After Chuck left, Bambi melted down as expected. She lost all urge to shower, to brush her teeth, or comb her hair. She didn’t even look like the same person. She had lost something vital to her existence. I worried I’d find her dead, drowned in a pool of booze or burned up from smoking in bed.

Most days I’d come home to find the curtains drawn and Bambi sprawled out on the couch, with an ice bag pressed to her forehead, drinking directly from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Even though there was a part of me that felt sorry for her—I hated her for losing Chuck.

“Now that he’s gone, I guess you can stay,” she said. “She looked me up and down and snickered. “I was crazy for thinking there was something between you two…. God forgive me for my sinful thoughts. I mean, look at you?” She waved at me with a cigarette burning between two fingers. “You’re just a scrawny thing.” She filled her glass with ice topped off with booze and a splash of water. “That’s what a sinful mind will do to you, Missy. It’s like a disease. Sin eats away at common sense. Makes you do things that….”

“It’s Saturday,” I said. “Why don’t you go play Bingo?” I wanted to distract her from her drinking. It scared me the way she pushed it more and more, teetering on the edge of sanity. Usually nothing stopped her from going to the Bingo Palace on Saturday. She was a fanatic about winning—even though the prizes were terrible, gaudy plastic ware, pink flamingos, or fuzzy dice. She’d play and play until she won something.

Her face dropped. “I can’t. He might come back—I don’t want to miss him.”

I wanted to tell her he was NEVER coming back, that she had ruined everything because of her stupid, selfish behavior. But it would only be a waste of time—talking sense to a drunk never works.

Bambi spent the next week in a frenzy. Drinking and crying, jumping when the phone rang. I hated the look of desperation on her face when it wasn’t Chuck. One second she would be sorry and on her knees, praying for forgiveness, asking God to bring him back and the next second she would be angry, hatred serving as comfort for her loss. She’d shred some of his clothes, cut up his pictures—then try to piece it all back together.

Another week passed. Every night, I’d walked home from work in the dark, whirling around at the sound of a motorcycle or the low rumble of a pickup engine, thinking it was him. Without Chuck it was as if the boundaries of the world had been torn away, and suddenly life seemed bigger than I'd ever imagined—terrifyingly bigger.

I couldn’t understand it. How could he read Chekov to me at night before bed, give me lessons about the stars, tell me how important my artwork was—then forget I even existed? I could understand why he wanted to be away from Bambi. But what had I done?

Bambi never left the house. Not even for church. She kept the curtains closed all the time. Her eyes held a deranged look, glazed over and circled dark. Her hair hung limp in greasy, twisted strands. Stacks of unopened mail piled up on the table, bill collectors were the only ones who ever called. Bambi stopped answering the phone. We ate all the frozen food, all the canned goods, and then the rice and beans that Chuck had bought.

A few weeks later, Bambi finally pulled herself together, took a shower, and started going out at night. I thought she’d purged Chuck from her system. But I was wrong. Bambi started tracking him down, haunting all his favorite hangouts, following his every move. She scared me with her stalking. It wasn’t about love anymore. It was something else—something unhealthy. She was desperate to re-establish the dominance and control she thought she wielded during their relationship.

“Come on, Missy,” Bambi announced one afternoon. “I got him. He’s at Barry’s Bike Shop. I’m going to pay him a visit. Give him a piece of my mind—take you along with me. Maybe it’ll help bring him home.”

I cringed at the word home. Bambi didn’t know the meaning. Without Chuck, there wasn’t one. Home was just an aluminum-sided trailer, as empty as our refrigerator. I worried what she would do if he rejected her again. She wasn’t well.

Bambi wriggled into a pink mini-dress, smoothed it over her ribs and at the waist, pulled it down over her hips. She lathered on lipstick that reminded me of pink frosting. “How do I look?”

“Good,” I said. What I really wanted to say was that she looked as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside. Gone was the spark that made her look so beautiful. Tiny red veins crisscrossed her nose. Her skin held a pink tinge and her face was round and bloated. She hustled me out the door and we climbed into the car. Bambi took off fast and onto the highway pointing north. I was still snapping on my seatbelt when we entered into an industrial part of town. Piles of steel. A wrecking ball. Towering metal buildings gleaming in the fading sun.

We parked near a beat-up Quonset hut. Rows of motorcycles stood ready for repair. More of them waited behind a tall fence framed with razor wire. I waited while Bambi climbed out of the car, straightened her dress, and smeared on more pink lipstick. I wondered if I’d ever see Chuck again. The place looked scary, windows dark and tinted, hiding something terrible from the world.

Bambi disappeared inside. A half an hour later, she reappeared, stumbling out to the car, tripping over an air hose and a pile of greasy bike parts. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. She opened the door to the Lincoln, slipped behind the steering wheel, gripping it hard until her knuckles turned white. Her mouth formed a perfect oval, but she made no sound. A river of black mascara mixed with tears streamed down her face.

“What happened?”

Her lips quivered for a moment. She licked them, staring straight ahead. “He’s found someone else,” she said barely above a whisper. “Said he’s never coming back. Lord, what have I done?” Bambi pounded her fist on the dash. “How dare he do this to me!” She slammed the car into gear. I was afraid to let her drive like this, with her eyes glazed over, her body sizzling with rage. She’d kill us before we even got a mile down the road, maybe smash the car into something or drive over a cliff. But she didn’t take off. She just sat there, glaring through the windshield.

“Wait,” I said. “I want to talk to him.”

Bambi put the car in park. “Good luck, Missy.” She rolled her eyes. “Guess it couldn’t hurt—he always liked you best anyhow.”

I ignored the jab and scrambled out of the car and headed inside. I didn’t care if he had someone else. If he never came back to Bambi. I just wanted to see him. Chuck rested on a stool near a workbench with his back to me. A tough-looking blonde in leathers sat perched on a stool beside him. I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. His eyes narrowed at first; I was worried he was mad at me for bugging him. Then a smile reached his eyes.

“What are you doing in here, kid?”

“I wanted to see you.”

He pulled me into a hug. “So you missed me, did you?” My nose tingled from a hint of vodka on his breath. I nodded. “I hope you know it’s not you, kid—it’s just….” He glanced at the blonde. “It’s complicated.”

I nodded. “I understand.” My stomach coiled in knots as he released me so I could leave. “Guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

“I’ll be home in a few,” he said.

I turned around. Tears filled my eyes, a smile stretched across my face. “You’re coming home?”

He shrugged. “Where else would I go?”

“But, Bambi said you were…that you had found….” I looked at the blonde, but her gaze darted away from mine.

He winked. “Had to teach her a lesson. Make her think about what she’d done. People don’t change without hard knocks. I knew she’d find me. I figured I’d give her time to mull things over. See the consequences of her actions.” Chuck shook his head, took a drag of his cigarette and let it out the side of his mouth. “She’s gotta stop drinking, though. Can’t handle living with a drunk. Won’t stay if she keeps it up.”

“Things will be better. You’ll see. She’ll stop. I promise.”

His eyes locked with mine. He took my hand. “It’s not your problem, honey. You’re a good kid and I think the world of you.”

Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. Standing in that greasy garage, staring at the only man who had treated me like a daughter, it suddenly hit me. For the first time I allowed myself to feel love—to breathe it. Feel it pulse in my veins, my heart expanding. It was like being deaf and suddenly being able to hear. Sight after being blind. It was overwhelming. I almost wished I’d never known him. It was hard to care about someone else. I felt smaller in the universe. Less in control. What if Bambi didn’t stop drinking? What if he left again? How could I stop him?