The Darker Side

'I'll be sure and tip them well, honey-love, don't you worry.'

Callie stands at the door of the bathroom. She's pale and she has the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, but she looks more steady than she has so far.

'How are you feeling?' I ask.

'Like something approaching human. Finally. I think I'll be ready to leave this hellhole tomorrow.'

Kirby and I have been taking shifts with her. We've taken turns holding her while she shook and sweated and cursed. We've held her hair back while she vomited. Once, I stroked her hair while she wept at the wanting.

'Geez, about time,' Kirby says. 'This has really put a crimp in my sex life.'

'Mine too,' I say.

'Yes, yes, yes,' Callie replies. 'I haven't seen my man in the buff since this began either. We'll all be returning to our respective lovers soon.'

'How's your back?' I ask her. 'Any pain?'

She comes and sits down on the bed.

'There hasn't been any pain in my back for a long time, Smoky. The Vicodin became about the Vicodin.'

'Wow, so you were a bona fide junkie, huh?' Kirby says.

'I loved my little white pills, it's true, but thankfully, I love my man more. Speaking of which--where do we stand on the wedding?'

'All systems go. Your daughter has been helping with the last details. Brady tried to slip in an invitation to your parents, but I caught it and pulled it from the pile.'

'Thank you.'

'I aim to please. Anyway, no worries. Everything's set. You just need to get the heck out of here, hit the gym, maybe do a little tanning . . .'

'I don't 'do tanning,' ' Callie says. I'm happy to hear some of the haughtiness back in her voice. It's a good sign.

'Whatever. You want to look like the corpse bride, it's your funeral. I mean wedding.'

'All redheads are pale complected,' Callie protests.

'There's a difference between 'pale' and 'junkie white,' ' Kirby retorts.

'Is it really that bad?' She sounds distressed.

Kirby sighs. 'You're going to make me be nice, aren't you? No, it's not that bad, I'm just giving you a hard time, Callie-babe. Truth is, you look great even though you've been sweating and puking and stuff. I kind of hate you for it.'

Callie smiles. 'Made you feel bad, made you say it.' She sticks her tongue out at Kirby.

'Bitch,' Kirby observes.

There's a lull in the conversation. Callie stares down at her hands, obviously working up to saying something.

'Listen close, because you'll only hear it once,' she says. 'Thank you both for this. I couldn't have done it alone.'

'You're welcome,' I tell her.

'No problemo,' Kirby chirps. 'Besides, I got to see you down on your knees, praying to the porcelain god.' She chortles. 'Wish I could have gotten that on camera.'

Callie makes a face, and more good-natured bickering ensues. I listen with half an ear, smiling in the right places. Three women, all proud, all a little damaged . . . the burden of our secrets becomes heavy so easily. We don't trust enough to share, and there are parts of us that we keep for ourselves, things our men will never know, however much we love them. Things we prefer, most of the time, not even to share with each other.

But it's nice to know, if those burdens become too great, that we have someplace to go, someone who'll listen to our whispers in their ears and take our secrets to their graves.

'I COULD GET USED TO this, babe. What do you think?'

'Finding a man who can cook is definitely easier than having to learn yourself,' Bonnie agrees.

Tommy is making us an Italian dinner. The meat sauce has my mouth watering, and the smell of homemade garlic bread wafts through the house.

'My mom made me learn,' he calls from the kitchen. 'She said cooking for a woman is a fast way to impress her.'

'Smart mom,' I say.

'Yes, she is.'

'When are we going to be meeting her?' Bonnie asks. I glance at Tommy.

'Why do you ask, honey?'

She rolls her eyes at me. 'You must really think I'm retarded, Momma-Smoky. You guys are moving in together, right?'

I scowl. 'Who told? Callie? Kirby?'

She smiles. 'Give me some credit, guys.'

I chew on my thumbnail, nervous. Tommy remains silent.

'Sorry, babe. We were going to tell you soon. How do you feel about that?'

This has been my final concern, the last worry. Bonnie may love Tommy, but it's been just her and me for two years now. We've built our life together. We've needed each other. I've worried how she'd feel about this change.

She walks back over to me and takes my hand. Her smile says everything I need to know.

'I think it's great. Really, really great. Besides--he can cook.'

LATE AT NIGHT AND TOMMY sleeps beside me. Through that window I can see the moon again, that ageless, ancient moon. People have danced under it, fucked under it, killed under it, loved under it, died under it. The moon keeps shining; life goes on. I'm thinking about my mom. I wonder why helping her die was less of a burden to me than the abortion. It's the one secret I'd never told, not even to Matt. Now I've told it to a monster, which seems to fit my life. It's never weighed on me that much. It is something that happened, that I don't think about often.

Was it wrong?

I look for the answer, and find the only one I've ever found: I don't care.

She stopped suffering. That's all that really mattered to me, in the end.

I cried at her funeral. I haven't cried for her since. I don't cry now either, but I let myself feel her absence, just a little. I miss you, Mom. Dad was a great dad, but I was always my mother's daughter.

Tommy stirs next to me. I smile.

He's a good man, Mom. Different from Matt. Not better or worse. Just dif- ferent.

My life is messy. I realize I've been trying to put everyone away, to stuff them into their little boxes and cover them with earth. What a waste. The ghosts are there, they'll always be there, and they'll show themselves when they feel like it.

The trick is to continue without the pain of enduring. Like the moon.

It continues to shine and I tell the ghosts to go to sleep now. I turn into Tommy and let myself fall into his warmth.

Welcome back, traveler, someone whispers.

'Mom?' I mumble once before tumbling into a dreamless sleep. The moon shines on.

One Final Thing:

THE SINS

of

KIRBY MITCHELL

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