Page 26 of Love Me Steadfast
Why didn’t she tell me it had gotten this bad?
After swiping at my tears, I shut the cabinet.
When I move to the bedroom, my despair turns to anger. It’s fucking gross in here. Dirty clothes, empty booze bottles, the mattress on the floor with dingy sheets and a rumpled blanket, one of the pillows sliced open to reveal the lumpy batting, some of it strewn over the floor.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I count to five, breathing through my mouth, then turn for the adjoining bathroom. The only reason I don’t puke up my donuts is because I don’t want to get any closer to the toilet. I open the tiny window and turn on the fan so I can tolerate a few minutes in here checking the labels on the pill bottles next to the sink.
It’s not as bad as Beth Dutton’s Season One arsenal, but it’s not far off. Half the meds are unfamiliar.Who the fuck is prescribing all these?Some aren’t even for Morgan. I take pictures of the labels to scrutinize later, then return to the bedroom. It’s when I go to the dresser to pack some clothes that I find what I’d most feared. It’s tucked in an old cigar box that, at one time, held our stamp and ink pad collection. Now, it contains boxes of large bandages, gauze, ointment, and the tool she’s been using to self harm.
I close the lid and return it to the drawer, then draw a shaky breath. Tears sting my eyes and I take a moment, bracing against the dresser, to let them fall.
This is my fault. I set my sister up for a battle she couldn’t win. I convinced her it was the best choice. But I should have known thesecrets would eat at her, corrode her bandwidth one frequency at a time.
What am I going to do? How can I help her?
Fifteen minutes later, my backseat is occupied by a duffel bag containing some of Morgan’s clothes and two garbage bags of laundry I’ll do at Will and Theo’s. Theo won’t like it but he wouldn’t dare try to stop me because where the fuck has he been? I know he’s busy with his residency, and he had to erect strict boundaries with Morgan after she broke his trust too many times, but he could have at least checked on her.
I walk to the barn, where our sixty-two year old former convict ranch hand Gus is cleaning stalls. His hair has gone completely white since my last visit, but he’s just as lean. He prefers horses to people, but I don’t hold that against him. He, on the other hand, holds plenty against me.
“Hey, Gus,” I say from the half-door.
He gives me a glance while scraping up a stripe of soiled floor with the big shovel. “Saw you drive up. How’s she doin’?”
“She’s hanging in there.”
He shovels up another load and dumps it into the wheelbarrow.
“You coulda called me,” I say.
His lips flatten. “What difference would it have made?”
I give him an exaggerated nod. He’s right. I should have picked up on the clues. I should have come to check on her. But with Henrik, and prepping for the Seattle Symphony audition, and…I stop myself, shaking my head. I’m here now.
I want to insist that I’m doing my best, but we both know it’s a lie. “Do you need anything?” I ask instead.
He lists off a couple of horse-related worries and a fence project we need to complete before winter. I’ll need to call the vet. The fence project I might be able to do myself. William’s plea to let him help sneaks into my thoughts. It’s been there all morning, lurking in the back of my mind. But he’s just taken on a major project himself withThe Limelight. That alone would be enough to keep him booked solid for the rest of his life, but he’s also a firefighter.
“The farrier,” Gus says, setting the shovel on top of the wheelbarrow. “Find a new one.”
“Why?” I ask, frowning. I open the half door so he can push the wheelbarrow through it.
“He started comin’ around, and not for scheduled visits.”
I scrunch my eyes so tight stars dance behind my lids. “Shit.”
“The last time I met him at the door with my shotgun.”
I don’t ask how a convicted felon got his hands on a shotgun. The truth is, I trust Gus more than I trust a lot of people. “I’ll handle it,” I tell him.
It’s no surprise Gus didn’t call the police, but if he had, would it have saved Morgan from herself?
Gus huffs, but I let his disdain roll off my back.
Once I’m driving away and reach the quieter pavement, I call Crosby.
“Charlie?” he answers, surprise in his tone. “Mom told me about Morgan. Are you back?”
“Just visiting,” I correct. Why does everyone assume I’ve moved home? “I…need a favor.”
