Chapter One
Four Years Ago…...
Andrea Fraylen was running late. There was no real reason for it, except that she’d been enjoying the quiet of the morning, the softness of her pillow, the warmth of her bed with its cotton sheets and old-style quilt. Despite her husband, Bruce’s, gentle prodding, she’d clung to her sleepiness, stretching her body out across the kind-sized bed and then quickly pulling her arms and legs back up into the blankets, scrunching the pillow into a ball under her head. She really wanted to fall back into that deep, dreamless sleep she’d been enjoying only moments before. Her obligations waned. Not even the fact that she hated being late seemed to coax her into action. She allowed her guilty pleasure of quiet comfort put her a full 30 minutes behind schedule.
Once reality set in, Andrea knew she’d made a big mistake. Just because she wasn’t actually employed by a company, didn’t mean she had no time constraints. Being a court reporter and working a deposition meant she had to be at a certain place at a certain time. Glancing at the clock as she popped out of bed, she wasn’t sure how she was going to make it from her home in the suburb of Southlake all the way to downtown Dallas by no later than 7:30 a.m. The deposition was at 8:00, and the lawyer that called it was, by no means, ever late.
Andrea jumped in the shower, hoping Bruce had left some hot water. She only needed ten minutes, and she’d be out. As soon as she stepped out of the shower, she heard her 16-month-old daughter, Charlotte, calling out from the room next to hers. She still had to take Charlotte and Nathan, her two and a half-year-old son, to daycare, before she could even hit the highway toward Dallas.
She slipped on her bathrobe, pulled her wet hair into a fresh twist with her towel, and raced across the hall to Charlotte’s room.
Charlotte grinned and held up her arms, her fingers wiggling, as soon as Andrea opened the door. “Mama!” Charlotte called. “Mama!”
Andrea couldn’t help but smile. Charlotte was a dream, come true. She had big brown eyes and thick, dark, curly hair. Bruce was so thrilled that he got his “little Andrea.” Andrea swung Charlotte up in a hug and kissed her on the cheek. After the typical morning routine, Charlotte was clean, dressed in a pink, long-sleeved top and blue jeans, pink socks and a bow, holding tight to her favorite soft dolly, and ready to go eat.
Andrea looked at Charlotte’s dolly and smiled. Charlotte loved the doll with the bright green dress and yellow hair. It was a gift from Andrea’s grandmother, Charlotte’s only living great-grandmother, who lived in Germany. Andrea thought it was rather ugly, but was glad that Charlotte loved it. It was just three months after they received the gift that the call came that Leigh Trinton, beloved mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, had passed away.
Andrea squeezed Charlotte tight and hurried down the stairs, dodging toys along the way. Her panic was increasing as the time slipped away from her. She turned a corner and was in the kitchen in a flash. Bruce turned to see Andrea placing Charlotte in her high chair, ruffling Nathan’s hair as she stepped past him to get Charlotte’s breakfast ready. Andrea was grateful that Bruce had gotten Nathan up and dressed that morning.
Bruce stopped her, “Running late? Why don’t you let me take care of the kids? I can even drop them off at daycare today on my way in to the station. I got most of my work done yesterday. Barring some sudden, big case today should be a pretty slow day.”
Andrea looked up at Bruce with relief. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course, I’m sure. I’ve got this. You go finish getting ready. Don’t you have that depo downtown today?”
Andrea kissed him on the lips and turned. She quickly kissed Charlotte and Nathan on the tops of their heads, whispering I love you to them and back to her husband. As she made her way toward the stairs, she answered Bruce over her shoulder, “Yep! And it’s with Madsen. He’s a bit of a stickler on time, you know.”
Andrea was surprised when just ten minutes later she heard the garage door opening. Bruce never seemed to have trouble managing his time. She stepped over to the window and looked out. Bruce’s silver Toyota Highlander was backing out of the driveway into the cul-de-sac. He looked up at the window and waved, smiling brightly. Andrea waved back and blew him a kiss. Even running late, she couldn’t stop herself from watching the SUV until it was out of sight down the street. I certainly have the perfect life, Andrea thought. She went right back to getting ready, and within fifteen minutes, she was in her car and on her way.
She popped a CD in the player of her white Nissan Maxima, and immediately began singing along to one of her favorite songs. It wasn’t long before she pulled onto the highway, going east toward Dallas. It also wasn’t long until she found herself at a complete stop. What in the world? she thought. She pushed the button to change from the CD to the radio and began scanning the stations to figure out why the traffic was so backed up. It wasn’t as if she expected clear roads but no one was moving. Clearly, there had been a wreck or something. She laughed at the thought that it was probably nothing but a stranded car on the side of the road. People will stare at ANYTHING, she thought, shaking her head.
After several minutes of searching, she found a radio station covering traffic. Apparently, there was a wreck, a bad one. All traffic was being diverted to the service road. Andrea groaned. Despite her best efforts, there was no way she was going to make it on time. She pulled out her cell and made the dreaded call to Madsen’s office. The admin was very gracious and understanding. Too bad it wasn’t going to be the admin that Andrea would have to eventually answer to when she finally reached her destination.
