Page 74 of When We Are Falling

Blake

Wakingup in my own bed, the familiar surroundings offering no comfort. I didn’t stay at Ethan’s last night, needing some headspace after everything. I love him, I really do, but I’m starting to wonder if it was a mistake sharing my worries about David with him.

I get up, splash cold water on my face, and apply some face cream, the routine soothing but doing nothing to calm my racing thoughts.

Looking at myself in the mirror, my reflection stares back with eyes rimmed in dark circles. The erratic way David’s been behaving keeps replaying in my mind. Seeing his drug use up close, right in my face, is a jolt, a cruel reminder of my father, of the addiction that took him from me.

He was a totally different man when he was using—someone I didn’t recognize, someone who wasn’t my dad. People turn to drugs to take away their pain, but instead, the drugs take them away from everything and everyone they love. They strip awaytheir humanity, leaving behind something hollow, something unrecognizable.

Touching my face, tracing the worry lines that have deepened. The fear of losing David, of seeing him vanish into the same abyss my father did, is tearing me apart. Ethan’s right about one thing: I need to dosomething.

The Valiant Hearts boys are taking care of the oil spill in the wetlands, and I don’t need to open the bar until later. Resolve settles over me as I make my decision. I’m going to go and visit Sylvia, see if I can get my own answers.

When I walk into the kitchen, Mom is already sitting at the table. She’s holding her wedding photo, and she quickly wipes her eyes. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning Mom.” I sit down beside her, taking her hand in mine. We both glance at the photo of my moms nestled in the gentle hold of her hands. They got married about six years ago, though they’d been together for more than twenty years before that.

“I’ve always loved that photo of the two of you.” Mom’s head is tilted back, the photographer catching her mid-laugh, while Mama Charlotte stares at her with this look of pure adoration, her arms linked around Mom’s waist.

“Me too.”

Her voice is so sad, it tears something loose inside me. “Are you okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” She sniffs, looking anything but fine.

“You don’t need to put on a brave face for me. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Her fingers tighten on the photo frame, and she looks down. “I spoke to Mama Charlotte. She’s not coming home.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Panic claws at me from the inside, scraping in painful and new ways. My worst fears are coming true.

I hug my mom tightly, fighting to keep my own spiraling thoughts at bay. “She’s not coming homeyet. It’s going to be okay, Mom. We’ll figure this out together.”

She leans into me, her sobs shaking both of us. “I just don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, stroking her hair. “Sometimes things just happen. But we’re strong. We’ll get through this. And she could change her mind. It’s not over.”

Her tears begin to subside, and I pull back, looking into her eyes, lined so deeply with time and sadness. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No, not right now. I just need to process.”

“Okay,” I say softly, squeezing her hand. “I’m here for you whenever you’re ready.”

As I sit there, holding my mom’s hand, I feel anything but strong. But if there was ever a time to stand on my own two feet, it’s now.

Still reeling from what my mom just told me, I grab a granola bar from the counter, barely tasting it as I head out the door, pulling on a knitted jumper against the cooler weather. My mind races, a thousand thoughts swirling as I get into my car and slam the door.

I need to take control of the David situation. If I can just get that part of my life in order, then I can focus on the rest.

The familiar landscape blurs past—endless stretches of trees and the occasional glimpse of the ocean—while a heavy sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach. The further inland I go, the more that dread seems to tighten its grip on me, squeezing like a vise around my torso.

Finally, I turn onto a narrow road leading to a small township around twenty minutes from Harbor’s Edge. It’s the kind of place time forgot, where the houses stand weathered and beatenby years of neglect. I slow down as I approach Sylvia’s house, my heart pounding in my ears. The sight of it makes everything inside feel so tight.

It looks more decrepit than last time I saw it, the paint peeling in long strips from the walls, the windows clouded with dirt and grime, but otherwise it’s exactly how I remember—cold, miserable, and filled with an oppressive darkness.

Memories flood back, sharp and unwanted. I remember the way the air always felt heavy inside, thick with a sense of dread that never seemed to lift. The way Sylvia’s voice could cut through that air like a knife, sharp and cold, making my skin crawl.

Sitting in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The last place I want to be is here, in front of this house—a place from a life that feels so long ago, it might as well have happened to someone else. Or maybe I just wish it happened to someone else.

---