Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (14 page)

Blake nodded in acknowledgment. He looked
around her and noticed that there was an empty space on her other
side. It appeared that she was alone, too. Blake took comfort in
that, then realized that taking comfort in her discomfort was
probably not the right thing to do. His confidence faltered, and he
reminded himself again of why he was there.
Sally and
Rusty
.

The service moved swiftly and sadly through
forty-five minutes of memories and meaningful passages from family
members. The woman sitting next to him cried throughout. Blake
tried his hardest to listen to every word, but in his mind danced
images of Dave and their last day on the slopes. He should have
seen his angst; he should have stopped him, demanded that they ski
together. But that wasn’t who Blake was. He’d been too wrapped up
in his own thoughts to reach out, and now he’d lost him.
This is
not about you
, he reminded himself.
Sally and Rusty lost
him
.

After the service, Blake stepped from his
seat and offered his hand to the older woman to help her up.

“Thank you,” she said in a trembling voice.
“I hate these services, and at my age, I’m going to them every
week.”

“Did you know Dave well?” Blake asked.

“Not really. I saw him coming and going from
his car each week, but he was close with my neighbor, so I wanted
to pay my respects.” They headed toward the door.

“Is your neighbor here?” Blake asked.

“Yes, back row.” She nodded toward a small,
blond woman. “Poor dear. She’s had a tough time of it. I don’t know
what she’ll do now.”

Blake didn’t recognize the woman, though he
wouldn’t, he realized. Outside of a few ski buddies, he had no idea
who Dave spent time with. According to Dave, not many people
besides his family. But wouldn’t she have sat with the family if
she were close to them? He watched the woman pull on her heavy,
wool coat and rush out of the building alone.

After the cemetery service, Blake approached
Sally. He was glad he had the umbrella to hold on to. He needed
something to focus on besides the fact that his best friend was
being put into the ground. He wished Sally had waited until spring,
giving them all time to accept Dave’s passing. She’d been adamant
about his immediate burial, and though he understood her need for
closure, it didn’t help alleviate the sick feeling in his
stomach.

He hugged Sally. “I’m really sorry.” He
wondered if Sally blamed him, but dared not ask. He didn’t really
want to know the answer.

Sally nodded, unable to speak beyond her
tears. She clung to him and cried. Blake held her, while Rusty
watched him out of the corner of his eye. Blake knew Rusty worried
that he'd tell Sally about him skipping practice. Even Blake knew
this was not the time or place for such discussions. He winked at
Rusty to ease his mind and watched the boy’s worry slip into a
relieved nod.

Sally pulled back from Blake, wiping her
eyes.

“Dave would be glad you’re here,” she
said.

Blake noticed that she didn’t say she was
glad he was there.
This is about his family, not you
. “He
was a good man, Sally. I wish I could have stopped—”

Sally shook her head, fresh tears spilling
down her cheeks. “Don’t. You couldn’t have stopped him. This was
probably a long time coming.”

“What do you…”

She leaned in close, out of Rusty's earshot.
“There were problems between me and Dave.” She searched his eyes,
and Blake wondered if she saw his disbelief; then she continued.
“We really need to talk.”

Blake’s voice failed him. Sally pursed her
lips the way women do when they’re holding back violent sobs. Her
chest hitched. Blake shot a look at Rusty, who was now standing far
away from them with his head bowed, facing the parking lot.
Dave, what was going on?

“Sally…I didn’t know,” Blake began.

Sally shook her head, then looked at Rusty.
“Don’t. Sunday? Rusty is going to a friend’s house for the
afternoon. Can you come by around one?”

Blake felt like he was standing on the edge
of the slopes, and one step in the wrong direction would send him
tumbling over the cliff.
This is about Sally and Rusty, not
me
. “Of course. Sure.”

Michelle answered the door with teary eyes
and a red nose Sunday morning. Danica’s therapist senses perked up.
“What’s wrong?” She walked into the foyer.

“Grandma’s sick,” Michelle explained through
tears.

“How sick? Is she here?” Danica looked around
the small room, then glanced in the kitchen.

