* * *
When I got home that evening, Aunt Grace was sorting through some of the papers that had collected on her bookshelf. Piles of old junk mail littered the kitchen table, and when she greeted me, she pushed her reading glasses up into her hair.
“Organizing papers,” I said brightly. “That’s great. It’s on the list, right?”
She laughed to herself. “What isn’t on that list?”
We’d managed to get Aunt Grace to a couple of meetings with a psychiatrist and, together, written a list of tasks she’d like to complete to get her life back in order. Mainly, the doctor we found through the clinic was interested in monitoring her medicines and tinkering with her dosages. But I was still glad to walk away with some concrete things to accomplish, especially once we realized that having an organized home lessened some of her anxiety.
“Can I help?” I asked, pushing a few dusty envelopes aside.
“Just take a seat,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have to figure these out on my own.” She held up a sheet of yellow paper from a legal pad. “Like this, for instance. Should I finally finish the chores on this to-do list? It’s five years old.”
I chuckled, then took the paper from her. “I don’t know. Did you ever get more eggs?”
We joked around for a while about the mess she was sorting through and teased each other for the disorganization that seemed to be part of our family inheritance. It made me happy just to be able to joke about things, instead of walking around on tiptoe like I had been, uncertain what might upset her. Between the cleaning projects at home and the progress we’d made with her doctors, I was feeling optimistic that she would be back on her feet sooner than expected.
“Aunt Grace?” I asked. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”
She turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Sure, Rip. What’s up?”
I frowned, not certain how to say what I needed to say. “I saw someone from when I was younger today, someone from high school, before I dropped out. It brought a lot back.”
“I can imagine,” she said. “You were in a tough place then.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” I said. “I kept thinking about how you supported me and made space for me even when you were having your own hard times. And, well, Aunt Grace, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I ran away.”
She paused and laid her hand flat on the table. “Why, Rip, you don’t need to apologize for that.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I do. Not for leaving. That was something I was going to do, no matter what. But for leaving without telling you, and without giving you a proper goodbye.”
Aunt Grace nodded a few times. “That was difficult for me. It hurt, I won’t lie, and the worry that followed the hurt was even worse. But Rip, you remember. I would have taken you into my home without a second thought, but back then, it wasn’t a home you would have been safe in.”
My nostrils flared out as I thought of the guy she’d dated during my high school years. “But maybe if I had been here, I could have protected you from Hank,” I said. “Maybe I could have taken care of you, like you took care of me. Maybe you won’t have relapsed.”
“You’re helping to take care of me now,” she said. “But please, Rip, don’t beat yourself up for that. I forgive you, of course, although I’m not sure I forgive myself. I was the adult, after all.”
I reached out to take her hand in mine. “I’m just glad you’re done with men like that.”
Aunt Grace winced, then released my hand and turned away. “I am done with men like that,” she said. “But you know, Rip, it was him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hank. The man I was dating when you ran away. He tried to come back around. Showed up drunk, pounding on the door in the middle of the night. Hollering up a storm.” She shook her head, and exhaustion fell across her face. “That’s what caused the breakdown.”
Anger filled my chest, like fire in a furnace. “I’ll kill him,” I said. “How dare he come back after what he did. Just tell me where he—”
“Rip,” she said sharply. “It’s over. He’s gone. And he won’t try that again.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked. My muscles tensed in my neck as I thought of his face, already haggard from drugs and booze when Aunt Grace first dated him. “Is he still in Seattle?”
Aunt Grace pursed her lips together in a smile. “My girlfriends took care of it. They got together with some of their guys to pay him a little visit and let him know what was right.”
I stared at Aunt Grace for a minute and then erupted into laughter. “Even in the middle of your breakdown,” I said, “you’re still a badass.”
Aunt Grace smiled to herself. “And don’t you forget it.”
I reached out to take her hand again, then squeezed softly. “Thanks for telling me. And thanks for listening. I always felt guilty about leaving you, Aunt Grace. I hope you know I still loved you and still thought of you every day, even if I wasn’t around to show it.”
“We’re stronger together,” she agreed. “Always have been. And that’s what matters, Rippy.”
“What is?”
“Stay close to the people you love,” she said. “The rest will work itself out.”
