Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Well,” Georgia drawls, picking up the pregnancy test that Paul bought for her from under a stack of mail, “looks like I’m goin’ get to use this after all.”

Her tone is calm, but her face is pale, paler than it was after weeks at home, paler than was while waiting for the jury to decide her fate.

“Mom,” Ginny starts, “how could you? Why didn’t you—”

“If you haven’t noticed, Peach, things have been just a little chaotic around here lately. Protection may have just slipped my mind when I was considerin’ whether I was goin’ to jail for the rest of my life.”

“But Paul?” Ginny can’t hide the disgust in her voice. “You slept with Paul after he left us? After he abandoned you? How could you?”

Georgia shrugs. “Sex can be very persuasive. I had to try.” She shakes herself and takes a step towards Ginny. “What I mean is that you should never sleep with someone who doesn’t love you, who isn’t there for you. Don’t be like me. And also—who I sleep with is none of your business!”

Ginny meets Georgia’s eyes levelly. “I’m pretty sure we’ve established that everything you do becomes my business.”

Georgia flinches, her hand squeezing the cardboard box of the test until it starts to give. The parallels, the irony, whatever you want to call it, is not lost on her. Parenting is probably not going well if you and your teenager daughter get pregnant weeks apart. She blinks the tears out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, taking a step towards Ginny. “I know—after what you’ve been through—this isn’t great timing.”

Ginny crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s not great timing for any of us,” she says. “What are you going to tell Paul?”

“Well, I can tell you one thing. He’s not going to believe this.”

“You take the test, Mom,” Ginny says, blinking tears out of her own eyes, “and then you decide what you want to do.”

“You’re a wise woman, Ginny Miller,” Georgia says, forcing a smile out.

Georgia walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind her. At least the toilet seat is a vast improvement over the cracked and stained toilet she sat at when she found out she was pregnant with Austin. Still, this isn’t ideal. The sound of Paul’s hand cracking against the wall behind her head still reverberates in her dreams. He hadn’t hit her. He wouldn’t hit her. But there is a growing darkness in him that is undeniable. An ugliness. She couldn’t put a baby between her and him.

But then there is Joe. Georgia softens at the thought. But he hadn’t asked for this. She couldn’t use a baby to tie him to her. It would be wrong. The one man who tried to help her, the only one who stuck with her—to force him to keep
doing it? He’d do it, she knows he would. But she would never know whether it is because of her or because of a baby. The tender thing that was unfurling in her when she was around him would be crushed by the uncertainty.

She pees on the stick. Sets a timer. Comes out and sits down by Ginny on the couch.

“Three minutes,” she says, “at least a pregnancy test is a lot faster than a trial. I can say that for it.”

Ginny leans her head on Georgia’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be alright,” she says, but her sentence drifts into a question.

“Of course, it will. We’ve gone through a lot more than a baby.”

Ginny nods. Her phone buzzes in her hand. It’s Max.

"Can we talk?" the text reads.

"Not right now" she texts back before sliding the phone back into the pocket of her jacket.

The timer chimes, but Georgia doesn’t move from the couch.

“You want me to look?” Ginny asks.

Georgia sighs, “It’s fine. It’s my pee. I’ll go look.”

Ginny’s leg shakes on the couch cushion until Georgia walks back in. She’s still then, waiting.

“Wellsbury’s a nice name for a baby, don’t you think? Probably unisex, too. That's a benefit.”

A floorboard creaks. Austin walks slowly into the living room.

“A baby?” he asks, wide-eyed.

Chapter Text

Austin’s face is paler than usual, and he fidgets restlessly on his plastic-backed chair in his classroom. The teacher’s marker screeches against the white board as she labels the parts of a microscope, preparing the class for the experiment they’ll do tomorrow morning. Austin cringes against the sound, and he reaches to adjust his glasses, but they’re not there. His hand brushes against his temple instead, and his hand falls awkwardly back into his lap. He shouldn’t have given up his glasses, not when they’ve been with him for so long. But it’s not like they were magic. They couldn’t protect him. His dad was right about that much, at least.

“This knob is the fine focus,” Ms. Jakob says, writing the words in neat letters.

