“Where would she go?”
“Who knows. Word around town is she was whoring herself out. Who the fuck knows. That’s when dad’s drinking escalated, too. Then one night she stumbled in at three o’clock in the morning. Chloe was crying. She had been running a fever, and I was trying to get her back to sleep. Mom was pissed because we were making too much noise, and that was the first time she hit Chloe. It was also the first time I fought back.”
The sound of Chloe’s cries that night are forever engrained in my head. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the stale beer and cigarettes on Mom’s breath.
“What happened?”
“I threw myself on her back. She was wasted, so it didn’t take much for me to knock her over. Dad was pissed. He had been up drinking, frustrated that Mom hadn’t come home earlier, so he was just as drunk as she was, if not worse. He came after me with the belt. Ripped my back to shreds.”
“The pictures,” Adley breathes.
Her words are soft, but they ring loud in my head. My body freezes, and she brushes a tear from her face.
“What pictures?” I ask, cautiously.
“The
ones in your closet. Please don’t be mad at me. I wasn’t trying to snoop.” She rushes to explain. “I was hanging up clothes, and I accidentally knocked it over. A few things fell out and well… Once I saw the first picture, I couldn’t help but look.”
Closing my eyes, I squeeze the bridge of my nose.
“Are you mad at me?”
I shake my head and look up. “No, I’m not mad.”
Her shoulders relax, but her eyes are still glossy and bright. “What happened? Did you end up in the hospital or—”
“The school called DCFS. I was covered in bruises. The state showed up and yanked me out of school within an hour. Chloe and I both ended up at the hospital. They put us into foster care for a few months while Mom and Dad were investigated. I don’t know much of what happened, just that we ended up back in that hellhole.”
“Things didn’t get better after that?”
“Fuck, no,” I scoff. “Things only got worse.”
“Why do you keep the photos?” she asks.
“As a reminder of who my parents were. Dad has been sober for a little over six weeks. The other day I went over there and he was an entirely different person—like the dad I remember from all those years ago. He was looking at old photos and reminiscing, and I felt myself starting to open up, wanting to recapture the essence of who he was and who he can be. But I know it’s temporary. He’ll most likely fall off the wagon, because that’s what he does. The pictures remind me not to get too invested; they remind me that I can forgive, but I sure as hell can’t forget. They’re also there to remind me I don’t ever want to be like him.”
Adley shakes her head adamantly. “You will never be like your parents.”
“I don’t know about that. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with everything going on in my life, and I find myself reaching for the bottle, desperate to drown everything out. That’s how it started for them.”
“But you’re stronger than they were. And you’re so careful. You’ll never turn out like that because I know you.” Adley stands and moves toward me, her eyes fierce. “You’re a wonderful man, Lincoln.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Adley closes the distance between us. “You still take care of your father after everything he put you through. That alone makes you a goddamn saint.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to walk away?” I snap. “There are moments I’ve wanted to say fuck it and let him worry about his own damn groceries and how he’s going to pay the bills.”
“Why don’t you? No one would blame you.”
“Because I’m better than him,” I growl.
Adley smiles. “Damn right you are. You’re so much better than him. I know it, and you know it. You’re strong and determined.”
I don’t feel strong or determined. Utterly exhausted, I walk back to the chair and sit down. Burying my face in my hands, I sigh. But it feels good to talk about this shit, to get it off my chest with someone other than Chloe.
I stiffen when Adley places a hand on my back, but quickly relax under her touch.