The traffic began to crawl along. There was no other way for Andrea to get where she needed to be, so she decided to relax as much as possible and enjoy the music now piping through the speakers. As she inched down the highway, Andrea thought about her family.
She grew up very quickly, not really having much of a childhood. Her parents divorced when she was just six years old. She was the oldest of four. Her mom had custody of all the kids and worked two jobs. Andrea barely saw her dad all those years. She was expected to, at first, help her mom with her siblings, and then, basically raise them herself once she hit the ripe old age of ten. It was hard, but it was all she knew. It made her responsible, organized, dutiful, and annoyed. At 16, she couldn’t believe how her friends lived their daily lives. They practically had no responsibilities at all. She had to admit she was jealous of their freedom. She earned her driver’s license the day of her 16th birthday and began the new chore of driving her siblings to all their activities. Her mom was barely ever home. Her dad had simply stopped coming around.
As soon as she graduated high school, Andrea moved out. She was tired of being the parent, and besides, her brother, Ethan, was old enough to take over. Her mom was disappointed at first, but soon realized how badly her daughter needed to live her own life. Andrea moved from her hometown of Fairfield, Iowa all the way to Arlington, Texas, another suburb of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. She went to court reporting school and worked full time at a restaurant. She lived her life exhausted, but loving every second of her freedom.
Court reporting school was much harder than she expected it to be. In fact, it took her three years to finish. She’d never been so tired in her life of hearing people ask, “So when are you going to graduate?” or “How much longer do you have now?” It was a self-paced course, so there was no set amount of time. Andrea saw some of her friends finish before her and still others who ended up behind her. School was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. It took her three tries to pass the certification exam. The day she received her certification in the mail had been the happiest day of her life.
She started out slow, but soon had so much work; she barely had time to breathe. She loved it. She met Bruce four days after her 24th birthday. They literally bumped into each other at a sports bar where her best friend, Margo, had dragged her. Their drinks spilled and they laughed, embarrassed at first, but then, Bruce invited her to sit with him and bought her another drink. They spent the next two hours talking. Andrea found out that Bruce was a police detective in Arlington. He was 27 and had grown up in Southlake. They exchanged numbers, and it wasn’t long before they were both in love. They married just over a year after they met.
Bruce was everything a girl could wish for in a husband and father. He was hysterically funny. He was always kind and extremely smart. Andrea was just shy of 5’5”, so Bruce’s 5’10” frame suited her perfectly. He was muscular and dark, except for his bright blue eyes that danced whenever he talked about something that excited him. When their son, Nathan, came into the world a little over a year after they married, Andrea watched as Bruce held him. She could see the wonder in his eyes as he touched Nathan’s tiny fingers and counted his tiny toes. He was a very attentive dad. He changed diapers and held Nathan when he cried. He curled up next to Andrea when she breastfed both Nathan and, later, Charlotte. Bruce treasured every moment he had with the kids, and Andrea loved him all the more for it.
The traffic continued crawling along as Andrea merged with the other cars into one lane and down to the service road. She could see the fire trucks blocking off all the lanes on the highway up ahead. There were police cars all over the place. Strangely, there were no ambulances. She figured they must’ve already come and gone.
As she continued to follow the cars off the highway, she couldn’t help but look up. It was obvious that something had happened that caused a car to go down the steep side of the highway, at least part of the way. She could see the broken railing up on the highway. There were more fire trucks on the service road, forcing the commuters to go all the way to the right to get around to the traffic light.
Andrea glanced at the apparent accident site. There was a mangled vehicle being pulled by a large tow truck up the side of embankment. Is it silver? she wondered, shivering at the thought. As the cars in front of her stopped, she looked again. It was definitely a silver vehicle, silver SUV. It was pretty broken up. She could tell it had taken a tumble down the hill. She squinted, trying to get past the thought that snuck into her head. It was a Toyota. She could see the Toyota symbol when what was left of the back end of it turned slightly into her view. She shook. It can’t be. It can’t be Bruce’s, she thought. Does he even come this way? He never comes this way, unless…her thoughts faded. She knew he came this way only when he was taking the kids to daycare.
She didn’t want to look again. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to believe it. She soon realized she had to know, had to get these crazy thoughts out of her head that it was Bruce’s car, or she would never be able to concentrate on work. She looked one more time, convinced she was going to see that it wasn’t Bruce’s car after all. She believed with all her heart that she would notice a bumper sticker that didn’t belong or perhaps the vehicle would have different color seats.
What she noticed was not the car this time. It was something lying at the bottom of the hill just within view, next to the closest fire truck. Her body shook. She screamed and jerked her car to the left, barely missing the car in front of her and coming nose-to-nose with the fire truck.
Andrea leapt out of the car, running toward the thing she saw crumpled on the ground. Several police officers ran toward her, yelling at her to get back. As the first officer reached her, she fell into his arms, pointing, reaching, screaming, “That’s my baby’s! That’s my little girl’s doll!” The officers looked at her in horror. They stopped in their tracks and looked down to where Andrea was pointing. There on the ground, twisted, flecks of blood across its face, was a plush doll with a bright green dress and yellow hair. One of the officers picked it up with his gloved hand. “Ma’am? You say this is your child’s…” he stammered. Before he could finish, Andrea collapsed. Everything around her went black.