But Austin can’t focus. The shape of the knob dances on the board, and the letters are nothing but wavy, undulating lines. The baby. His mind keeps going back to it. His mom said not to worry about it, that nothing was for sure yet. He saw her wince when she saw him standing there, and he knew this was one more thing he wasn’t supposed to have seen, that he wasn’t supposed to know.

But he did know, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about what the baby would mean for his family, for him.

“I can’t believe your ratted out your own dad,” Austin’s classmate, Gregory, hissed while Ms. Jakob’s back is turned, “who does that? Your own dad!” Gregory’s mouth turns down in fake disgust, but his dark eyes are lit with glee at the opportunity for mocking.

Scissors lie on the fake wood of Austin’s desk. Without his willing it, Austin’s hand snakes forward until he clenches them, white knuckled. He doesn’t look at Gregory, though. He keeps his unseeing eyes trained on the whiteboard, waiting for another provocation.

“Did you hear me, Austin?” Gregory baits, “you must really hate your dad to do something like that.”
Austin leaps to his feet, the scissors in his hand.

“And that’s everything you need to know about the microscope,” Ms. Jakob announces. “Austin, please sit back down. It’s not time to go yet.”

She walks over towards him and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. Austin sits down, his muscles suddenly too lax, too exhausted to protest. It’s not clear whether Gregory saw the scissors in Austin’s hand, or whether he simply got bored of tormenting him. Either way, he leaves Austin alone, at least for the rest of the class.

Science is the last class of the day, and it used to be Austin’s favorite because of that. Only minutes until he’d get to go home, until he could be with his Ginny and his mom again, away from all the prying eyes.

Now home makes him nervous. Guilty, even. It is a reminder of what he has done. Ginny is proud of him, tells him he did the right thing. But why would the right thing make him feel like this? Soon he’d have weeks of summer to sit at home. He had been looking forward to it. Not anymore.

The bell rings and Austin begins to mechanically put his books in his backpack before peering into the hallway, waiting for Ginny. His mom has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, so she can’t pick him up. Austin tries to ignore the thought that already the baby was a problem. This was supposed to be the first day since the trial that his mom was going to pick him up from school.

Ginny isn’t in the hallway. Surely she hasn’t forgotten him? But, no, Ginny has never forgotten him before. It isn’t like she doesn’t care about him now that he has done what she wanted. Of course that can’t be true. Austin nervously tugs on the straps of his backpack, adjusting its weight.

That’s when Austin sees him. Hat pulled low over his ice-blue eyes. Chin unshaven. Rage barely suppressed.

His father.
Austin takes a step backwards, trying to edge back into the classroom, but other kids stream out, pressing him forward. Austin ducks his head, pretending not to see his dad.

“Come here,” Gil whispers, trying to avoid attention, “I just want to talk to you.”

His chest tightens, but he listens to his father, drawn by some combination of guilt and obedience.

“Come outside with me,” Gil says, “we can talk there. I promise I’m not mad. We just need to talk.”

A self-preservation instinct snaps into place, and Austin shakes his head no. “You can talk to me here,” he says, aware of the reassuring hum of parents and kids nearby.

Gil tightens his jaw, “That would be fine,” he says with forced calm. No one seems to have recognized Gil, and Austin sees the back of Zack and his mom leave the building. Gil had left the trial before journalists could snap his picture; it’s possible no one here knew who he was, except for Ms. Jakob, out of sight in the classroom.

“What you said about me,” Gil begins through clenched teeth, “was unacceptable. I will not spend my life running. I did my time. I’m not a criminal. I won’t act like it. You will make this right.”

Austin backs away, backs into the coat hangers.

“I can’t,” he mutters, “my mom–”

“Your mom,” Gil grits out as quietly as he can manage, “is a manipulative bitch. She made you do this. I’m giving you a second chance. Choose me this time. I love you. Don’t do this to me.”

There’s a sudden rush, a shape appears in front of him.

“Get away from Austin,” Ginny bites out, standing in front of Austin, “or I’ll call the cops. I’ll tell them everything,” she threatens.

