Hannah’s friendship with Chris gets her through the desolate weeks of January. He’s in three of her four classes, and whenever they’re not working at their part-time jobs, they’re studying together in the library. They attend resume writing and interview preparation seminars. During the second week of classes, they go to their first campus job fair. Hannah becomes increasingly more interested in moving to California, where the leading firms are located. Being so far from home appeals to Hannah. Away from her mother. Away from Ryan. Neither Hannah nor Chris is surprised when they find themselves attracted to the same firms. When they set up interviews with the company representatives, Chris, in a teasing tone, says, “Let the best man win.”
“Or woman,” she adds, sending an elbow to his ribs.
Hannah has never been close friends with a guy before. He’s upfront about most things, and she always knows where she stands with him. He’s a good listener, and she tells him about Ryan and her father’s mysterious disappearance. But she doesn’t feel comfortable telling him about the baby.
On weekends, Hannah and Chris go on early morning photo shoots, and he shows her how to use the features on her new camera. The quality of her photographs improves, and she makes some of her best shots available for purchase on stock image websites. The earnings are meager, but combined with tutoring and her income from the coffee shop, she’s able to support herself without having to ask her mother for money.
Hannah hears nothing from her dad, and when she places the obligatory Sunday evening calls to her mom, Birdie’s speech is slurred and her thoughts confused. The conversation ends the same way every time. When her mother harasses Hannah about having an abortion, Hannah hangs up on her.
Hannah asks herself repeatedly if she’s doing the right thing by seeing the pregnancy through. Every time her answer is an unequivocal yes. She believes every woman has the right to make decisions regarding her own body. But abortion isn’t right for her. She loved Ryan, but she’s not having his baby to hold on to him. The baby she carries is filling an emptiness that has been a part of her for as long as she can remember. At the end of January, when the deadline for her to have a safe abortion passes, she’s relieved to give up that inner struggle.
Her roommates become increasingly bitchier toward Hannah when she rejects their many invitations to hang out and go to parties. On a Thursday night in mid-February, she arrives home from her shift at Campus Coffee to find her three roommates lined up on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, waiting for her.
“We need to talk.” Kayla motions Hannah to the club chair with the red wine stain. Hannah can’t remember who the chair belongs to, either Emma or Courtney, but she’s certain Kayla is responsible for the stain.
Seated across from them, she feels as though she’s the child and they are her parents, punishing her for sneaking out of the house. “What’s up?”
“We’re concerned about you, honey,” Kayla says, and Emma and Courtney nod in unison. “And, quite frankly, our feelings are hurt. You never go out with us anymore. You spend all your time with that Chinese guy. Are you sleeping with him? Because, if you are, you’ll never get Ryan back.”
Hannah glares at Kayla. “I already told you, I don’t want Ryan back. And I’m not sleeping with Chris. He has a longtime girlfriend. We’re just friends.”
Courtney falls back against the sofa cushion, the wine sloshing in her glass. “That’s a relief. I thought maybe you’d gone off the deep end.”
Kayla shoots Courtney a warning look. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve been hanging out with him and not us.”
Hannah has known this moment was coming. She has a choice. She can either tell them about the baby or her father. But she can’t afford to have Ryan find out she’s pregnant. She exhales loudly. “I haven’t been myself lately. Something happened over Christmas, and I’m having a hard time dealing with it.”
“What happened?” Emma says, leaning in closer, eager for details.
“My father left my mother,” Hannah says, leaving out the part about him embezzling funds from his law firm and vanishing into the night with a mystery woman. “It’s been hard. My mom’s pretty broken up about it.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Emma’s tone is genuine as is Courtney’s when she adds, “Why didn’t you tell us? You shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”
Kayla eyes Hannah suspiciously. “Does Chris know about this?”
Hannah lies, “I don’t talk to Chris about personal stuff. We have the same major. He’s in most of my classes. And he enjoys photography like me.” This seems to satisfy them, and Hannah thinks she’s off the hook, until Kayla goes into the kitchen and returns with a glass of red wine.
“Here.” She slides the glass across the coffee table. “You need this.”
“Thanks, but I have an early class in the morning.” Hannah gathers her things and heads for the stairs.
Kayla calls after her, “You might wanna watch the carbs, Han. I know it’s tempting to comfort eat during stressful times, but you’re looking a little thick around the middle.”
Their laughter follows her as she hurries up to the safety of her third-floor bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she flops down on the bed and sobs into her pillow. She must be extra careful to avoid her roommates for the rest of the semester. Classes end in early May. As a senior, she’ll be exempt from exams, and she has no intention of staying for graduation. But she’ll be twenty-six or twenty-seven weeks pregnant by then. She’ll wear bulky sweaters, even on warm days. Under no circumstances can she let them find out about the baby.
Birdie has the same recurring nightmare every night. She’s sinking in the murky water to the muddy bottom of the creek in front of her house. She tries to fight her way to the surface, but an invisible force keeps pulling her downward. She never drowns or swims to the surface. The struggle goes on and on until she awakens covered in sweat.
She understands what the dream means. She’s drowning her sorrows in alcohol. But she’s powerless to stop, no matter how much booze she pours down the drain or how many times she vows to quit drinking. She can go only a few hours before temptation strikes and she’s on her way to the liquor store.
The weeks pass in a blur. Max is the only person Birdie sees. And she keeps her at bay as best she can. She responds to Max’s texts and speaks to her through cracked doors when Max drops off food several times a week.
