Page 118 of Running Home to You
When the therapist called their small, strained, unconventional family up to share, Abby kept the hood of her sweatshirt raised and slouched in her chair. Isla and Audie sat across from her, their pity-sheened eyes too much for her to bear.
“I’m proud of you. I know this wasn’t easy, to come here,” Isla started things off. “I love you, and my biggest regret is that I didn’t see the signs sooner. Or that I ignored them or that I didn’t pay enough attention. You’re the closest family I have.” Her words caught and Abby realized she’d never seen her this close to tears. “I wanted a little sister so badly growing up, and I remember when you were born, how cruel it felt that I didn’t get to be with you. That we were kept apart for so long. Now, I feel like I failed you. That I should’ve been there sooner or more. I’ve just never been good at family, you know?”
“It’s not your fault, Isla.” Abby wiped tears, always amazed at how deep their reserve went. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else. Always making sure I come out the other side. You’re the best bigsister I could ask for. I’m sorry I’m constantly testing that, making you worry and bail me out. I’m done with it. All of it. I promise.”
They both sniffled and nodded, neither of them prone to large emotional displays. A shared, meager half smile did the job just fine.
“Audie, do you have anything you’d like to say?” the therapist asked.
He stroked his mustache and, before he even opened his mouth, Abby’s knee bounced in preparation for a fight.
“I suppose I should start with an apology,” he said. “I haven’t been around for much of your life, but now—”
Abby hissed. “Not around for much of my life? If only it’d been that simple. Instead, it was the drunken drop-in or the hours of waiting at the window for you not to show. And then you wonder why I pushed you away just like Mom did!”
“I’m sorry—”
“Now you get to show up here like the hero? Like the guy everyone assumed you must be when they learned who my dad was? What a fucking joke.”
Audie flashed his teeth. “Abby,no seas malcriada.”
She threw her head back and rolled her eyes. “No me digas cómo comportarme, pendejo.”
“Okay, maybe let’s stick to English,” the therapist said.
“I had my own problems! I’m an addict too,” Audie said.
“Y un tramposo,” Isla murmured.
“I wish you just stayed away! From this, from all of it! If you hadn’t shown up at nationals, I wouldn’t be here.” Abby trembled as the floodgates unleashed. In group sessions and individual therapy, she’d prepared for this moment, written down what she’d like to say, and how she might say it. This wasn’t even close. “You fucking ruined my life, over and over, for what? Why are you even here, when you didn’t show up for us when it actually meant something? Why couldn’t you show up for her?” Abby met his gaze through tears as her anger dwindled into tired despair. “Quit acting like you’re a good guy and just let me go already. You’ve done it before.”
She returned to the pool house after rehab. The churning ocean and sand that had once brought her comfort felt foreign when she walked along the beach. She dug up her mitt and ran her hands over the leather, found her bat and adjusted her grip on the handle, but that too stirred nothing inside. Rehab hollowed her out the same way grief had once emptied her, only now she quietly mourned for the parts of herself lost in recovery.
While it did nothing to console her, Abby watched the coverage of Puerto Rico, heart aching at the flooded streets she’d once considered home. She scrolled on her phone and donated money, but it always came up short. And while she knew there was one person who understood better than anyone, she avoided Audie.
It was no easy task with them both in San Diego. In fact, that first week after rehab, she found him manning the coffee station at the nearest AA meeting.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turned for the exit.
“Hey, no! Stay.” Audie followed her outside, weaving past the meeting members smoking beneath palm trees. “Abby, hold on a minute.”
She shook her head. “Isn’t there some rule against family members at the same AA meeting? How am I supposed to talk shit about you while you’re sitting across from me?”
“I will go then,” Audie said.
“No, this is your meeting. I’ll find another.”
She found her way to a small circle in a nearby church basement. She always thought it funny they stashed them there, like they had to be hidden away.
“My name is Abby and I’m an alcoholic and an addict,” she said when the meeting leader asked her to share. “I like to say I’m a second-generation alcoholic, maybe even a third, I’m not sure. My dad is at a meeting down the street and my mom…my mom died because she couldn’t beat it.” Abby stared at her untied sneakers onthe concrete floor. “And when you grow up like that, I guess chaos starts to feel normal. Comfortable even. At least, it has been for me.”
Abby got her ninety-day chip before Christmas. She’d be lying if she said the time passed anything but agonizingly slow. There weren’t enough meetings or therapy, surfing or reading to fill the days. She was lonely, but she struggled to speak with Isla. She didn’t want to burden her, didn’t know what to say, didn’t think she’d understand.
It left her wrestling again with the urge to talk to Audie. He came by the house to visit his grandsons, always sure to stay clear of her. She envied his newfound steadiness, his purpose, his five years of sobriety—hated it even. Hated that she and Isla missed out on his best years. He worked for the Padres as a hitting advisor and went dutifully to the ballpark every day—a far cry from when his teammates had to pull him out of bars to attend practice as a player. And after the hurricane hit, he organized aid trips to Puerto Rico.
“I have some old teammates in San Juan,” Abby said to him in December. He’d come to Isla’s for dinner, before he shipped back out. “If I give you some names and addresses, do you think you can check up on them?”
Audie set aside his fork and dabbed his lips with his napkin. “How about you do it?” he asked. “Come with me.”
