Lacey’s pen clicked. “I’m sorry, Alice.”
The stark apology knocked Alice’s world out from under her and then she was falling. Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the agonizing cry that rose, seeking an exit. Brutal despair ripped and tore, and tentacles of pain spread their way through her, leaving no cell untouched. They found the images of her longed-for babies—pictures she’d created in her mind years ago. Babies she loved. Children she’d woven hopes and dreams around as much for them as for herself. Children she loved so deeply she’d navigated the app-driven dating scene, sifting through every type of man, optimistically searching for the one she loved, who loved her and who wanted children too.
Meeting Tim whose online persona hid the liar within.
Her heart broke and the images of her little boy and girl pixelated slowly, square by square, disintegrating in front of her eyes then falling like a shattered pane of glass. Irreparable. Irreversible. Gone forever.
Chapter Eighteen
Jess checked her email, her eyes searching for a reply from Libby. Nothing. Again.
It was four days since Jess had sent her email. After corresponding with Libby this way for seven months, Jess knew the drill. Libby’s fastest response was forty-eight hours and her longest was seventy-two. Now she was agonizing over the best next step. If she re-sent the email, would Libby reset the clock and make her wait another two or more days? Would sending it weaken her already vulnerable position in this triad? But what if the first email was circling, lost in the ether of cyberspace and Libby had never received it?
Not knowing was doing Jess’s head in.
During all the years she’d known Libby, not once had she ever considered her capable of behaving without empathy. Of knowingly inflicting pain. But this was a side of her friend she’d never glimpsed before, let alone seen. A parade of words teenage Jess had once reserved for her mother, her mother’s friends and half the women in the town—mean and thoughtless bitches one and all—played in her head, every one of them directed at Libby. They demanded to be screamed until her throat burned and her voice was hoarse. The only thing stopping her was that Leo was in the house. She didn’t want to scare him.
Jess’s gaze moved hungrily to the tawny liquid in the rum bottle. She was already imagining the fiercely hot flames burning in her chest, before they dimmed to cozy warmth and snuggled around her like a soft baby blanket. She was in no doubt the rum would take the edge off her sorrow and disappointment that, yet again, Libby was refusing to meet and talk. It would deaden the pain that although Nick loved Leo, she could no longer hide from the fact he didn’t love her. Although in this instance, the rum was a catch twenty-two. It reminded her of a younger Nick who’d enjoyed her company and her body as much as she’d enjoyed his. A drink would soften the ongoing disappointment that when it came to Libby, Nick was a weak and controlled man. Why else wasn’t he fighting harder for Leo?
It would numb the pain that she was the only person in her son’s corner.
And God help her, she wanted the oblivion the alcohol promised—she craved its anesthetizing reassurance.
“Screw it.” She reached for the bottle.
“Mommy.” Leo held out a plastic plate. “Num, now?”
Shame drenched her. Dear God, it was only lunchtime and she was contemplating her first drink. She made Leo a peanut butter sandwich, but she didn’t bother making herself anything. Her appetite had vanished a while ago—stress making her nauseous both with and without food. Given her unwanted weight gain, she was working on the theory that her body could use that fat as fuel instead of food. She cut up some fruit. Once he was safe and happy in his highchair, she grabbed the step ladder and the bottle of rum, climbed up and shoved the alcohol into the far recesses of the cupboard over the fridge. Stepping down, she folded the ladder and took it outside to the shed. The more obstacles she put between herself and a drink, the better for Leo.
“I am not Linda. I am not Linda. I refuse to be Linda,” she chanted under her breath.
Only right now she knew she’d come as close to following Linda down that self-destructive path as she’d ever come before. By the time Jess turned sixteen, her mother was specializing in day drinking. That Jess was even considering it terrified her. Should she go to a meeting? She shuddered at the thought. This town was too bloody small and if she was seen coming out of the old community center on a Friday night, it would only reinforce the long-held prejudices of narrow-minded people.
“Talk to someone” was the advice Al-Anon had given her as a teen. But who? Patrice? Jess rejected the thought the moment it landed. She didn’t know the woman well enough and she couldn’t afford to lose her job. The hot oil of anger spat all over her fear. This was Libby’s fault. How dare she put Leo at risk like this when she knew what Jess had been through as a kid!
Libby was a doctor, for God’s sake. Libby knew that children of alcoholics likely had a predisposition to addiction and yet, it wasn’t stopping her from treating Jess like she had no rights in this situation. The easiest day of the week not to drink was Thursdays. Access day for Leo and exclusion day for Jess. It should have been the hardest day to stay sober, but it was the knowledge that Karen was visiting that kept Jess