“Everything?” Gil taunts, “you know as well as I do that there’s nothing to tell. I didn’t do it. Your mom made Austin lie, and I swear that if he doesn’t undo it, I’ll make her wish she was safe in jail.”

“No, you won’t.” Ginny and Austin both startle at the sound of a new voice. Joe is standing in front of him, his voice mild, but his dark eyes igniting with anger. “I know you won’t,” he continues, “because I won’t let you.” Joe takes a breath and deliberately unclenches his fists. “I’m not going to make some sort of crazy threats,” he says, “because, honestly, there’s been an insane amount of drama in this town. But I swear to you, I will not let you touch Georgia Miller or any of her kids.”

Gil’s glance darts around the hallway before realizing there are too many witnesses to continue this here.

“A white knight protector,” Gil says snidely, backing away, “do you think Georgia hasn’t tried to rope men like you in before? And yet somehow, her life is still a shitshow. It’s not going to be any different this time. I’ll make sure of it.”

Joe shakes his head. “Go,” he says.

Gil storms out of the hallway, and Joe exhales a ragged breath.

“Whew,” he says, “I really thought I might hit him again. At a school, too.”

“Again?” Ginny asks, looking up at him. “Are you saying you—”

Joe just shrugs, and Ginny’s mouth twists into a half-grin. She’s feeling calmer now, surprisingly safe, and she’s impressed—and astonished—by how angry Joe seemed. Who knew he had that in him?

“Are you alright?” he asks, turning to Austin, and then including Ginny in the question. “I should have been here earlier—”

“Why are you here?” Ginny asks, suddenly skeptical. “I didn’t even know you knew where the elementary school was.”

“Hey, give me some credit,” Joe answers, but his eyes are on Austin. The boy is staring into the distance, and he hasn’t said a word yet. “I just thought your mom might need some support. Her first day back at the school after the trial and everything.” He rubs the back of his neck as he looks around. “Where is she, by the way?”

“She had an appointment,” Austin says flatly. “Because she—”

“Because she needs a check-up,” Ginny interrupts smoothly. Joe’s brow wrinkles, but he doesn’t press the point. Georgia’s business is Georgia’s business, right?

Chapter Text

Ginny is exhausted and angry by the time gets home. Joe had been—well, strange. She was grateful for his intervention, and more than a little impressed by how quickly his anger flared up, but Gill was still going to be a problem. She had hoped he would skulk off to Michigan and leave them alone, but it didn’t look like that was going to be the case. She had to figure something out, some way to get him out of the picture for good.

But first, her brother.

“Are you ok, Austin?” Ginny asked as Austin shrugged off his backpack by the front door. Austin nodded, but didn’t answer. Silence was never a good sign with Austin.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked. He shook his head no and walked towards his room.

That was fine. Surely that was fine. There were plenty of times Ginny wanted to be alone after a shit day. Being alone was probably normal behavior, right?

Georgia was still at the gyno, so the whole house was quiet. Looks like Ginny and Austin would both get some alone time.

Ginny’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. Not so alone, apparently. She scrambled for it, hoping it would be a text from Georgia. Maybe there was no baby. False positives happened, right?

But no. It was Max.

Can we talk now? Ginny read. She sighed. Max had so many crises, and they were always at the most inconvenient times.

Ginny’s fingers skated over the keys.

A lot going on. Sorry.

…

…

Ginny rolled her eyes. Max was probably being dramatic, making her wait to read the text. The dots disappeared. Probably for the best. Ginny could catch up with Max later.

…

The dots were back.

“Spit it out, Max,” Ginny mumbled. She should probably just turn her phone off, try to take a nap. She’d been sleeping like shit the last few nights, ever since the trial ended, since Marcus went to rehab. She hadn’t realized it, but knowing he was just across the street had been comforting, even when they weren’t talking. He seemed impossibly far now, fighting demons she didn’t understand.

The text finally went through.

I know ur busy, but it’s really important. I need to talk to u.

Ginny’s heart clenched. Marcus. Maybe something happened at rehab. Her fingers flew.
Is Marcus ok?

No dots. No text.

