Return to Magnolia Bloom: A Magnolia Bloom Novel, Book 1 by Paula Adler

Author:Paula Adler [Adler, Paula]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragon Dreams Press LLC
Published: 2020-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Paige – Now

It turns out I was wrong. My nap turned into twelve straight hours of sleep, and now I’m in the kitchen, the five a.m. darkness outside a blanket of peace. I’m puttering, trying not to disturb Kiki, but it seems my efforts are wasted. She’s sneaking into the kitchen in shorts, tank top, and trainers, clearly unaware I’m present.

“Good morning.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She slaps a hand over her chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? I was here first.”

She gives me a stink eye and turns to the counter. “The scent of fresh coffee should have told me you were up. Clearly, I’m not meant to be a detective.” She pours herself a cup from the pot, grimacing as a precious drop hits the hot plate.

“What are you doing up so early?” I hold up a hand. “Never mind. No Sherlock here, either. I revise my inquiry to, when did you take up jogging?”

Her long pause seems incongruent with my question. She takes her cup to the table set before the spotless window on the other side of the room.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks.

“Sounds like a trick question.”

“More like a stalling one.”

I sit down and open my hand halfway across the table, palm up. She takes it, and for a moment we’re transported in time. The decade difference in our ages is both a blessing and a sadness. We’re close, but we never got to do the my-best-friend-who-does-everything-with-me thing.

Lacing my fingers with hers, I confess, “Sometimes it still takes me aback when we’re together and I see this amazing, beautiful woman. I can’t help but wonder, where’s my baby sister?”

“She’s been around the world and made some incredibly poor choices. She’s certainly not a girl anymore.”

I look into her eyes, holding them when I can tell she wants to break contact. “What’s up, honey?”

She starts French-braiding her hair to keep her hands busy, a habit she formed as soon as she had the manual dexterity.

“I’m an alcoholic, Paige.”

I cough a laugh. “Come on, quit joking. I know you’ve got something important on your mind and—”

“Paige, stop. I’m not distracting you. I’m not deflecting. I’m telling you I’m an alcoholic. Talking to family members you can trust not to hurt you is part of recovery.”

I shake my head. “But I’ve never seen you—”

“Hammered? Black-out drunk? So high I can’t stand, much less walk?” Her laugh isn’t meant to convey humor. “I don’t mean to be a shit, but how often have we seen each other over the past two decades? Two times a year? Three? Addicts are amazing at putting on the face they know people want to see.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to be dismissive. I’m…stunned. You have to give me a minute to process.”

“I know, and I shouldn’t jump straight to defensive. It’s a big part of my step work.”

“If anything, I’m angry with myself that I never saw, that I wasn’t there for you.”

Her smile is sad, but she continues. “Well, big sis, this isn’t about you.

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