Chloe had come downstairs to say goodbye in person—although not explicitly, because she didn’t want to tip her family off that she was leaving them for good until after she’d made her escape. They’d eventually learn everything they needed to know from the farewell letter she planned to leave on her desk. She’d written it by flashlight before going to sleep, although she was considering a rewrite, because she was worried the first draft had come off too bitchy.
There was no reason not to be nice, especially when she had no clue how long it’d be before she saw them again. Days? Weeks? Forever? At this stage of the zombie apocalypse, the future was unknowable.
In any case, Chloe was determined to make this last breakfast count. When she put her hands on Dad’s shoulders in a show of affection, he returned the gesture by reaching across his chest to pat her left hand tenderly with his right.
“Hey, pumpkin.”
“Hey, Daddy.” She felt guilty about abandoning him. There’d be one less mouth to feed without her, but other than that, things wouldn’t be any easier for him. Max was deadweight, and Mom was a train wreck.
She was also nowhere in sight. Which was weird, because Chloe could’ve sworn she’d heard her voice downstairs a while ago.
“Is Mom still in bed?”
Dad’s hand paused in mid-pat.
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“She, uh . . . went out.”
“Where’d she go?” Max asked.
“Just out for a bit.”
“Before the sun came up?”
“Little bit.”
“To where?”
“Just to . . . meet somebody.”
“Who?” Even Max, who was usually clueless about anything having to do with human social interaction, could smell something fishy.
“Just a friend.”
“At six in the morning?”
“It was closer to seven.” Dad pointed to a portable alarm clock on the counter, which showed the time as just after seven thirty. “I think that clock’s basically right. She’ll be back soon.”
None of this added up. “Who is she meeting at seven in the morning when nothing’s open and nobody can drive? Or even get in touch with each other?”
“I think it was a, uh, work colleague.”
“You think?”
Just then, Dad’s meathead boss walked in, wearing drawstring shorts and a Baja hoodie. “Wazzup, Altmans?”
“Marty!” Dad leaped up. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
Marty scanned the room. “Did you see some clothes lying around?”
“Dad—” He was deliberately ignoring her.
“Over there,” Dad told Marty, pointing to a small pile of clothing atop one of the kitchen chairs. “And we really need to discuss some stuff—”
“Dad!”
“Sure thing. Fire away. Are they dry?” Marty went over to inspect his clothes.
“Where is Mom?” Chloe had come downstairs with the intention of being kind and loving, but her father’s evasiveness was infuriating.
“Sweetheart, I really need to talk to Marty alone for a minute. Can you and Max give us a little privacy?”
“Not until you tell us where Mom went!”
Max jumped in on Chloe’s side. “Seriously, Dad. Where’d she go?”
There was a pregnant silence as everybody stared at Dad, and Dad stared at the table.
“I’d just tell them,” Marty suggested.
“Just tell us what?” Chloe demanded.
Dad glared daggers at his boss, who gave him a sheepish shrug.
“Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to get involved.”
“Your mother . . .” Dad sighed before finishing the sentence. “Went to an AA meeting.”
Chloe felt her stomach drop.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Max finally asked.
“Good thing!” Marty chirped. “She needs it, dude.”
“It’s good,” Dad assured Max. “She realized she’s got a little bit of a problem, and she’s getting some help for it. So nothing to worry about. And we can talk about it—but first, Marty and I need to have a conversation about something else. So why don’t you guys go upstairs? I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready. Okay?”
Chloe and Max both nodded. She walked out of the kitchen, and he followed her. “Is there a breakfast plan?” she heard Marty ask Dad as they reached the stairs.
“I guess it makes sense,” Max said when they got to the second floor. “I mean, she does get wasted a lot. Kind of weird to start going now, though. Isn’t it?”
Chloe didn’t reply. She was too busy trying to process the implications of this news. Among other things, her goodbye letter would definitely require a second draft. A decent chunk of it had been devoted to her mother’s drinking problem, and parts of what she’d written had just been rendered obsolete.
She also needed to finish packing. Once Mom got home, she and Dad would probably retreat behind closed doors for a Very Serious Conversation, which would give Chloe a window of opportunity to escape to Josh’s and—
“Chloe?”
At the threshold of her bedroom, she paused to look back at her brother. He’d kept talking even as she’d stopped listening. His face was wrinkled with anxiety.
“Are you freaking out like I’m freaking out?”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about Mom or the whole situation. But she shook her head, trying to make her voice sound as warm and reassuring as possible.
“No. It’s not that bad. Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”
Then she disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.