Ginny waited, pacing anxiously. She opened her phone. Still no answer. Maybe it was bad enough that Max was afraid to tell her. Shit. Shit. Shit. Ginny’s stomach clenched. Aren’t they supposed to keep you safe in rehab? Isn’t that the whole point of going there? Maybe Marcus snuck out. She wouldn’t put it past him. Change was damn hard, and Ginny wasn’t entirely sure Marcus even wanted to change.

Just tell me, Max. Please.

_________________________________________________

Max’s phone buzzed, but she didn’t pick it up off her wrinkled bedspread. She didn’t even want to. She couldn’t imagine a text that would make her feel any better now.

Texting Ginny had felt like her last chance to fix things with her friends. Abby was scrunched in a ball of hostile secrecy, and Norah—well, Max didn’t think Norah would understand. If she had even cared. Max had thought maybe Ginny had been through enough to understand, to know what this feeling was like.

Loneliness. That was the feeling. But it wasn’t just loneliness. It wasn’t just that her friends were avoiding her, that her brother hated her, that her parents didn’t see her. No. It was like–like she missed even her own self. Like there was just emptiness where Max had been. Where was the funny, charismatic, bubbly, smart person? Max didn’t know. She had tried for so long to be that person, but she couldn’t anymore. That Max was gone, but she wished she could slip back into that costume and make this hollowness go away. She wasn’t sure she could live with it much longer.

That’s when she heard something. A creaking, grating sound. Steps. It sounded like it was coming from Marcus’s room. But it couldn’t be. He was trapped in the rehab program all summer. Because of her. Because she turned him in to her parents.

The noise stopped, but Max’s thoughts didn’t. She could see Marcus, the way he knelt on the floor, his voice slurred, tears blurring his eyes.

He hated himself. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t being dramatic. Max was an expert at drama, at ruses. This was real. Her brother, her twin, the person she loved most in the world, hated himself. How had she not seen it? How had she not been there to prevent it? Why had she failed to love him enough, to make him see how special he was?

Maybe she deserved to be alone. Maybe everyone left her because she was a shit person.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny put an elbow onto the windowsill and pried open Marcus’s window with her other hand. She was done waiting for Max to get over her dramatics and text her back.

She had thought about going through the front door, but what if whatever happened was a secret? If his parents didn’t know? Part of Ginny understood that whatever had happened, Ellen and Clint needed to know. Marcus needed them in order to get better. But— well, it was better to find out what had happened before involving them, just in case.

The window groaned open, and Georgia stepped into Marcus’s room. Everything was almost exactly the same as it had been a few nights ago, when Ginny had lay in bed with Marcus. When she had realized just how drunk he was, just how far gone he was. It was the first time she had been with Marcus when she hadn’t felt like he saw her and she saw him. That was their thing, seeing each other. But he had been somewhere else, somewhere far where he didn’t even want to be, and it broke Ginny to see him there.

Ginny walked to his dresser and shut the open drawers. Apparently Ellen had packed his stuff in such a hurry, that she hadn’t even closed the drawers. She hadn’t been back in the two days since he had left, either.

She made the bed, smoothing down the comforter and straightening the pillows. Ginny wasn’t sure why she bothered, but somehow it felt like she needed to do this, to pretend that this was more of a planned trip rather than an emergency flight. To pretend that she hadn’t been left.

Marcus’s door opened and Ginny jerked back from the bed. Max leaned against the doorframe, watching Ginny out of her large, tired eyes.

“What’s wrong, Max?” Ginny asked, “why didn’t you answer my text? Is Marcus ok?”

“Marcus is fine,” Max snapped, “and apparently he has you to fondle his stuff, while he’s gone, so he’s just dandy.”

Ginny took a step back, startled by the venom in Max’s tone.

“Your text seemed urgent. I came over as soon as I could–”

Max crossed her arms against her chest. “You were worried about Marcus.”

“Of course, he’s—”

“Sad. Miserable. Hates himself. I know.”

“Those seem like good reasons to be worried about him,” Ginny answered cautiously.

