Page 96 of Drowning Erin

Except each time I think I’ve hit my rock bottom, I find out I can go lower. I thought my life couldn’t be any worse this time yesterday: unemployed and homeless and broken-hearted. But now my father is dying, my brother is missing, my mother is as helpless and grief-stricken as a child, and it’s on me to fix all of it, when I clearly can’t even take care ofmyself.

* * *

My mother returns earlyin the afternoon, though I wish she had not. Her desperation is infectious. Her questions make me feel more overwhelmed and incapable than I already did. She cries and asks me what she’s going to do without him. She cries and asks why I haven’t gotten ahold of Sean, why they ever came to Colorado in the first place. And then again, why I didn’t answer the phone lastnight.

It’s just after dinner when my father finally opens his eyes. He’s so happy to see me, and also so sad that I can feel my heart cracking in my chest. I’d like to be the one person in this room capable of holding it together, but I can’t doit.

I sit beside him and take hishand.

“I’m sorry, Erin,” he says. “It was just a stupidmistake.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. But it’s not okay, of course. He did this to himself, all of it, and it’s notokay.

“The doctor told you the odds, with the surgery?” he asks. His voicebreaks.

I nod, unable tospeak.

“I just want to know you’re taken care of,” he pleads. “I just want to know that if I’m going, I don’t need to worry about all ofyou.”

“You don’t need to worry about any of us,” I promise him. I know as I say it that as soon as this is over, I’ll be taking any shitty marketing job I can find—promoting wealth management or writing cheerful missives to the people Rob’s company will lay off, full of euphemisms about “new opportunities for growth” that will make me cringe with each keystroke. Sean and my mother will be more my responsibility than ever if he doesn’tsurvive.

“I’m so glad you found Rob,” he says. “He’s a good man. He’ll make sure you’re all cared for. I just wish I could be there to see youmarried.”

Oh, God. They don’t even know we brokeup.

I nod with a deer-in-headlights stare as my mother bounces out of her seat. “You could, Erin! We could find a priest. Maybe Father Duncan or even the hospital chaplain. You could do it righthere.”

I blink, unable to tell them the truth at this horrible moment, but unwilling to lieeither.

“Would you consider it?” my father asks, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not the big fancy thing you probably want, but you could still have that too,later.”

I swallow hard on the lump in my throat. “We’ll see, Daddy. Rob’s not even in the country right now. Let’s talk about itlater.”

“Please,” he pleads, “think about it. I’m going to hang on until I can see it. Is Sean on hisway?”

Once again, the lies pour from my mouth. “Yes,” I say. “He’s out of state, but he’s driving herenow.”

Brendan was right. I am incapable of telling the truth, but the only person who ever knew the truth doesn’t want me, so maybe it’s for thebest.

* * *

That night,after my father falls back asleep, I let my mother have the pull-out chair and leave. I’ve been up for nearly 48 hours, and as I walk carefully down the white-tiled hallway, exhaustion makes me feel as if I’ve been adrift at sea for days. Finding Brendan in the waiting room, watching me with his worried eyes, is like finding solid ground. He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. And though I thought I was too tired to cry, too cried-out to cry, I find that I’m not. I can feel it inside me, risingup.

"What are you doing here?" Iwhisper.

"Olivia told me," he says. “I didn’t want you dealing with this alone. Are you goinghome?”

I shake my head. “My parents’ place,” I say, my voice growing choked. In a few days, I may never be able to say those words again. “I want to benearby.”

“I’ll drive youthere.”

“You don’tneed—”

“You're not driving there alone, and you’re not staying there alone. You decide you want me gone, I'll go. But not until someone else is there withyou."

I mean to argue with him, but instead my shoulders begin to shake, and I cry silently against hischest.

“I didn’t answer the phone last night,” I whisper, finally admitting it aloud. In spite of everything that’s happened, he’s still the only person alive I would be willing to tell. “I saw that my mom was calling, and I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I let it go tovoicemail.”

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