Page 8 of Call You Mine
And when she got pregnant, he stayed.
They got married; he bought a house big enough for all ofus, and became the one and only father figure any of us ever had.
And things were good—foryears.
I went to college and moved out, not having to worry about my sisters because my mom and Steven had everything taken care of. Then Phoebe got into her nursing program, and Jasmine moved in with her boyfriend, and everything wasgood.
After so many years of gathering the broken, jagged pieces and doing my best to fit them back together, I finally realized that I didn’t have to be the one holding everything in place anymore.
Until the accident.
Steven was on his way home from work, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The car crash took him quickly—didn’t even give him a chance.
And it’s my fault for thinking that Georgie was enough.
Enough for my mom to stay sober; enough for my mom to stay strong for her daughter, despite what she was going through herself.
Georgie stays silent, not saying anything since I told her she would be staying with me for a few days. She sniffles, trying to hold back tears, quickly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt every few seconds.
My eyes shift to my rearview mirror, which is still not straight enough.
I squeeze the leather of my steering wheel so hard my hand starts to cramp, and it takes so much effort to ignore the compulsion and focus on getting Georgie home.
I exhale, trying to keep my voice light. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I try to assure her—and myself.
But of course it isn’t.
Her mother is an alcoholic, and her oldest half-sister can barely focus on the road because the goddamn rearviewmirror is angled too far to the right. The same older sister who took her from her home, the only one she’s known all her life, at three in the morning, hours before she’s supposed to be at school.
And I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do.
I don’t even know the rules or procedures for something like this.
Georgie just turned thirteen.
She hasschooltomorrow—no,today—for fuck’s sake.
Do I call her out? Tell them she has a doctor's appointment?
Do I drop her off and hope the normalcy and routine make her feel better?
Is taking her considered kidnapping?
Am I going to go to jail?
Was it supposed to snow today?
When’s the last time I got my tires changed?
Will they be okay with the snow building up on the road?
What if we start sliding?
What if I lose control of the car?
Shaking my head as if to rid myself of all the thoughts before I go into a full-blown spiral, I try to focus on my surroundings—the warm air blowing from the car vents, the quiet music coming from the speakers, the snowflakes gently falling onto the windshield.