“And what about me?” Max said, her voice rising, “did you ever think something might be wrong with me? That maybe I had an important reason to talk to you?”
“This isn’t about you,” Ginny said, “he’s really messed up. I get that you broke up with Silver and all that, but your problems are going to have to wait this time.”

Max’s eyes went liquid, but her tears didn’t spill. She backed out of the doorway, into the dim hall.

“Maybe I’m really messed up, Ginny,” she whispered. “What if my problems can’t wait?”

“Max?” Ginny asked, stepping towards her, “what do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Max retreated into her room, locking the door behind her. “It’s fine,” she choked out, “I’m probably being dramatic. I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

Ginny leaned against her door.

“Can you let me in?” she asked, “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

Max’s voice became louder and clearer. “Just go. We’ve grown apart, remember? You’re probably not even the right person for me to talk to.”

“Come on, Max. Friendships change. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. Let me in. I want to talk.”

Ginny’s phone vibrated. It was Georgia.

“I need to talk to you, Peach. It’s about that baby. Come home.”

Ginny rested her head against the cool of Max’s door. The baby. Gil. Austin. Marcus. Now Max. It’s too much.

“I do care,” Ginny called into Max’s room, “but I have to go. My mom needs me. I hope you feel better, Max. Text me, if you want.”

Chapter Text

A few months ago, Ginny would probably have been annoyed if her mother had told her to come home, especially when she was with a friend. Friends seemed like something fragile then, and Ginny lived in constant fear that she would destroy whatever it was that made the girls accept her so readily.

Things had changed, though. Life had gone to absolute shit, but her friends had stayed by her side. Ok, things had gotten messy at times, but they were still the best friends that Ginny had ever had. Even her mom couldn’t mess them up.

Not that Ginny expected her to, not now at least. The trial had shifted something in their relationship. She would never understand why Georgia did the things she did, but Ginny knew she’d fight like hell for her mom. Georgia was right about one thing: sometimes you needed to play outside of the lines to keep the people you love safe.

Georgia was waiting, hands folded, at the dining room table when Ginny got home.

“Well, Peach,” Georgia said, forcing a smile, “there’s definitely a baby inside of me.”

“That’s why you texted me?” Ginny asked.

“I’d think that would be enough,” Georgia protested, “it’s pretty big news, this baby. A little unexpected.”

“It was unexpected the first time you told me. This time it was kind of expected, Mom,”

Georgia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fair enough. How about this, then: I don’t know who the baby’s daddy is.”

Ginny sank slowly into the chair opposite of her Georgia, stunned into a moment’s silence. “You were sleeping around while you were on trial for murderer?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“God, you make it sound like one of those prison romances, your mother and a guy named Bruiser” Georgia said, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Then what was it like? Were you luring men into your lair while you were on house arrest?”

“Wellll,” Georgia drawled, “I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that—” She leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Peach, you really want to know? I know you think you’re all grown up and want to know everythin’, but this might not even matter. I mean, it might not even be this guy’s baby.”

Ginny blinked, surprised by Georgia’s rambling nervousness. “I want to know,” she said firmly.

“Joe,” Georgia blurted out. “It was Joe.”

“Joe,” Ginny echoed blankly. “You mean Joe, my boss? Joe, our friend? God, Mom,” Ginny said, suddenly outraged, “why Joe? He’s so—so normal. He doesn’t need this. Wait—” Ginny stopped, remembering how Joe acted at Austin’s school. He had said something not letting Gil touch any of Georgia’s kids. “Does Joe know about the baby? He was at Austin’s school today. He was, like, well, really protective.”

“Why? What happened?” Georgia asked quickly, “why did Austin need protectin’?”

“Gil was there.”

“Shit. I was hopin’ he’d slink off to Michigan.”

“He didn’t. He’s pissed, Mom. But what about Joe? You didn’t answer my question.” Ginny didn’t want to talk about Gil, not now. That was her mess to clean up. The further she could keep Georgia from Gil, the better. She sure as hell hoped Georgia would never kill again, but she wasn’t about to put her in the way of temptation.

“No, he doesn’t know. Seemed better to figure out if it was his baby before I hit him with the whole You’re-Going-To-Be–A-Daddy,” Georgia answered, throwing up jazz hands in mock celebration.

