C.J. Carmichael - A convenient proposal

Which brought her thoughts back to Billy and Amanda. And to their uncle, whose sad face had been haunting under the glow of the streetlight. His intentions were good, but what could he really do to help the situation?

What could any of them do? Kelly swallowed the last of her cocoa. She wished she could curl up here all night, warm and cozy in Poppy’s kitchen.

“Would you like to stay over, love?” Poppy asked, reading her mind yet again. “The rooms are full, but there’s the pullout couch in the study.”

“Thanks, Poppy, but I’d better get home.” When she woke in the night, as she always did, it was better not to have to worry about waking anyone else. Besides, once Poppy left the room, the magic of this place was gone.

“I guess it’s time I was leaving.”

“You didn’t eat your muffin. Shall I wrap a few for your breakfast?”

Kelly didn’t have the heart to say no.

SHARON WAS TOTALLY WASTED. At least a half-dozen empty bottles of beer were strewn on the floor. Mick could hear her snoring on the sofa as he stepped out of the children’s room. He was thankful they’d finally fallen asleep. Amanda had dropped off quickly, but poor Billy had been full of his usual questions.

Where was his dad, and how long would he be dead? The kid just couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of forever. Which was maybe a blessing.

Mick stepped over some scattered building blocks on his way to the bathroom. The sink was a mess. He cleaned it, then grabbed the laundry basket Sharon kept next to the tub. Full again.

This house didn’t come with a washer or drier, and Sharon wasn’t often capable of making it to the Laundromat, so he’d started doing the family’s laundry at home. If he left now, he’d get a load done before bed, but he hated to go with Sharon passed out like that.

What if there was a problem with one of the kids during the night? Sharon might not hear them.

He returned to the kitchen, where a box of sugarcoated cereal and two dirty glasses gave him a good idea of what the kids had eaten for dinner. He picked up one of the plastic tumblers and sniffed.

Cola.

Opening the fridge, he saw a carton of milk, unopened. The liter of cola, however, was almost all gone.

Well, he couldn’t blame the kids. If he were five, he supposed he’d make the same menu choices.

But what was Sharon eating? As far as he could tell, these days her diet was purely liquid.

Halfway through cleaning up the kitchen, Mick collapsed onto one of the chairs.

What the hell was he going to do?

From the living room came a protracted groan. Good, Sharon was waking. He put on a pot of coffee and popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.

“Oh, God…what time is it?” Sharon’s voice held a touch of panic.

He went to check on her. “Almost ten. How do you feel?”

Sharon could be a pretty girl when she made an effort, but booze and a general disregard for cleanliness did not bring out her best attributes. Mick felt like throwing her in the shower. Instead, he held out a hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

“Did the kids have dinner?” Sharon asked, sinking into a kitchen chair.

“Dry cereal and cola.”

“Good.”

Mick caught the ghostly flash of her sardonic smile.

“This isn’t working out, you know,” he said. He put a mug of black coffee in front of her. “Drink this. Then eat some toast.”

She pushed the plate away. “I can’t. Just the smell makes me nauseous.”

“Too bad. Your body needs food.” He slid the plate back to her, watching as with shaking hands she lifted the mug to her mouth.

“You must be getting sick of baby-sitting us, Mick.”

“I’ll do what I’ve got to do. But you have to start feeding those kids right, and getting them to bed at a decent hour.” He thought about Kelly Shannon’s comment about their pajamas. “And put them in their snowsuits when they go outside to play.”

“I know, I know.” Sharon closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead.

“I’m serious. They’re going to get sick.”

“I’m trying, Mickey. I’m doing the best I can.”

He believed her. The best she could do was worthless, though, as long as she was drinking. “You need to get back on the program, Sharon. The way you did before Amanda was born.”

When he’d found out his brother and his wife were expecting their second child, he’d all but dragged them to that first meeting, worried about what Sharon’s drinking could do to her unborn child. It was still a miracle to him that Billy had turned out so normal.

His suggestion had Sharon crying now. “I can’t go, Mickey. I can’t stop drinking with Danny gone. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.”

“Sure it’s hard, but you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to think of your kids.”

The tears came faster; Sharon’s sobs hiccuped, then intensified.

“I can’t do this. I’m so alone….”

He reached over to stroke her head. “I’m here, Sharon. I’ll help you.”

“I don’t see how you can.”

“I’ll take you to the meetings, help you with the kids.”

Sharon shook her head. “And what about the new one?”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant, Mickey. The new baby will be here in seven months.”

MICK DIDN’T DRINK. There was too much alcoholism in his family. His mother and his brother. Probably his father, too, although unlike his half brother, Danny, he’d never figured out exactly who that was.

So Mick did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. Sat in his darkened living room and stared out the large picture window. A nearby streetlamp cast a dull yellow light on the road and the houses beyond, but it didn’t really matter, because Mick wasn’t paying any attention to the view. The problems of his brother’s family were too heavy in his mind.

What the hell was he going to do about Amanda and Billy? Kelly was right; the situation was poised for disaster. With his years of journalism, it was all too easy to imagine his family in the headlines again.

Two Children Killed In House Fire. Mother too drunk to call 911….

Children Hospitalized For Malnutrition. Mother currently under police investigation….

If only Danny hadn’t died. The family had finally been doing okay. Sharon hadn’t fallen off the wagon once since Amanda’s birth. Danny’s job with Max Strongman had lasted over a year—his longest period of steady employment ever.

Then Mick thought of the stash of illegal drugs the police had found in one of the barns when they’d searched the Thunder Bar M after Danny’s death, and knew he was fooling himself. Danny hadn’t been as rehabilitated as he’d hoped.

The red light on his answering machine caught his eye, but he just turned away. If it was work, they’d try his cell. As for his friends, well, he no longer had time for the mountain biking and cross-country skiing that had formerly occupied his non-working hours. He’d given up all his leisure activities to look after Danny’s kids.

And Kelly was right again. It wasn’t enough. Especially now that there was a third child on the way. To think of how much drinking Sharon had been doing these past two months made Mick sick. She’d promised she would shower in the morning and get ready for him to take her to the doctor. Later in the week, he’d try to convince her to go back to AA.

But that was all he could do for her. And in his heart he knew it wasn’t enough.

So what were his options?

Mick stretched out his legs and leaned his head back. The most obvious solution was one he could hardly bring himself to think about, let alone seriously consider.

He could marry Sharon and take responsibility for his brother’s family.

Every cell in his body, though, protested that route. That he didn’t love Sharon, had never even liked her, wasn’t the main problem. He didn’t see how he could partner up with a woman he couldn’t respect. His mother had been a drunk. He couldn’t, just couldn’t, marry another one. Especially one who put the bottle ahead of her children.