“She’s in her bedroom.” Michelle led Danica
into the living room, where she sat on the sofa. Family photographs
hung above a small fireplace. The carpet beneath their feet was
golden and worn, the dingy color of mustard powder. A piano sat off
to the side, with photographs of Michelle at all ages and ones of
her mother as a younger woman.

“Michelle, is she okay? Should I take her to
the hospital?” Danica waited for an explanation as Michelle
sniffled and wiped her eyes.

She shook her head. “No, she doesn’t have a
fever or anything. She’s just tired and has a sore throat.”

Danica breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank
goodness. You scared me. But why the tears? Is there something else
going on?” She watched Michelle’s face for signs of trouble, and
beneath the tears, her cheeks trembled. “Michelle, what is it? You
can tell me.”

“It’s just…” She swiped at her eyes. “It’s
stupid, I know, but…I can’t help thinking…what if Grandma dies? Who
will take care of me?”

Danica had worried about that herself. The
truth was, Michelle had no other family members to turn to. She’d
likely go into the foster system until she was eighteen…unless her
mother could pull her shit together.

“You can’t think like that. Your grandmother
is not old, by any means, and a cold is hardly something to worry
about.”

Michelle grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand.” She stood and walked into the
dining room.

Danica followed. “Michelle, honey, I do
understand your worry, but that’s not going to happen.”

Michelle turned on her with spiteful eyes.
“You don’t know that! You can’t know that. No one can!”

“That’s true, but let’s talk about this. Your
mom is still in the picture. She might—”

“Right, my mother? Do you even know who
you’re talking about? She’s been in rehab twice. She never sticks
around. When she does get clean, it’s only long enough to find
another nasty, drunk man she can shack up with, and I’m left
wondering how long until the next time.” Michelle collapsed into a
chair. “My life sucks.”

“Michelle, your mom is not in rehab anymore.
It was your choice not to live with her this time. She worked two
jobs before to make ends meet. It’s not that she wasn’t there for
you; she was providing for you. Raising a child alone is hard.”

“See, you’re on her side,” Michelle
accused.

“No, I’m not. It’s just that I’m sure she’s
doing the best she can, and maybe you should give her a chance.
When was the last time you saw her?” She realized Michelle hadn’t
mentioned seeing her in months.

“I’m
not
going to see her. I’m the
teenager! I’m the one who’s supposed to do stupid things, not her!”
Michelle stood and crossed her arms, sobbing and huffing in
anger.

Danica threw up her hands. “Damn her!” She
watched Michelle’s eyes grow wide. “How dare she ignore your needs!
What the hell is she thinking? Who does she think she is?” She
crossed her arms as Michelle dropped hers.

“What are you doing?” Michelle asked in a
give-me-a-break voice.

“I’m pissed. She put you in this situation.
The hell with disease or addictions that she can’t control. Grow
up, Mom!”

“You don’t believe that.”

The anger in Michelle’s voice began to
dissipate, and Danica pressed on. “I’m serious. To hell with the
crutch of addiction. She needs to grow the hell up and take charge
of her responsibilities. Your poor grandmother is lying in bed,
sick, worrying over her granddaughter and her daughter, and what’s
your mother doing? Going in and out of some rehab facility, paid
for by you know who,” she pointed to Nola’s bedroom. “Probably
loving every God-forsaken minute of that comfortable
lifestyle.”

“She can’t help it. She’s addicted.”

Inside, Danica silently cheered Michelle on
for standing up for her mother, but she said, “Yes, she can! She
can stop drinking. She can make a decision to stop working so much
when she is sober and to be around more for you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying! You’re
a therapist. You should know addiction isn’t a choice!” Michelle
seethed.

Good. Let it out.
“You said it
yourself. A few weeks ago, you said she made those initial choices
and she could fix them, remember? What if Nola dies?” She rolled
her eyes, pretending to be appalled.

“I was mad. She can’t help herself. And
Grandma isn’t going to die. You’re supposed to help me, not freak
me out.” Michelle stomped back to the living room.

Danica remained in the dining room, arms
crossed, hip jutting out like an angry teen. She watched Michelle
slowly turn around, a smile creeping across her lips.

“I know what you’re doing, you know. I get
the whole,” she waved her hands up and down at Danica,
“pretending-to-be-me thing you’re doing.”