“So it’s Joe’s or Paul’s,” Ginny said cautiously. “No other choices?”

“Yep. Those are the candidates.”

Ginny was quiet for a moment.

“You are definitely keeping the baby?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet her mom’s.

“I think I have to,” Georgia answered. “After havin’ you and Austin in some pretty less-than-ideal situations—it wouldn’t feel right not to. For me,” she clarified. She reached over to take Ginny’s hands. “But that’s my choice. What I want to do. Doesn’t mean you didn’t do the right thing for you.”

“I know,” Ginny answered. “I”m not going to have some sort of breakdown if you keep this baby when I didn’t.”

“Sure you won’t,” Georgia agreed. “But if you do—if it makes you feel some kind of way, talk to someone, ok?”

Ginny nodded. “So are you and Joe,” she stopped, gesturing vaguely, “a thing? God, it feels so weird to even think that.”

“No, maybe. Sort of? No,” Georgia said, sprinting through answers.

“Got it,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“Hey! Like your relationships have been so clear! ‘We’re just friends,’ Georgia said, mocking Ginny lightly. “How is Marcus, by the way?” she asked, more serious.”

Ginny shrugged. “He can’t have visitors the first week. I’ll go as soon as I can.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“First,” Ginny snapped, “you’re hardly in the position to lecture me on good ideas. And, second, yes. He’s been there for me through everything. I’m going to do the same.”

“Because you’re in loooooove,” Georgia sang.

“Can I go now?” Ginny asked, rising from the table.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Georgia said. Ginny sank back into her chair, and Georgia took a long sip of milk, probably for dramatic suspense, Ginny thought.

“Baby or no baby, I can’t work with Paul anymore,” Georgia said at last. “I need somethin’ to do. So—I’m running for Mayor.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Just days ago, everyone thought you were a serial killer!”

“And now they know I’m not,” Georgia said serenely.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“What? They like me now! I’m very sympathetic, you know.”

“But you’re, you’re—” Ginny searched for the word, and settled on something else— “you’re pregnant!”

“Mayors can be pregnant, right? You’re all for women’s rights. There’s nothin’ we can’t do!” Georgia says, flexing her bicep.

Ginny sank further into her seat, wishing she could melt into it.

“We just got done being the center of attention. Don’t you think it would be nice for one week not to have everyone watching us?”

“No one’s just going to forget about the last few months,” Georgia countered. “So we give them something new to think about. More Mayoress, less Murdereress.”

“Or we could just be normal!” Ginny exploded.

Georgia shrugged. “Normal’s boring. This will be good for us, I promise. We are going to run this town,” she added, smiling in remembrance.

“Pretty sure I’ve heard that before.”

“I already have an experienced campaign manager. This is going to work.”

“Who is crazy enough to run your campaign?”

“Nick.”

“Nick?” Ginny shook her head. “Not Nick.”

“Yes. Nick.”

“He hates you!”

“He had some reservations,” Georgia admitted. “But he hates Paul now. And likes winners.”

Ginny stood up suddenly.

“This is all about Paul! You just want to punish him for leaving us! That’s why you’re running for Mayor, and that’s why you had sex with Joe!”

“No,” Georgia snapped, standing too, “I had sex with Joe because I wanted to!”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. “And running for Mayor?”

Georgia crossed her arms too, imitating Ginny. “I’d be a damn good Mayor.”

“And you’d get back at Paul.”

“Just a fortunate coincidence,” Georgia said with a wide smile.

“So if he’s the baby’s father, are you going to tell him, what, on election day?”

“I’ll think about the best timin’, if it’s his. Although I imagine either way will be a bit unsettlin’.”

“This baby is going to be so screwed up,” Ginny muttered.

Georgia took a step towards Ginny. “I’m going to do the best for this baby, just like I do for you two. This baby could be born the child of a Mayor. That’s a damn good headstart.”

“You may not even have to win for that to happen,” Ginny pointed out.

A loud thump came from Austin’s room, followed by a second.

“Maybe you should focus more on Austin and less on revenge,” Ginny said bitingly. “Do you think running for Mayor is going to help him?”

