Page 108 of Drowning Erin

I laugh, but it’s not a happy sound. I’ve wondered when I might hit the point ofenough—the moment when my debt to them is paid, when I abandon responsibility. And here it is: with my father in the hospital, dying of cirrhosis, facing jailtime.

Enough.

I stand. “Dad needshelp, not a lawyer. Not a penny of my money, or Rob’s, will go toward defending him unless he’s gone to rehabfirst.”

“Erin,” my mother gasps, ready toscold.

I stop her before she can start. “Mom, shut up, for once in your life. You’re as big a problem as he is.” I turn toward my father. “Five days ago I thought you were going to die. And if you had, it would have been my fault, and Mom’s, for letting you do this. You’re still going to die. Maybe it’ll take a few years and maybe it won’t, but I’m done being a part of it. When it happens, I’m not willing to feel the way I’ve felt over the past week. You know what your drinking is? It’s cowardice. And Mom, every single time you let him do it without comment, you’re just as bad. And I’ve been bad too. Ishouldn’thave been answering your calls. Ishouldn’thave been in bars looking for you at 3 AM when I had to be up for work in a few hours. So Dad, here’s the deal: go to rehab, or this is the last time you’ll see me, either of you. I’m not going to be a part of thisanymore.”

All three of them look shocked, but it’s my mother whose shock turns to rage in a heartbeat. “How dare you make this about yourself right now, of all times? Why is it so hard for you tobe—”

“Stop, Mom,” Sean says. “She’s right. We’re all fucking cowards. She’s right. I’m going back to rehab. Dad needs to go too. If he doesn’t go, I don’t want to hear from either of you againeither.”

My mother starts carrying on about how she raised us, reminding Sean of all the times she’s supported him. It’s my father who stopsher.

“Okay,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I’llgo.”

“You don’t have to do this,” my motherinsists.

“I think,” he says quietly, closing his eyes, “that I probablydo.”

75

Erin

Present

Rob arranges everything.He gets my dad into the best treatment program in the area, and he says he knows a lawyer who “alwayswins.”

“And I got you an interview with my firm,” headds.

“Oh,” I stammer. “I appreciate that, but I got a call from the chancellor at ECU. It’s possible they’re going to offer me somethingthere.”

“Erin, you can make 30 percent more at my company. Being at a nonprofit has hardly done you a lot of favors so far. Think about the bullshit you went through with HR. That would never happen in the private sector.” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine it’s about a job anyway, given the way you left. He probably just wants you to call in a favor withOlivia.”

My heart sinks. But just because the truth sucks doesn’t mean you ignore it. After a moment I nod, though I can’t bring myself to sayanything.

So once again, Rob saves the day. And the Doyles always, always needsaving.

We’re lucky to have him. I just wish I could think that without this feeling of resignation. Everything is fixed, and everyone is saved, but I still cry myself to sleep back at my parents’ place thatnight.

So I guess not everyone is fixed. I secretly wonder if I’m broken beyondrepair.

* * *

Sean spendsthe next morning at the police station—I don’t ask why because I don’t want to know—and when he returns, I drive him back torehab.

“I’m sorry about summer semester,” he says. “I’ll figure out a way to get those credits. And I’ll pay you back, Ipromise.”

I’ve heard Sean’s promises so many times. He could have said nothing at all and it would hold more weight. But he’s trying, and I’m not going to make all of this harder for him by arguing. Very little feels worth fighting over at themoment.

“You think Dad will make it?” heasks.

I glance at him. Given that he’s now entering rehab for the eighth time, I can’t say I have a lot of faith in the process. I tell him I don’t know, and I can hear the apathy in my voice. This week, it seems, has used up my ability to care about pretty mucheverything.

Sean doesn’t speak again until we pull up to the rehab center. “The last time I saw you—when we went to lunch? You glowed, like you did when you were a kid,” he says. “I’d forgotten that about you. I’d forgotten you could evenbehappy like that. You’re back to faking it now,though.”

I pull into the first available parking space and climb out of the car. “I’m not faking anything, Sean.” I slam the door harder than I should. “Our father is dying, and I’m unemployed. Who would be happy rightnow?”

---