looking at her.

Chapter Fourteen

I had to choose my daughter over Matt. It sounds cruel, but that’s only because it’s true. Of course, I care more about Becca then Matt. It is unavoidable. She’s my daughter. If she ever ran into someone though who wasn’t related to her, would they still care and help her as I have?

Or have I ever really helped my daughter?

-Robbie’s Journal

Walter sat in the silence of the office, taking it all in.

Rebecca had told her story. It had taken close to an hour; she told him her life, filtering out the details that didn’t matter and only shared the brass tacks of the narrative. When she finished, she looked relieved, as though she had been waiting to share this story, though less of a story and more of a real-life experience that was crazy enough to be thought of as fiction.

He thought about maybe touching her shoulder or something, but he decided against it. When someone was like this, the best thing to do was to let them talk. Plenty of AA meetings had taught him that, and even more, hostile and violent AA confrontations had taught him even more. Don’t judge, let them speak, and then give your peace.

The air was quiet in the office. Through the window, small that it was, Walter could see that the snow was still falling hard. The force field around the stop seemed to be holding true. He didn’t know how it worked, but he knew that if that fell, then there would be problems, the likes of which he was unprepared for.

The whole tale reminded him of a tale he heard once at an AA meeting. It was on a Thursday, so he was already in bad spirits because of the Dunkin’ Donuts all around him.

Walter had a slice of Dutch apple pie in his fridge at home, and oh boy, did the Dutch know how to make a good apple pie. No one ever got apple pie for the apples. They got it for the sugary paste and crust around the apples, which more or less are in the way.

It had been one of Beth’s favorite treats.

This was a few weeks after Beth’s death, and Walter had been struggling hard. Now that she was gone, why not get back on the wagon? He kept his promise, went straight, but she never said anything about what he should do without her around. He had done it for himself, getting sober, but a large part of him also did it for her, and now she was gone.

A pure Canajoharie girl, she was. He remembered something his father told him about those people down south. They ask the world of you, and then they ask nothing, and yet nothing is more taxing, always more taxing.

Beth had been turned to ash for a while by then, and though Walter hated to admit, he was already starting to forget parts of her. Her voice was a big factor. On some of the old tapes of all four of them together, him, Beth, Annabelle, and Jack, he could hear her voice. Video recording at that point had been slim at best, but there were a couple of home movies. Her voice was there, but it was a younger voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in years, the younger Beth. Her voice sounded as alien to him as did the voices of his children. He watched it for a minute or so more, before putting the tape away.

A couple of people attended the funeral, but the majority of Beth’s and his friends had moved down south or had met the reaper before her. It was a small ceremony, with a few people Beth had known over the years and a couple of guys from AA.

And then the world moved on.

The ceremony ended, Walter took his urn, and headed for home.

He stopped at the liquor store first.

Walter hadn’t been in a liquor store for close to twenty years at that point. He had gone in them a couple of times when he was trying to get sober. More than anything, he was running the gauntlet, trying to see if he could be around the drinks without wanting to drink them, or rather wanting was fine and good as long as he never took care to fulfill those wants.

He walked into the store, noticed how much more expensive whiskey had gotten over the years, and bought some. He put the bottles in the backseat next to the urn.

He knew where to put the urn, but not the bottles. They felt right to have a failsafe in case his weakness ever rose to the surface and took control, the way it had when his hair was darker and his ambitions wider.

He didn’t drink it yet, but as his thoughts swirled and melted together amidst that AA meeting, he thought very much of going home and giving it a try. Maybe he wouldn’t be addicted to it anymore? Maybe now, with Beth dead, and the kids dead as well, he would be able to stop himself, drinking to maintain their honor and memory and some shit like that. He wouldn’t be doing it for fun, God no. He would be having a nice social drink by himself like many others had done so over the years. He wouldn’t lose control.

Hell, that was the old him. This new Walter, the one who had been going to AA for all these years, who had been helping others get over their drinking, he would have control, and he would know when to stop. It wasn’t fair that a bunch of small mistakes and one big mistake could dictate his entire life.

“Hey.”

Walter looked up.

Frank was looking down at him. It was a look he had seen from almost everyone else that day, and the weeks before, all the same look, on different faces. The worry, God, the worry, it was enough to make Walter want to puke.

“Hey,” Walter said back, matching his

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