Page 5 of Steadfast

Good times.

Our furniture was older, it had been a while since we updated anything, but none of it was trashed. I hummed to myself as I vacuumed in between the couch cushions, refusing to think about how long it had been since we’d cleaned up the crumbs. I was pretty sure we hadn’t had fish crackers in the last six months, but more than a few rattled up the vacuum hose.

I cleaned for hours. Vacuuming, dusting, and throwing toys and balls and dolls into the rooms they belonged in. It was kind of relaxing. There was something meditative about cleaning while the house was quiet around me and instantly seeing the results of my hard work.

Sometimes it felt like I was swimming against the current. I’d finished school, but without a graduation, it fell a little flat. I worked and got paid every two weeks, but almost instantly that money was gone toward fuel for my car, kid expenses—they constantly needed shit—and groceries. I was moving, always moving, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

I’d come to the realization two years ago that I would be living in the same house with the same life until Aisling graduated. It wasn’t something I thought about much, it justwas. Unless something drastic changed with our mother, there would never be a time when I could leave my baby sister to deal with Mom’s bullshit alone.

I hadn’t broken that news to Richie yet. He was full of dreams of getting an apartment together after he’d landed an apprenticeship and was making more money. He wanted to get married. Have a few kids. Take vacations. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere for at least ten more years.

Halfway through cleaning the downstairs bathroom, the doorbell rang, startling me into hitting my head on the shelf above the toilet.

“Fuck,” I hissed, raising my hand to make sure I wasn’t bleeding.

I contemplated ignoring whoever was at the door. I really didn’t want to deal with someone trying to sell me something. A few moments later, though, I was walking out of the bathroom, my hands still covered in rubber gloves. With the kids at school, I couldn’t ignore someone trying to contact me in case there was something wrong with one of them.

I swung open the door, and my stomach dropped so hard I was instantly nauseous. The sweater set, slacks with a crease set precisely down the center, clipboard, and fake smile told me exactly who the woman on our front porch was.

“Hello, I’m Judy, and this is Lola. We’re from child and family services,” the woman said, not unkindly. “We’ve gotten a couple of calls, and I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk with us?”

CHAPTER 2

Aoife

The kids weresitting around Saoirse’s school laptop, wringing every last minute of time they had before she had to return it on the last day of school when my mom finally showed up. She was half drunk and wearing the same clothes I’d seen her leave the house in four days before. She also looked half dead, her eyes bloodshot and her skin gray. The back of her hair was matted, and she had scratches down her arms that I was willing to bet she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten.

I’d learned to say hello and leave her alone when she came home like that. She wasn’t up for company, she didn’t give a shit what she’d missed while she was gone, and trying to talk to her was a fruitless and frustrating endeavor.

I forgot all of that when she walked through the front door.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” she snapped, shaking her head.

“Mammy!” Aisling yelled, scrambling off the couch to run at our mother.

My stomach twisted with a mixture of sadness and worry as she caught Mom around the waist, squeezing her tight.

“Hi, my baby,” my mom crooned.

That tone used to make me nostalgic, now it just makes me angry.

“I’m waiting,” I said, ignoring the way Aisling glared at me.

“Good for you,” Mom scoffed. “I’m starving. We got anything to eat?”

“Kitchen’s closed,” Cian said tightly, stomping down the stairs. “Why don’t you go out and pick somethin’ up? While you’re at it, grab somethin’ for your kids, too.”

“Cian,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Getting a little big for your britches there, son,” Mom replied, staring him down.

“Funny you should say that,” Cian snapped back. “Since I’ve got no fuckin’ jeans that fit. You gonna help out with that, or leave it to Aoife to take care of it like everythin’ else?”

I fuckingknewhe didn’t all of a sudden decide shorts were his favorite thing to wear.

“You’re not helping,” I told Cian firmly, waiting until he looked at me to widen my eyes at him. “Can you take the kids upstairs and make sure they don’t eavesdrop? I need to talk to Mom.”

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