“Dad!” Stevie jumps up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Anthony says through gritted teeth, his face a mask of pain as he lowers himself down into the seat. “Could you just get some paper towels to clean up the mess?”
“I’ve got it,” I say before Stevie can move. Jamie is already helping Susan up, telling her they will get her upstairs and cleaned up. I grab the roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and return, using them to wipe up the mess.
Stevie has moved into my chair, hovering over her dad, but he waves her off. “I’m fine, Stevie, I promise.”
I glance up and catch her eye. She looks…defeated. A little broken down, and my insides twist at the sight. She looks nothing like the girl who laughed with me over Malört in a pub last week, and I’m starting to get the sense thatthisis the Stevieshe is most often. The one with much too many worries and responsibilities on her plate.
“Can I help you to the couch?” Stevie asks, her voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
He shakes his head, and I know Stevie can see as well as I am that he’s putting on a brave face to ease her worries. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. Why don’t you and Jack head on out? I’m going to go see if your mom needs help.”
“I can go.” Stevie shoots to her feet, but her dad grasps her wrist before she can leave.
“We’re fine here, hon. Just go on home and enjoy your day off.”
I wonder if he can see the way his words deflate her as easily as I can. But if he does, he doesn’t budge, and finally Stevie nods.
“Call me if you need me, okay?”
Her dad nods. “Enjoy your day, Stevie girl.”
The walk to the car is quiet. For a moment, I think Stevie is going to head back to the garden. She hesitates on the porch after we slip our shoes back on and head out into the chilly air, but then she finally drops her shoulders and trudges back to the truck. But when we close ourselves inside, she doesn’t turn on the engine. Instead, she lets her head fall back against the headrest and lets out a heavy breath.
I watch her for a long moment. Her eyes are closed, long lashes fanning against her freckled cheeks. Her braid has started to come out, and there are strands of dark, wispy hair falling over the curve of her neck. She looks tired down to her bones, the way I felt when Mom died and I didn’t know how to go on without her. Like simply existing was a challenge.
“Sorry about that,” Stevie finally says. Her voice is hoarser than usual.
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize.”
“Grandma’s bad days put us all on edge, and with Dad’s back, I think it made it worse. He always acts like he’s fine, but I know he’s in pain and trying to hide it. And my mom…”
“Your mom?” I ask.
“She has anxiety, but she’s never found a medication that works well for her. And she gets stress headaches,” Stevie says. “She used to smoke weed for them, but she quit when they took Grandma in. Said she wanted to be alert if Grandma needed her. But when Grandma has bad days, she always gets these terrible headaches and they take her out. She can hardly function.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I just want my mom to be able to get high. Isn’t that hilarious?”
“No,” I answer her, softly.
She rolls her head to face me, blowing away a strand of hair that has fallen in her face. “I wish it was funny. It would make it less hard.”
“I used to think that, too, when my mom was sick. Like if I could find something funny, it might make things feel easier. I started watching old sitcoms like the ones we watch at the cabin.”
“Did it help?” she asks, looking like she already knows the answer.
“No,” I tell her with a small smile.
“What did?”
I wish more than anything that I had an answer for her, but I don’t. After my mom died, when I couldn’t cope with how bad everything felt, I justleft, and I hardly went back. But I don’t think it ever really made it better. Instead it was like walking on a broken ankle. Sure, the pain started to fade, but it never healed properly, and if I make one wrong move, it feels fresh all over again.
But I can’t tell her that. Not when she’s looking so vulnerable. So hopeful, like I might really have the answers she’s looking for.
So I say, “If you could do anything right now, what would it be? Within reason.”
She turns back to the windshield, eyes focused on some point in the distance. She’s quiet for a long moment, considering. “I think I’d go for a hike.”
When she looks back at me, I have a brow raised. “Don’t you do that for work?”
