Page 66 of Chasing Sunrise

“As a solution, they taught me how to drive.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen, almost fourteen.” She quickly went on, “I thought it was amazing. I would go to the bars with them and drive them home. I got a hardship license at fifteen, and I’d bring them wherever they wanted to go. Sometimes, I’d go back to our apartment and pick them up at closing time. Other times, I’d sit in the car and do my homework, read, or go inside and play pool or darts. I’m good at darts too.”

He looked stunned.

“Until my sophomore year, I didn’t realize they liked to drink during the day as well. We moved so much because they couldn’t hold down jobs.”

She got up and paced. “My senior year in high school they cleaned up their act. They were getting established in their jobs and loving their work. They only drank in the evenings and on weekends and most of the time at home. If they did go to a club, I’d transport them.” She rubbed her forehead. “Before I left for college orientation, I made them promise if they went out, they’d call a cab or an Uber. They assured me they wouldn’t go out.”

Her heart squeezed as if in a juice press. “That Friday night, they were in a head-on collision with another car. My father’s fault. He was the drunk driver. The man in the other car will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

Kasey sat forward.

“I know you’re going to tell me, ‘This isn’t your fault. There’s no reason for you to still be holding onto this guilt. You’re not responsible.’ I’ve been through counseling. I understand,” her voice caught. “I understand it was their choice, and I had no control over the situation. But if I’d not gone to orientation, I’d have been there. They wouldn’t have—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t get her words out—too close to tears, too close to the pain.

He didn’t move.What is he thinking?Why didn’t he say anything?

She started for the bedroom.

He reached out and clasped her hand. “Please, don’t go. I’m trying to find the right words.” He tugged on her hand until she sat beside him, and he faced her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. When I say strong, I mean tough. You had to be to get where you are in life. You were alone at eighteen. I can’t imagine. I don’t know how you survived, much less thrived the way you have.”

He slowly linked their fingers together. They sat on the couch like that for the longest minute.

“Makes me grateful for my normal childhood.”

A spike of hurt jammed through her. She snatched her hand away from his.

“What did I say wrong?” he cautiously asked.

“When I was a kid, I thought my childhood was normal.”

“I can see that.” He calmly put a hand on her thigh. “You have a psychology degree and master’s in counseling now though. You know it wasn’t.”

She wanted to argue so badly. Instead, she murmured, “You can’t possibly understand.”

“I understand.” His voice sounded neutral, but his eyes were intense. “You feel responsible for your parents’ deaths and for a man who is confined to a wheelchair because you were responsible for your mother and father since you were a kid.”

“Please don’t judge them.” She wiped the wetness from her eyes, the crushing pain in her heart almost unbearable.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone what was happening? A school counselor, someone.”

“Why would I? They’d been drinkers my whole life. I thought all parents got shitfaced every day.”

He softly asked, “Weren’t you scared to drive around at night?”

“When they taught me to drive it’d been at night. I’ve always been independent.”

“Youhadto be independent.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

His voice remained quiet. “Did you tell your therapist that?”

“I did. The therapists and Barry want me to hold them accountable.”

“Shouldn’t you? If a kid came to you and told you they were living how you lived, what would you do?”

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