Page 94 of The Love We Deny
“Have you taken any of these?” I ask, my voice the only steady thing about me.
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I was thinking about it. I didn’t think you would notice them missing and—”
“Addie.” I take the bottle from her hands, and she lets me without a fight. “Are you telling me you want to hurt yourself?”
She lifts her shoulder, a shrug to an answer that should be a no. Addie has always been pure sunshine. I always knew, no matter what, that I must have done something right because she was sohappy. She’s been great through everything. Checking on Ollie and me, helping around the house, distracting us—
I thought she was handling everything well.
But I wasn’t paying attention. I was seeing what I wanted to see.
“Please don’t be mad at Uncle Will,” she says, like that matters at all right now. “He loves us so much, Dad. And he’s lonely. And you guys were finally—” Her voice wavers. “He’s trying so hard to be better, and I can’t ruin his second chance.”
“I’m not thinking about Will right now, Addie. Look at me.” I wait until she looks up. “We need to get you some help.”
She shakes her head, staring back down, picking at her chipped pink nail polish that’s usually perfect. “I’m not going to do anything. I gave you the pills.”
“And I’m grateful for that, but we’re still going to get you some help. You need someone to help you through these feelings before they get any worse. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that you were struggling, I should have—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, and we both know that’s the truth. “I should have been here for you after Mom left, and I wasn’t.” She leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer.
“I love you,” I say with a kiss to the top of her head. “The world doesn’t work without you in it, kiddo. Not for me, and not for a hell of a lot of other people. You haveno ideahow loved you are.”
She makes a broken sound against me, and I turn and hug her fully, letting her cry into my shoulder while I try to hold it together for her sake.
I sit with her for a long time after she stops crying, only occasional sniffles, holding her the way I used to when she was a child.
“Okay,” I say, pulling back to look at her face as she wipes the remaining tears with her sleeve. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to make some calls, and we’re going to find someone who can help you.”
She nods, but the look on her face says she’s hesitant.
“And you’re going to go. Not because I’m making you, but because you deserve to live, Addie. A long, happy life.”
“Do you understand?” I ask when she doesn’t respond, looking down at her hands.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice so soft I almost can’t hear the words. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry. If you’re feeling bad, you have to tell me so I can help you feel better.” I squeeze her knee. “But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, go wake up your brother.”
She blinks. “But it’s nine-thirty.”
“I know.”
“We have school tomorrow. You have to work.”
“We’re taking the day off.”
Her face shifts when I say that, some of the weight lifting momentarily. “…what are we doing?”
“Family movie night. The three of us. Hurry and wake him up, and I’ll get the snacks.” I gesture toward the stairs, and she stands up, confusion on her face, but she goes, and that’s the best I can do until we can get real help. Try to take her mind off of everything.
And get rid of these pills.
I listen for the sound of her opening Ollie’s bedroom door, and then I pull out my phone. I’ve called this number so many times in the last year and gotten nothing. A ring, a decline, a voicemail. I’ve never left one because usually I was calling for myself. If I didn’t know what to do and needed my wife for guidance.
This time, when it goes to voicemail, I do have something to say.
