“I remember. We were in front of Savannah Country Day, waiting for Mom to pick us up. Mr. Fucking Ragdale pulls up in his Ford Pinto—a Ford Pinto, Regan! And I said, ‘Don’t get in his car,’ and you said, ‘I have to,’ and I said, ‘Don’t do it,’ and you said…”
“What? What did I say?”
Cord lowered his voice as if he were telling a dirty secret. “You said that if it weren’t for Mr. Ragdale, there wouldn’t be anyone. That without him, you would be invisible.”
“Oh,” said Regan. “I don’t remember that.”
“And you left. You got in the Pinto, Reeg. And you were wrong, because I was right there andIsaw you!” Cord looked at an empty bottle of Barefoot Chardonnay he’d left on the little white desk. He yearned for the way two to three glasses of wine blurred everything, made life bearable, silenced his essential loneliness. “I was right there,” he repeated.
“I—”
“But me seeing you didn’t matter. How do you think that made me feel?”
“And I bet Mom was late. To pick you up.”
“That she was.”
“I love you, brother.”
“I know.”
Cord turned the page of Regan’s scrapbook. He saw a drawing of a container of Elmer’s glue, but in the place of the label, Regan had pasted Cord’s graduation photo. Cord shook his head. He had once been the family coagulant. “Listen, Reeg,” he said. “Let’s be each other’s sponsor. When I want to drink, I’ll call you. When you want to text this guy, call me.”
Regan was silent. “And you’ll answer?”
“I’ll take Mom’s Jetta to the AT&T store in town right now,” said Cord. “I’ll get a new phone, and you’ll be the first person I call.”
“I’ll answer, too,” said Regan. “Even at threea.m.Whenever.”
“Thanks,” said Cord.
“I see you,” said Regan. Cord nodded and wordlessly hung up the phone. He surprised himself by starting to cry.
The first day, he texted Regan almost constantly. But he didn’t drink. They gave each other ridiculous challenges:At Jalapeños in Skidaway, order the most expensive item on the menu(Ultra Molcajete with steak, chicken, shrimp, and nopales; a delicious splurge at $26) andGo buy the grossest Greek snack and send a pic(oregano chips with banana cola).
For twenty-four hours, they were OK.
70
Regan
The first thing Regan thoughtabout when she opened her eyes in the morning was François. Was hereallya scammer, or was there a possibility that somehow…she was loved…that everything sheunderstoodwas an elaborate fraud was…in some universe…real? His lavish attention had felt good. She wanted him to be real. Every minute she kept François blocked was like a sad, lonely year.
She missed him, and it hurt. There was no joy to take the place of François, only crushing shame, endless days to make it through, and worry.
At least her brother understood. She texted Cord:don’t want to get out of bed.
He responded immediately:So don’t
Regan grinned. She heard her girls getting ready for school but the thought of joining them was too hard. Without François, no one wished herGood morning.No one said,You are beautiful.Her daughters hated her, and with good reason. Cord texted again:Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I just have a martini like a normal person?
Because you’re a very special alcoholic,Regan wrote.
Lucky me,wrote Cord.
What time is it there?
3AM
