The Survival Kit by Donna Freitas

Author:Donna Freitas [Freitas, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Death & Dying, Love & Romance
ISBN: 9781466800045
Google: mfKMrp5mE5oC
Amazon: B00BCUPTDK
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2011-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

During the night my eyes opened and wouldn’t shut again. It was only two a.m. and I was exhausted, but my body refused to cooperate. I got up to make some tea, hoping it might help me go back to sleep. I reached the hallway outside my room and heard Grandma’s voice.

“Ellie never would have stood for this. Pull yourself together,” she said. “Your kids need you. Rose especially. You’re forcing that girl to act like a parent. You have a problem, James.”

“I do not have a problem,” Dad said, his voice hoarse. “Give me that bottle of ibuprofen. I have a headache.”

“I bet you do.” I heard the clatter of pills against the sides of a plastic container, the shake of someone spilling them into their palm. “You’re hurting your children and you have to stop.”

“If I’m hurting anyone, it’s myself.”

“Do you really think Rose wants to see you like this? Do you really believe your son wants to deal with this when he comes home from college on break? They need to be able to depend on you.”

“Ellie was the one who—”

“You are still their father and not only are you coming home drunk and forcing them to witness it, but you are driving, James. You are driving home drunk.”

“But—”

“No buts. You could kill someone,” Grandma hissed. “You could land yourself in jail. You could kill yourself and then where would Rose and Jim be? Without a mother and without a father. Is that what you want?”

I covered my mouth in shock. Grandma was saying all the things I’d wanted to say but hadn’t had the courage. But then I heard sobbing, big, heavy, uncontrollable heaves, and my chest tightened, and my throat, all the way up into my cheeks and eyes. Ever since the day of the funeral Dad had been so stoic I didn’t think I would ever hear him cry again.

“I know, I know,” Grandma Madison soothed.

“I can’t do this, Ma,” Dad wept, “I just can’t.”

The sobbing grew more intense and I turned around, tiptoeing to my room. I couldn’t listen anymore. I closed the door softly behind me and got back into bed, pulling the blankets over my ears, closing my eyes, hoping that if I fell asleep I might forget.

The next morning we pretended like nothing had happened. I didn’t know who had cleaned up the mess in the living room, but it was gone. The dirt and glass and broken pieces were wiped away as if they had never been there, and everything gleamed.

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