get through tough times with confidence and grace. Be a woman they can look up to.”

I nod slowly. He's right. I know he's right. But just as quickly I plop my head into my arms. “But what about last night? Look what I did.”

“That was last night. New day, in case you haven't heard. Isn't that what they say, one day at a time? Today is today. What are you going to do with it?” When I don't respond, he sips his coffee. “You might start with forgiving yourself.”

“You make it sound easy.”

He turns his gaze out toward the property. “New day, Kil.”

I take my coffee and walk to the edge of the balcony. I watch a bird flutter about before speeding off over a hill. I take in the sweet smell of grass and trees; I'm relieved when I don't feel the sensation of having to throw up. I like what Selwyn said about getting to know the best me. Hell, I'd like to know the best me, too. I messed up last night, truly, but at least I was on the road to meeting that self.

Selwyn joins me. He leans over the balcony with his coffee, and we stare out at the property.

“I am sorry, Selwyn.”

“I know.”

“It's just hard sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know. But so what? Your mother isn't the mother you want. Your sister isn't either. But so what? You have the twins, and you have your sponsor, and, Kil, you have me.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, Kil. Can't you tell?” He sips his coffee and looks away.

Sherry “stumbled,” as she calls it,
three
times before she started to believe in herself and stuck with the program. Where would she be now if she hadn't found it in her heart to forgive herself and start over? Where will I be if I don't?

I turn so that I can look Selwyn in the eye. When our gazes meet, I keep mine steady and focused. “I've been behaving selfishly, and I regret drinking last night. I made a terrible choice yesterday, and I'm sorry I scared you. I'm going to call Sherry after we eat. And if you'll let me stay tonight, I'll find a meeting to go to somewhere in town later.”

He searches my face to see if I'm bullshitting or not. Alcoholics are expert bullshitters. When it's apparent that I mean every word, he takes my hand and kisses it. “That's my girl.”