"Mama, it's not safe anymore," I said as she looked at me with watery eyes. "I can't leave you here alone, and Riley is too young to take care of you. We have to change this."
"Get the hell out, and let me get some sleep," she said pushing me away as she rolled over and curled up. "I don't need your high and mighty attitude, missy."
"Mama . . ." I pleaded to her back. I waited but soon heard the sound of her snoring. I knew she'd be out for hours.
I walked back into the kitchen and dropped down into the chair my mother had occupied. The walls were stained a dull yellow from her years of smoking. I knew that if the alcohol didn't get her, lung cancer would. The problem was I didn't know how to stop her.
"I'm sick of this," I said as tears welled up. "I'm sick of being everyone's keeper."
"What's wrong, Leah?" Riley said as she entered the kitchen, holding a sheet of paper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said wiping my eyes and trying to put on a smile. Riley was having none of it.
"Gram's a pain in the ass, isn't she?" she said without judgment. "I get sick of her being drunk all the time."
"She's just sad," I said, trying not to unload my personal feelings on the twelve-year-old.
"Oh give me a break, Leah," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Gram is a major downer, and I'm tired of her constantly being drunk. It's embarrassing. Why don't we just throw her in rehab and be done with it?"
"Riley, what's gotten into you?" I exclaimed.
"So, what are we going to do about it?" she asked. Her jaw was clenched, and I could see that she was itching for a fight. Sometimes she reminded me so much of Molly that it hurt. "I mean, this can't keep happening, can it?"
"I don't know," I sighed as my shoulders sagged. I leaned against the counter. "Gram won't go to rehab and I can't make her. She's never going to stop drinking, so I don't know what to do."
"One of the counselors at school gave me this," Riley said as she held out the sheet of paper. I took it and scanned the page. It was a detailed outline of how to stage an intervention.
"Did the counselor say anything about this?" I asked as my face burned with shame. Someone at school knew what was going on in this house, and they were reaching out to a twelve-year-old. How much worse could this get?
"She just said that the intervention might be the last step in helping Gram find a way to get out of her addiction," Riley said. "Can we try it, Leah? We could call Patrick and get him to help, couldn't we?"
"Let me think about this," I said as I thought about how we could bring my brother, Patrick, into the mix. Just then, the doorbell rang. I handed Riley two twenty-dollar bills and said, "Tip the delivery person five—no more!"
"Gotcha," Riley said as she took the money and went to retrieve our dinner.
I read the flyer again. Molly would know what to do with Mama. Molly would have handled this with her usual flair and forthrightness, and she would have made it look easy. Maybe that was the problem: Molly made everything she did look so easy. Maybe things had been a lot harder for her than we thought, and now we were getting a peek into what drove her away.
By the time Riley brought the pizza back into the kitchen, I'd set the table and had decided to call Patrick after we ate.
*
After dinner was over and the dishes were done, I took my phone out of my purse and went into the living room to call my brother. It had been almost two years since we'd last spoken. As the phone rang, I thought about what I would say to him and how he might respond.
"Queen of Peace Parish," a voice answered the phone. "How may I direct your call?"
"Father Patrick Walsh, please," I said. There was a click and the phone began ringing again.
"Father Patrick Walsh," my brother said into the receiver. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Patrick?" I said quietly. "It's Leah. Please don't hang up."
"Leah," he said, and I could hear the suspicion hanging in the air between us. "What do you want?"
"I need to talk to you, Patrick," I pleaded before rushing into the rest of it. "It's Mama. She's not doing well, and I need help figuring out what to do with her. I know you don't want to have anything to do with us, but we need you, Patrick. I need you. I need your help. Please don't hang up on me."
I began crying as the weight of everything came crashing down on me. I needed my brother more now than ever before, but I wasn't sure he'd be willing to help. So much time had passed since Molly disappeared, and none of us had listened to him while we'd still had the chance to help her.
"Don't cry, Leah," he said softly. There was a long pause before he spoke again, "Let's meet at the parish and talk about what's going on. When are you free?"