Page 25 of Could Have Been Us
Misty is everywhere. Her touch, warmth, and spunky personality fills the rooms around us.
“Let’s try the back,” I suggest.
The house is a modest ranch home, and from where we entered, the only way to go is straight, so that’s where we head.
We walk through the home, opening doors and closing them when we discover it’s not the master bedroom. There’s a spare room that doubles as a sewing or craft room. Another empty bedroom, a hall bathroom, and then we get to where the house bends to the right and leads to a short hallway with two doors. I open the one to the right, thinking it has to be the master.
It’s Kinsley’s.
The light gray walls are covered with posters. Most of them are of some soccer player who I don’t know, and there’s a board with push pins securing various flyers. There is also a white desk in the corner with books stacked high on top of it, a full-size bed with a sage-colored comforter.
“Stella?” Mickey calls my name, pulling me from the room.
“Yes?”
“He’s fucking heavy.”
I shake my head, closing the door as I exit and forcing myself back to the task. “Only one door left.”
We push through, and thankfully, it’s his. The bedroom is a mess—clothes strewn all over the floor and the pillows tossed off the bed. Even though I’ve never been in this house, I know this isn’t the way the room usually looked.
“Oh, Samuel,” I say on a sigh.
He’s in pain. So much so that he’s drowning himself in alcohol. I understand, to a point, wanting to ignore the pain of loss. It’s deep and can take you under, but he has to remember why he can’t.
He needs to clean himself up and handle this.
For Kinsley.
Mickey and I enter the master bathroom. I turn on the cold water, and he doesn’t hesitate before dropping Samuel down onto the bench. Samuel jerks awake, trying to move out from under the spray.
We block him, forcing him to sit under the water. “You’re drunk, and you have to clean yourself up before your daughter gets home,” I tell him.
His eyes focus on me for a moment. “Stella?”
“Yes?”
A sob rips from his chest. “She’s dead, and I can’t do this.”
“You’ve said that already, and I’m telling you now that youhaveto do this.” There’s no room for another option. “You have to pull yourself together.”
I’ve dealt with drunk men before. I have four older brothers who I’ve sobered up many times, and Samuel needs the same treatment.
“I’m done.”
I turn the handle to warmer now that he’s at least semi aware. “Shower first, then we’ll talk. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, get dressed with the clothes I put out.”
Mickey and I leave the bathroom, and I lean against the wall. “What now?” he asks.
“Now, I need to clean up this room, get him to eat and drink, and get the fuck out of here before his daughter comes home.”
I start on the bedroom since the rest of the house didn’t seem too bad. I put some clothes away, change the sheets, and make the bed, leaving the side that appears to be Samuel’s down. Mickey is in the kitchen, searching for something to help absorb the booze in Samuel’s system.
Twenty minutes pass before I hear the water shut off, and I knock. “Samuel?”
He grunts.
I really do not want to go in there. Mickey comes back in with some bread, water, and Tylenol. “This will help a little.”
