Page 16 of Puck You Very Much

Alcohol might not be the solution—but damn it, it helped!

Chapter 4

The sun was disappearing behind the horizon when Lucy pulled into her father’s driveway. He lived in Burbank, two blocks from Walt Disney Studios. As a child, Lucy had found it incredibly cool to live so close to this fairytale world. Today, however, it merely reminded her that life wasn’t a fairytale. Unlike inCinderella, birds didn’t help normal people dress and there were no fairy godmothers that granted wishes.

No, normal people sometimes couldn’t even manage to shower and put on fresh socks when they weren’t feeling well. Today her father was one of those normal people, because he was sitting in sweatpants with greasy hair and holey socks in the wildly overgrown front yard with a beer bottle next to his rickety garden chair and a photo album on his lap.

The house had once been beautiful, with a white facade and a red roof, filled with laughter and good memories. But all that had vanished underground along with her mother, dirty and buried deep where her father could no longer find it—no matter how many times they told him he had to try.

Lucy’s heart clenched painfully as she opened the squeaky garden gate and walked slowly down the path. She hated seeing her father like this. So absolutely…helpless. It was as if he had simply given up.

He had let the sadness and despair win years ago and it was tearing him apart. His skin, white and papery, was stretched over the bones of his face and hands, making him look seventy, not sixty.

The metal gate slammed shut behind her and her father glanced up in surprise. “Oh, Lucy, I wasn’t expecting you.”

No, because when she called ahead, he usually told her not to come, that it wasn’t a good day, that he needed rest.

“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by,” she said with a smile, stepping through the weed-filled yard. “What are you looking at?” she asked, bending down to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She always hoped that human proximity and warmth might help, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, whether he felt that way or not. She couldn’t say for certain if he even noticed, though.

“Wedding pictures,” he murmured, running his fingertips as light as a feather around a large photo in the center of the page. “God, your mother was so beautiful.”

Lucy smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Yes, she was, with her thick, dark hair, green eyes, and a petite figure that was emphasized by the sumptuous, lace-trimmed wedding dress. She’d always kept her back straight and her head raised. She had been proud but warm, sensitive, and intelligent.

She looked like Rachel, Lucy’s eldest sister. She shared the most attributes with their mom. At times, Lucy envied her for that, and for the fact that their mom had been there for Rachel’s college graduation—but had missed Lucy’s. Her mother had seen Rachel become successful.

Her eyes wandered to the man next to her mother in the photo. He had a bright smile on his face that lightened his dark suit. Her father had once been happy and cheerful. It was difficult to remember that these days.

“That’s a nice photo,” she murmured. “You look…content.”

“We were,” her father answered firmly. “It was the perfect day. Despite the rain. Although, it turned out your mother was already pregnant.” He chuckled softly and deeply, lost in the memory. “Your grandfather was so angry with me. Accused me of seducing her even though it was the other way around.”

He went on to talk about the reception and his father-in-law’s angry speech. Lucy had heard the story twenty times, but she didn’t interrupt him. Maddie always felt like she had to stop him before he got too lost in the past—but how could Lucy when he finally had a smile on his face again?

He’s not happy, Lucy. All he remembers is that hewashappy!Rachel’s voice echoed in her head. Lucy pressed her lips together, nervously twirling the ring on her middle finger.

Her older sisters, however, didn’t always know better. Just because they were older and more successful didn’t mean that they…that they…

“You’re wearing her ring!” her father suddenly noticed and swiftly pulled her hand toward the photo album. “I bought this on our first vacation together. I don’t remember her giving it to you.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “A few days before…”Before her sudden death.

She cleared her throat but didn’t finish the sentence. It was what bothered her father the most, that he hadn’t been able to prepare for her death. Her mother had died without warning of a brain aneurysm.

“She just knew I liked it,” she said, hastily removing her hand from his. She was overcome by an irrational fear that her dad would take it from her to add to her mother’s shrine, which still occupied an entire upstairs room. “That’s why she gave it to me.” It had been a gift that neither of them had known would be her last. “I like wearing it. This way, I always…I always have her with me, you know?”

Her father glanced up. The smile had disappeared from his face and tears filled his eyes. “But we don’t, Lucy. We don’t always have her with us. You and your sisters even less than me. If we don’t hold on to her memories, she will disappear.”

“She’salreadygone, Dad,” she said softly, looking at him seriously. “And you have to…you have to finally let her go. It’s unhealthy to hold on to memories without making new ones, Dad.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head stiffly. “How can you three still expect me to forget your mother?”

She swallowed, her stomach twisting bitterly. “Nobody wants you to forget her, Dad.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you want! You’ve already forgotten her. You live your happy, perfect lives and don’t bother to think of her at all!” He angrily wiped the tears from his wrinkled face.

“That’s not true,” Lucy whispered, a hopeless, desperate feeling of burning rising in her throat. She ignored it. It was so familiar to her that she hardly noticed it anymore—because this wasn’t the worst that her father had thrown at her.

When he lost himself in his grief, then…well, he said things he didn’t mean, did things he couldn’t control.

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