Moving On

                Evie took her father’s rough, clammy fingers in her hand.

                “C’mon, daddy…” she said. The pair headed off in search of Vanessa who was sitting at a table in the living room, staring out the window absently.

                “Vanessa, we need to talk,” Rick said. His voice was soft and tender. He loved Vanessa, Evie knew that. Vanessa looked up at him with wide, pale eyes and a vacant smile.

                “What is it darling?” she said.

                “Well…Evie and I-“

                “Evelyn.”

                “Right, Evelyn and I just had a chat. We think it’s time I get some…professional help,” Rick said. Evie silently praised Rick for is tactful word choices.

                “Don’t be silly Rick! Just a little more time, and-“

                “Mom, stop it. Dad needs help. We can’t keep living this way,” Evie said. “I love you. I love you both but…I’m just a kid, mom. I can’t deal with this forever, none of us can…we just have to stop pretending.”

                “Do you know how embarrassing that would be, Evelyn?” Vanessa said softly.

                “It doesn’t matter anymore, dear. It’s more embarrassing that we can’t take care of this,” Rick said. Evie hadn’t seen him this steadfast in a long, long time.

                “Rick…” Vanessa said, holding out her hands to him.

                “I’m sorry Vanessa but…it needs to be done.”

After that, Rick and Vanessa had sat on the phone all day, calling rehab centers, planning visits, dates, mapping out the programs. Evie had sat, watching the news while her parents conversed in the background. Two men had been killed from here, and recently, too. Flashes of faces from around the town flickered through Evie’s mind like the broken slates of a projector. And yet, all she felt was relief. Relief that her family was no longer a prison, relief that her dad would get better. Relief that maybe…just maybe, they would go home. And then, after the phone calls, Evie and her parents gathered all of the alcohol in the hotel. They each carried several bottles in their arms, cradled. The three of them paraded down Motel 6’s creaky stairs and out to the dumpster. Evie’s dad pushed open the lid and they each repositioned their bottles.

                “On the count of three,” Evie said. “One…two…three!” And they tossed the bottles. The sound of smashed glass and metal went rang from within the dumpster. To Evie, it sounded like the sweetest of orchestras.