A vise squeezed my heart.
A glass bottle.
I stretched for it and pulled it out. It was a thin bottle of whiskey.
“I heard a noise.” Dylan’s voice came from behind me.
I turned, still holding the bottle. He noticed it before I could hide it.
“What’s the date on it?” he asked, unfazed.
It took me a second to catch up. “Oh. Umm. Let me see.” I squinted at the label. “The stamp says the bottle is ten years old.”
He nodded. “Then it’s an old one.”
I looked at Dylan in a mix of admiration and sadness.
Admiration for how mature he was. Standing there like that. Calm and composed. So mature.
Sadness because that bottle was a reminder of darker times.
When Brian’s parents died in their sleep from a carbon monoxide leak, it shattered the family. Brian fell into drinking, unable to cope with the loss.
It was Lacey, as always, who held everyone together and helped him through it.
“I’ll throw it away,” I said.
Dylan nodded again. “I better get back to Ethan and Lila.”
He turned and headed back upstairs. I followed on his heels and tossed the bottle into the kitchen trash just as the phone rang.
Brian.
As if he knew we’d just been talking about him.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey, it’s me. Did you talk to Lacey?”
I checked the clock on the kitchen wall: 7:01.
“Yes, she called me when she was finishing up her shift to check in on the kids. Is everything all right up there?”
“Yeah … just … just wanted to see how you guys are doing.”
His tone wasn’t alarming or overly sweet. Just neutral.
“We’re good. Let me get the kids on the phone—”
“No, no. I’ll talk to them later. Amanda … she needs my help with something.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Talk soon.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I hung up and glanced toward the living room. The kids were still glued to the screen. Then I armed myself with a broom and dustpan and headed back downstairs to finish cleaning up the glass.