Danica shrugged, then smiled. “Do you blame
me?”

“Yes!” Michelle said, then slumped down onto
the couch.

Danica sat beside her and put her arm around
her shoulder, pulling her close. “We can’t pick our parents, and
you do have something to think about. I don’t think Nola is going
anywhere, but maybe we should go see your mom.”

“I don’t want to,” Michelle admitted.

“Okay, but remember, you’re not alone. Your
mom is trying, and this time maybe she’s found her way to the
brighter side. You’ll never know unless you give her a chance.”

Michelle didn’t respond. She just sank into
the couch, moving closer to Danica, and to Danica’s surprise, she
let her arm remain around her. Danica liked the feel of Michelle
against her. She remembered sitting in that same position with her
own mother, and the comfort it brought was undeniable. She wasn’t
Michelle’s mother, but she was glad she was there for her.

After Michelle calmed down, Danica spent a
few private minutes with Nola. She was lying in her bed, fully
dressed, with a blanket across just her lap. Her head was propped
up on a pillow, and she was reading comfortably.

“How are you feeling?” Danica asked.

“Oh, not great, but not horrible. I have a
bad cold, and it’s sort of drained me. I’m fine, really, just very
tired. I heard it all, and I feel for her. All that mommy drama can
turn any girl inside out.”

Danica partially closed the door behind her.
“How is her mom?”

“It’s tough to say. She seems to really be on
the straight and narrow now, but, you know.”

“But you’ve seen her?” Danica took in the
doilies on the dresser and the heavy cardigan thrown over a rocking
chair in the corner. Did every grandmother own a rocker? The
meticulously kept bedroom reminded Danica of her grandmother and of
how much she missed her.

“Oh, yes. What do you think I do while
Michelle is with you?” She set down the book and patted the thin,
flowery bedspread.

Danica sat down.

“You know, this comes as no surprise. My
husband was an alcoholic. Fifty-two years, until it finally killed
him. I hate that Nancy followed in his path.”

“It’s not really a choi—”

“I’ve heard it all, and I get it. It’s in the
genes or some such thing. I don’t really understand it, but I hate
it just the same.” She looked toward the window, as if she were
watching a memory unfold. “Nancy is a good person. She was such a
good girl growing up. She didn’t drink or anything until right
after Michelle was born. I don’t know. Maybe it was too much for
her, raising a baby and all. I should have been around for her
more.” Nola sat up and put her hand on Danica’s leg. “We do what we
can, right?”

“Nola, you lived two hours from her when
Michelle was born, didn’t you? Michelle told me about it.”

“Yes, she’s right. But mommy guilt runs deep.
I try to do right by Michelle. She’s a good girl at heart. I worry,
though, about her drinking like her mother.” Nola picked up a glass
of water from the nightstand and took a sip.

“I worry, too. She’s watching her own life
unravel around her. I think if we teach Michelle about the dangers,
the likelihood of it happening to her…She’s a smart girl. I think
she’ll figure it out.” Danica hoped her words were true.

“Or, she won’t.” Nola looked at her and
shrugged. “One thing I’ve learned in my life is that we can teach
and hope and pray, but in the end, each person controls their own
actions.”

“Would it be okay if I went to see Nancy?”
Danica wasn’t sure if she’d go through with it, but she was
contemplating whether it might help.

“Of course. Nancy is thrilled that you're in
Michelle’s life. I think she really wants to turn her life around,
but I also think it’s a nasty cycle. Michelle’s getting older and
she disregards her mother, and that sets her mother back. And
really, it’s Nancy’s own fault.” She set down the book. “Any advice
for an old woman?”

Danica sighed. “I don’t know. Keep loving
her; keep teaching her.” She looked at the picture on the
nightstand of Nola, her husband, and Nancy when she was an infant.
“Better yet, keep loving them both, and keep teaching them both.
Everyone needs familial support.” As she said that, she was
thinking of Kaylie, not Nancy.

Blake’s legs bounced nervously beneath
Sally’s kitchen table. The house was thick with the scent of
bouquets, which covered the top of every inch of counter space in
the kitchen.