“I’m s-sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your d-date.” Her shoulders jerked in the way they do when one struggles to cry, breathe, and talk at the same time.
“Don’t worry about it, Journey.” Another pang of guilt fluttered through my body as I remembered I’d just wished she hadn’t been there.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything, Grace. Everything’s wrong.” Curling up, she placed her head in my lap and cried even harder, wrapping her arms around me.
“Journey—”
“I know I’m just like Mama.” She sniffled. “I don’t wanna be, Grace. I don’t wanna be sick like her.”
I blinked away the tears forming, not wanting to delve into my own sadness and fear over my sister’s condition. She needed me to be there for her right then.
“Journey, look at me,” I prodded while pulling her arms free of my waist so she could position herself to sit up. “What makes you think you’re like Mama?” I asked once she calmed down.
I hadn’t wanted to force my opinion on her, knowing that it would make her even more reluctant to come to me for help. We both grew up with our mama, living in fear each day of what we would walk into because her moods were so all over the place. That only got worse once my father abandoned us.
“I know it, Grace. I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t want you to be mad, but a few months ago, I-I quit my job and then maxed out all my credit cards, buying a new wardrobe and taking my friends out on shopping sprees. Then I met a guy and that’s when I followed him to Chicago.”
“And then you came here?”
She nodded. “I felt myself getting sadder and sadder each day. I wanted to be closer to you, so I used meeting him here as an excuse. Then I just …”
“Couldn’t outrun it anymore.”
She shook her head. “I was so tired.”
Remembering how much she slept after I found her nearly passed out at my front door, I nodded. She slept for almost two days straight, aside from being prodded to wake up to eat.
“I remember. I was young, Grace, and you tried to hide as much as you could from me, but I remember coming home to Mama dancing on the table while she repainted our ceiling. And then how she cursed at you when you tried to get her down. She yelled at you to get her another beer from the fridge. And then the time she couldn’t get out of bed, crying for hours and days at a time. And how she made you …”
“Sing,” I sighed.
Journey nodded. “I remember that glossy look in her eyes when she got like that because I know that feeling.”
Journey’s red-rimmed eyes filled with tears again and her bottom lip quivered.
“Have you gone to a doctor, Journey?”
She looked away from me before shaking her head. “Will you go with me? I think I can go if you’re there.”
Inhaling deeply, I wrapped my arms around my sister, rocking her back and forth as her body began to tremble again from the crying. “Of course, I’ll go with you, Journey.”
This wasn’t all bad news. My mother never wanted to seek treatment. Not like we could’ve afforded it after my father left, anyway. While he’d been there, he would tell me things like, “There’s nothing wrong with your mama. She’s just worn out from raising you kids,” or, “She’s a little extravagant. Most kids would be thrilled to have a mama that’s not so boring all the time.”
I shook my head, remembering that even then, at seven years old, I knew something wasn’t right with my family.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
“Hi, Grace, this is Dr. Mitchell’s office, calling to remind you that it’s time for your annual tests. Please give us a call back so we can get that set up as soon as possible. The number is …” Pulling the phone from my ear, I pressed the button to save the message, as a jolt of nervousness ran through my belly. I swallowed and inhaled deeply, trying to remind myself that it was only some testing I was making the appointment for. I needed to be as strong for myself as I was for my sister this morning.
“Hey.”
I turned and my worry was replaced by joy when I was met with Jacob’s hard gaze on me. My smile widened at the cup of coffee he held out to me. I could already smell the vanilla flavoring coming from the steam that rose through the little mouth opening of the lid.
“I forgot to have this this morning,” I said, plucking the cup from his hand and holding it up to him before taking my first sip. “Thank you.” Closing my eyes, I sighed, feeling warmed already.