“Austin will be fine,” Georgia said with a wave of her hand, “he always is.”

Chapter Text

Ellen poured herself a glass of wine and sat down at the kitchen counter. She reached for her laptop, but noticed errant crumbs marring the otherwise shining surface of the granite countertop that she had cleaned less than an hour before.

She pressed the pad of her index finger on the closest crumb and brought it to her face for closer inspection. White bread. She and Clint had only eaten whole wheat for years, ever since the doctor had said that to clean up his diet if he wanted to avoid a heart attack, especially now that he closing in on fifty.

The twins, Ellen thought with a sigh. Why couldn’t they learn to clean up after themselves? Was this a problem with all teenagers, or had she somehow gone horribly wrong in her parenting?

Not the twins, she suddenly realized, with something like a shock. It could only have been Maxine. Marcus was in rehab, and, yes, something had gone horrible wrong in her parenting.

Ellen wiped the counter clean and reached once more for the laptop, but her phone buzzed before she could turn on the screen.

Hey neighbor, she read under Georgia’s name. I’ve got some big news! Do you want to come over tonight and chat?

Big news? How could Georgia possibly have big news again? Was been tried as a serial guilty not big enough? That woman just didn’t stop. Ellen felt tired just watching her; she couldn’t imagine living Georgia’s life.

Of course. She typed back. 9:00 too late? I’ve got something to do after dinner.

That something to do was visiting her son in rehab. Her sixteen year old son, who apparently had been an alcoholic for God knows how long.

Georgia texted a thumbs up, and Ellen slid the phone across the counter, out of reach. She turned on her laptop and stared at the screen for a moment. She saw it again, the same image the painted itself across her mind whenever she allowed herself to sit still for a moment:

Marcus’ bloodshot eyes. The tears that fell from then. The intensity, the lostness in his voice. I hate myself, he had repeated. Those same words were in an endless litany in her brain. Her son hated himself. She had failed him, failed him terribly. She couldn’t afford to fail him again.

What not to say to someone in rehab she wrote into the search bar. The internet pinged back with several suggestions:

---“I know what you’re going through”

Well, that would be easy to avoid. Ellen had no idea what Marcus was going through. That was the whole reason that they were in this mess; she had no idea what was happening in her son’s life.

--- “You just need to hit rock bottom”

Likewise, easy to avoid. She was pretty damn sure that had already happened.

---“You’re going to be fine”

Ellen paused. She shouldn’t tell Marcus that he would be fine, that he would get through this? Wasn’t that her job, to tell her kids that everything would be ok in the end, that the troubles they experienced were just temporary setbacks?

Did this mean that there was a chance that he wouldn’t be fine? That she shouldn’t give false comfort to someone in rehab. Ellen didn’t want to know. Marcus would be fine. He was getting help. Everything would be fine.

She closed the laptop and poured herself another glass of wine.

____________________________________

Marcus lay in his narrow bed and stared at the cracks that spidered across the beige spackled ceiling. A cup of ice water, still full, sat on his bedside table, and the colored pencils and sketch pad that had been provided for him were untouched.

Like everything else he did, he was failing to be a good rehab patient.

He was supposed to finish the water, stay hydrated, busy his mind with hobbies, make a routine for himself, but he was doing any of that, unless laying motionless in bed counted as a routine.

The problem (or at least one of the problems) was that doing any of that required energy, required willpower, and, most of all, required not being crippled by the mixture of anxiety, dread, and withdrawal that churned in his gut and festered in his brain.

His body screamed its need for a drink, but more than that, his mind told him all the ways that he would fall into an endless dark abyss if he didn’t have alcohol to numb the terror and hopelessness that he couldn’t escape.

His parents didn’t understand, he thought bitterly. If they had, they would have understood that having an alcoholic son was a fuck-ton better than having a son who fell into that abyss. He’d be lost to them, lost to Maxine, lost to Ginny. He had spent so long skating across the edges of that hole because he knew, he knew, that if he fell in, he would never climb out again.

And now here he was, left to fall, no guardrails, nothing to protect him. He rubbed his splintering head and waited.