Read Online The Way Back to Happiness by Elizabeth Bass - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Bass
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damage I left behind. Because how could I have done that? Tom died and you hated me and I understood all that. I’m sure you still do hate me. Why shouldn’t you?
If it makes you feel better, I don’t like me, either.
Well, I still can’t fix the past. I can’t fix anything. Everything I touch, I ruin. That’s the truth. You knew it all along, but it’s taken me a whole lot longer to figure myself out. I can’t get things right. I lost my job last month and I can’t find another that’s not minimum wage. Alabama and I can’t live on that, and I can’t ask Mama for money again, I just can’t. I’ve already bled her dry. The one thing I’m good at—sucking the life out of people. You know that as well as anyone.
There’s only one positive thing that’s come out of my life. Alabama. She’s all that’s left. But she deserves more than this, doesn’t she? More than me, I mean. I was a better mom than I was a sister, but I guess you know how little that adds up to. When I look at her I sometimes wonder, how long till she’s as messed up as me?
And this is the really hard part, the part I haven’t wanted to face until now. That maybe all my problems are a result of me doing such a terrible thing. I mean, she should have been yours, shouldn’t she? I started to write this so I could ask you to take care of Alabama. But maybe that’s not right. Maybe I should ask you to take her back. Take back what I stole from you. Will you do that?
I wish I had the nerve to ask you over the phone. Or in person. But I can’t do that. On top of everything else, I’m a coward. You’ll understand when you read this.
Will you tell Alabama I did my best? Even if my best wasn’t all that great? Will you tell her I love her when I can’t?
Or better yet, just make her feel loved. And safe. And happy. I think I managed to do that sometimes. But not anymore. I can’t seem to manage anything anymore.
I worry she won’t understand. That she’ll hate me. Do you think she’ll hate me? I don’t know what else to do. I’m at the end of my rope, Bevvie.
Bev read the letter over and over until a strange sound made her tilt her head. It was only then she realized that the sound was the keening cry coming from her own throat.
Diana had sat in her apartment, her disgusting apartment, writing this. When? Maybe it was the last thing she had done. Twelve hours later, Bev had arrived. By then, Diana had been taken away, but the glass and bottle she’d been drinking from were still on her coffee table. She’d drunk that gin, written that letter, and then staggered out to a mailbox. And then she’d done it.
I wish I had the nerve to ask you over the phone.
If only she had found the nerve! If she’d called Bev—or called Mama, or someone —maybe they could have talked her out of it. Of course, Bev would have been the last person she’d reach out to....
The thought stopped her cold. Diana had reached out to her. This letter probably represented not only her sister’s last will and testament, but also her last words, maybe her last thoughts. And they’d been of Alabama, the daughter she was leaving behind. Purposefully.
How could Diana have done that? How could she have been so selfish, so . . .
She rose on wobbling legs and staggered as far as the couch, where she curled up in a heap. How could this have happened? How had they traveled from those button-cute girls in matching scratchy Easter dresses to this? I was her big sister, I should have taken care of her. Watched over her.
Forgiven her.
Too late now.
Now there was only Alabama. What had Diana said? She’s all that’s left. For weeks, Bev had felt a growing frustration that Gladys wouldn’t give up on the idea of taking care of Alabama herself. She hadn’t been able to figure out why this bothered her, much less put the uncomfortable feeling into words. She’d simply felt that it should have been her responsibility. Now she wondered if it hadn’t been
If it makes you feel better, I don’t like me, either.
Well, I still can’t fix the past. I can’t fix anything. Everything I touch, I ruin. That’s the truth. You knew it all along, but it’s taken me a whole lot longer to figure myself out. I can’t get things right. I lost my job last month and I can’t find another that’s not minimum wage. Alabama and I can’t live on that, and I can’t ask Mama for money again, I just can’t. I’ve already bled her dry. The one thing I’m good at—sucking the life out of people. You know that as well as anyone.
There’s only one positive thing that’s come out of my life. Alabama. She’s all that’s left. But she deserves more than this, doesn’t she? More than me, I mean. I was a better mom than I was a sister, but I guess you know how little that adds up to. When I look at her I sometimes wonder, how long till she’s as messed up as me?
And this is the really hard part, the part I haven’t wanted to face until now. That maybe all my problems are a result of me doing such a terrible thing. I mean, she should have been yours, shouldn’t she? I started to write this so I could ask you to take care of Alabama. But maybe that’s not right. Maybe I should ask you to take her back. Take back what I stole from you. Will you do that?
I wish I had the nerve to ask you over the phone. Or in person. But I can’t do that. On top of everything else, I’m a coward. You’ll understand when you read this.
Will you tell Alabama I did my best? Even if my best wasn’t all that great? Will you tell her I love her when I can’t?
Or better yet, just make her feel loved. And safe. And happy. I think I managed to do that sometimes. But not anymore. I can’t seem to manage anything anymore.
I worry she won’t understand. That she’ll hate me. Do you think she’ll hate me? I don’t know what else to do. I’m at the end of my rope, Bevvie.
Bev read the letter over and over until a strange sound made her tilt her head. It was only then she realized that the sound was the keening cry coming from her own throat.
Diana had sat in her apartment, her disgusting apartment, writing this. When? Maybe it was the last thing she had done. Twelve hours later, Bev had arrived. By then, Diana had been taken away, but the glass and bottle she’d been drinking from were still on her coffee table. She’d drunk that gin, written that letter, and then staggered out to a mailbox. And then she’d done it.
I wish I had the nerve to ask you over the phone.
If only she had found the nerve! If she’d called Bev—or called Mama, or someone —maybe they could have talked her out of it. Of course, Bev would have been the last person she’d reach out to....
The thought stopped her cold. Diana had reached out to her. This letter probably represented not only her sister’s last will and testament, but also her last words, maybe her last thoughts. And they’d been of Alabama, the daughter she was leaving behind. Purposefully.
How could Diana have done that? How could she have been so selfish, so . . .
She rose on wobbling legs and staggered as far as the couch, where she curled up in a heap. How could this have happened? How had they traveled from those button-cute girls in matching scratchy Easter dresses to this? I was her big sister, I should have taken care of her. Watched over her.
Forgiven her.
Too late now.
Now there was only Alabama. What had Diana said? She’s all that’s left. For weeks, Bev had felt a growing frustration that Gladys wouldn’t give up on the idea of taking care of Alabama herself. She hadn’t been able to figure out why this bothered her, much less put the uncomfortable feeling into words. She’d simply felt that it should have been her responsibility. Now she wondered if it hadn’t been
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