Page 22 of Giving Grace

I’m not.

I’m not managing it.

I’m eating it.

Or it’s eating me.

I haven’t quite figured out which.

Forcing my gaze away from the bottle I look her straight in the eye and lie. “I take them when I need them.”

Henley doesn’t even bother to call me on the enormous pile of bullshit I just shoveled at her. “Why aren’t you taking your meds?” She sounds scared when she says it. Like she’s afraid of what I’m going to tell her. What my answer is. Scared or not, she advances on me, prescription bottle still held up between us. “Ryan—”

“Stop asking stupid questions, Henley,” I bark at her. Pushing myself toward her, I snatch the bottle out of her hand. “You know why.”

The instant I say it, her bottom lip starts to tremble and she quirks her mouth to the side to chew on the inside of her cheek like she used to do when we were kids. It’s a trick she used to use to keep herself from crying. She used to do it so much I started to worry she’d eventually gnaw a hole in her face. “You’re not him, Ryan. You’re not Dad. You could never be—”

“Yes, I could.” I talk over her, my tone loud and rough. “I could be—” Turning away from her, I work the cap off the bottle and dump them into the kitchen sink. “Because I want to take them, Henley. I want to take them—that’s why I don’t.” Before I can think about what I’m doing, I flip the faucet on and run hot water over the scatter of round, white pills in the bottom of the sink. “Because if I end up like him, I really will kill myself.” The admission hangs between us, making it impossible to look at her. Instead I watch the pills I dumped into the sink dissolve under the rush of hot water.

“So your solution is to what exactly?” She reaches out to slap the water off, her tone forcing me to look at her. “Suffer? Grit your teeth and bear it?” She shakes her head at me, dark brown eyes wide. She looks confused. Like she can’t understand how dropping off a few magazines and a ficus devolved into a shouting match with her headcase older brother. “That’s selfish—you know that, right? It’s selfish to expect the rest of us to just stand by and watch you suffer.”

“I don’t expect you to watch me do anything, Hen.” I smile at her but it doesn’t feel right. Hasn’t felt right for a while now. “I expect you to leave because that’s what you do when shit gets hard. You leave.”

She jerks back when I say it, away from me like I took a swing at her. Standing there, fists clenched at her sides, mouth quirked and eyes wide, she stares at me, chest heaving slightly like she can’t quite catch her breath. I expect her to apologize like she always does. Tell me she’s sorry for leaving when we were kids. Leaving me behind.

“You left me first—long before I ever got into that car.” She pushes the words out past clenched teeth.

“How the fuck you figure that?” I can feel the back of my neck go hot and tight at her tone. “When I was the one left standing on the goddamned sidewalk, watching you get whisked away by Daddy fucking Warbucks??”

She flinches when I say it, either because I’m yelling at her or because she doesn’t like to be reminded of what happened. It doesn’t matter which, either way, watching her do it makes me feel like shit.

“You left me alone, day after day, night after night—with them.” She reaches up to jab a perfectly manicured finger in my face. “While you were off playing car thief with Declan, I was at home breaking up fistfights and making sure dad didn’t choke on his own vomit.”

“Why the fuck do you think we even had a home?” I roar it at her, so close and loud she takes a step back, away from me, like I’m a rabid dog that’s snapped its leash. “Who do you think was paying the rent? Keeping the lights on? Dad?” I laugh, the sound of it so sharp and bitter I feel the bile of it bite into the back of my throat. “Lydia?” I feel like breaking something when I say our mother’s name. Killing something with my bare hands. “You think either one of them gave a fuck about us?” I can tell by the look on her face that the thought never even occurred to her. That she never put two and two together. I don’t know why but the realization hurts like a bitch. “You know what—it doesn’t even matter. Jack’s not your dad, remember?” Somehow, I manage to choke it out past the bitter lump of resentment lodged in my throat. “And she’s made it clear I’m not her son.”

She is our mother and Henley doesn’t even try to deny it. She just stands there and stares at me like she can’t decide if she wants to start crying or take a swing at me. The Henley I know would’ve done both. The stranger my sister has turned into doesn’t do either one.

I watch as she takes a step back, settling a mask of dignified decorum over her face and my Hen disappears completely. Turning, she reaches for the pile of magazines she left on the island and pulls one from the stack. It’s not a magazine. It’s a medical supply catalog. Setting it on top of the others, she flips it open to a page that’s marked with a lime green post-it. “You’re my brother, Ryan.” She says it to the catalog in front of her, palm pressed against the marked page. “And no matter what you say, no matter what you do, I’m never going to stop loving you.” She finally looks at me, dropping her hand away from the counter with a sigh. “I’m not going anywhere—and neither are you.” Turning away from me, she collects her coat from the back of the couch and shrugs it on. “Since you’re moved in, you can be here to receive a delivery tomorrow morning.” She fixes her coat collar before slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t bother refusing it, it’s already been paid for and they’ll be instructed to call Conner if you give them trouble.”

Because Con’s the only Gilroy who won’t back down when I start raging. He’s the only one who’ll trade me, punch for punch. “So now you’re sic’ing your boyfriend on me?”

“Yes.” She gives me a flat smile, the kind you give someone when you’re sick of their shit but still trying to be polite. “It’s going right in that room—” she points to a set of barn doors next to the bathroom I haven’t noticed until now. “but whether you use it or not is entirely up to you.”

Before I can ask her what the hell she’s talking about, Henley turns and away from me and walks out the door.

Fifteen

Grace

“Mom.”

My eyes pop open when I hear her voice because that’s what happens when your kid whispers your name when you’re sleeping. You wake up in an instant, heart crammed in your throat because, even if you don’t know what, you’re sure something is wrong.

Molly is standing over me and I don’t even have to look at the clock to know it’s early. Waking up at the crack of dawn is typical Molly but she usually lets me sleep, at least until sunrise.

“What is it?” Struggling to sit up, I push my legs over the side of the bed so I can stand. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sunday,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “When can we go to the Aunt Mary and Uncle Paddy’s for dinner?”

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