Birdie scours Cary’s devices, searching for any electronic communications that might offer insight into his whereabouts. But she comes up empty. She hasn’t a clue what she’ll do if she finds him. Have him arrested? Shoot him dead with his own shotgun?
She combs through his clothes. In his pockets, she finds a tube of lipstick, not Birdie’s shade, and a black lace thong, which is not hers either. Perhaps that was part of their problems. Maybe she should’ve been wearing black thongs and sexy lingerie to spice up their love life. But Cary never showed he was bored with sex. Okay, that’s not entirely true. In recent years he has become less interested in her body. But doesn’t that happen to all middle-aged couples? Is that any reason for him to run off with another woman?
Late in the day on a Saturday afternoon toward the end of January, she lights a fire in an old oil drum on the brick patio and burns all of Cary’s clothes, including his shoes, underwear, and socks.
Around the beginning of February, Birdie finally gives up hope of ever hearing from Cary again. He’s probably in Tahiti, or some equally exotic foreign place, living the dream with his mystery woman. She barely misses him, anyway. Her depression, her need to drink, is brought on by the feeling of worthlessness that consumes her night and day.
Birdie’s job as a parent is over. Her daughter, a grown young woman, has made it clear she’s capable of making her own decisions by having a baby out of wedlock at twenty-two years of age. Hannah’s pregnancy eats at Birdie. Not only is she frustrated with Hannah for throwing away her life, she’s concerned about Hannah’s health and the logistics of giving birth to the baby.
The bills pile up until Birdie fears the electrical company will turn off her power. Seated at her desk, she goes through them one by one, writing checks and submitting online payments. The American Express bill includes all their charges from Christmas. Her eyes pop when she sees how much Cary paid for Hannah’s camera and telephoto lens. He then ran off with all their money, leaving Birdie to figure out how to pay for his extravagant gift to their daughter. In all their twenty-five years of marriage, she never realized he was such a jerk.
Birdie has twelve hundred dollars left after she pays the bills. With more bills arriving every day and no money coming in, she has no choice but to sell the house. The notion of losing her home sends her over the edge, and she drinks more that night than ever before. In a fit of rage, she ravages her family room with one of Cary’s golf clubs. She breaks lamps and beats feathers out of throw pillows. She scars antique wooden furniture and breaks the glass in picture frames bearing their family photos.
She wakes the following morning to the sound of Max gasping. “What on earth? Who ransacked your house? Did someone break in last night?” Another gasp. “Birdie, what happened to your feet? There’s blood everywhere.”
Bleeding? That explains the pain. But what happened to them? She opens her eyes. The room spins, and she closes them again.
“Good lord,” Max says, and Birdie hears a thunk, the sound of an object being placed on the coffee table near her head. “Did you drink this entire bottle of vodka? I’m calling an ambulance.”
Without opening her eyes, Birdie’s left hand shoots out and grabs the leg of Max’s jeans. “Please, don’t,” she mumbles through parched lips.
“You need medical attention, if not for alcohol poisoning, then for your feet. They’re cut to shreds.”
“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” Careful not to disturb her feet, Birdie props herself on one elbow. Blood from deep gashes in her feet soak the cushions at the other end of the sofa. She surveys the destruction in the room—broken lamps, overturned furniture, pages of books ripped to shreds, shards of glass from broken picture frames embedded in the carpet—the source of the cuts on her feet.
Max lowers herself to the edge of the coffee table. “How long has the drinking been a problem?”
Birdie rakes her fingers through her matted hair. This is bad. Really bad. This is rock bottom, the turning point. She either gets herself together now or . . . or what? She can’t bring herself to think about the or what. “Years.”
“In my limited experience with such things, it’s pointless to force help on an alcoholic. They have to be willing to accept it. Are you willing?”
She nods, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t want to live like this.”
Max pulls out her phone and thumbs the screen. “Then we need to get you into a good rehab program. There’s—”
“No! Not rehab. I’ll do better. I promise.” She squeezes her eyes tight, but the tears keep coming. “I’m broke, Max. I have to sell the house. I’m scared, and I’m angry as hell at Cary. But I’m angry at myself, too, for letting this happen. I’ve lost everything. My family and now my home. I have nothing left to live for.”
Max sets her phone down on the table beside her. “You’ve always talked about going back into nursing. Maybe now is the right time to do that.”
Birdie shakes her head. “I let my license lapse. I would have to complete a reentry program. It’s not worth it. I never loved nursing. The work is rewarding, but I no longer have the energy for the long shifts in the ER.”
“What about your bakery business? People love your pies and you have plenty of opportunity to expand.”
“Right. They love them so much, not a single person has requested a pie since New Year’s.”
“Because they understand you’re having a family crisis, but several of your biggest fans have asked me when you’re going to start baking again.”
Birdie feels a flutter in her belly. Is that hope? It’s been so long, she doesn’t recognize it. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Max grabs her hand. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll move in here with you for a few days, but if you can’t stay sober, you’ll go to rehab.”
Birdie rolls her head to the side to look at her friend. “But what about the hotel?”
“I closed for January and February to make some repairs. I can take a break from painting and tile work.”
“If you help me get back on my feet, I’ll help you finish your repairs.”
“That’s a deal I won’t turn down,” Max says with a smile. “You’re a beautiful woman, Birdie. But you’re even more beautiful when your inner light shines through. I haven’t seen that light shine in a very long time, but I’m going to help you find it again.”