Chapter Two
One Year Later...
Andrea's body jerked and she stirred. There was too much light! She didn't want to open her eyes, but her body felt stiff and she couldn't remember where she had landed the night before.
When she finally opened one eye, she found herself crouched on the floor, her face planted on a wooden table. She moved to sit up and groaned. Her eyes were crusty and felt like they were full of sand as she rubbed them, trying to focus on her surroundings. She looked around and realized she'd somehow "landed" on the floor by the coffee table. There were empty wine bottles strewn about and a Jack Daniel's bottle in her lap with just a swallow of the brown whiskey at the bottom. She frowned and snatched the bottle up, gulping the last of the burning liquid. She gasped and threw the bottle across the room. It bounced around on the carpet before stopping next to a chair.
She propped her arms up on the table and pushed. It took several tries before she was finally able to lift her small frame off the floor. She was wearing blue checkered boxer shorts, a filthy neon yellow tank, and one sock. She stood trying to balance herself against the spinning room. She flopped down on the couch behind her and sighed. She grabbed at the blanket that was crumpled there.
"I hate my life!" she screeched, her voice cracking. There was no one there to hear her.
Her life had been a blur since the events the year before, the day her life ceased and this new hell began. At first, lots of people came around. There was too much food and too much company. Most of all, there were too many words. She didn't want to hear about how she'd see her family again or that they were together in heaven as angels or, the worst, that she'd find someone to love again some day and start anew. What the hell was wrong with people? That lasted for about three weeks and then there was silence. She was alone most days. The occasional visit from a close friend only ended with hurt feelings. Andrea could be hateful, and there was a part of her that relished in her ability to chase people away.
She could also be completely silent. Her mom had chastised her for it about two months after the day. Good old mom, who never understood why Andrea needed to work outside the home. Good old mom, who thought that the fact that Andrea had grown up without her own mother being at home would mean that she wouldn't work once the children came along. Good old mom, who constantly reminded her that she missed out on her children's lives. Good old mom, who said it was improper and poor manners to not make conversation. After all, she had flown all that way to be there. Andrea would spew some vile words and mutter that she hadn't asked her to come. She told her mom to just leave, that she wanted to be alone. There were too many words. Her mom left and never returned.
When the silence, the permanent silence finally came, she found a new friend in the bottle. At first, she would just pick up a bottle of wine or a six-pack of wine coolers from time to time. When that no longer satisfied, no longer drowned out the voices of her children and husband, she'd moved on to more wine bottles and stronger liquor. She rarely ate anything, and when she grew tired of the stares that came from the people in the grocery store, after she'd show up wearing her pajamas, slippers and a robe, she started going to those drive thru liquor barns. There she could buy cases of what she wanted. She would take them home and lug them in from the garage. Days later, she'd be back in her car, driving to pick up more and then back to the garage.
How many times had she thought about just closing the garage door and leaving the car running after one of her outings? She felt like a coward. She'd come close a few times, but then when she couldn't catch her breath, she'd panic and turn the car off and dash inside. She loathed herself, her "existence" in this lonely, dark place.
She'd thought about buying drugs. She lived in one of the most affluent cities in the metroplex and was sure that she'd be able to find someone to sell them to her, but she'd been a court reporter long enough to know what happened to people who bought illegal drugs. Why take the risk when she could buy all the alcohol she wanted?
She laughed at her thoughts about court reporting. She hadn't been to a deposition since just before the day. Why should she? She hated people. Hadn't she and Bruce worked hard enough over the years and put enough in savings for good reason? What better reason could she have than living in this darkness? Besides, Bruce had taken out a large life insurance plan on himself and on her not long after they married. They'd also had a death plan on the house that would pay the balance due, if either of them died. Thanks to the Internet, she could pay the rest of her bills without stepping out the door. She kept up with them, after one instance where her natural gas was shut off and in order for them to turn it back on, they'd have to come inside the house to test it. It horrified her at the thought of someone coming in her safety zone. She'd done it but promised herself it would never happen again.
She sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened the night before.
The last thing she remembered, she had just pulled into the garage and stumbled out of the car. She was already drunk. She didn't remember going in the house. She didn't even remember if she'd shut the garage. Had she gotten her case of wine out of her trunk?
She got up to look and again, the room spun in flashing circles. She held out her arms to steady herself and went into the kitchen, kicking empty bottles out of her path as she went. There was no new case of wine. She scowled.
When she turned to walk out to the garage, she noticed a white piece of paper on her kitchen table. She snatched it up and squinted to read the neatly printed words:
I came by tonight to check on you. I'm sorry I haven't been by since the day of the funeral. I've been making excuses to not come, but since it's almost been a whole year, I knew Bruce would want me to check on you. I found you in your garage, on the floor. I carried you inside, laid you on the couch, and made sure you were not hurt.
Andrea, I'm worried about you. I blame myself. I should've checked on you sooner and more often. Some best friend I am. Bruce would be ashamed of me. I'll be back by tomorrow. I'm going to help you, whether you want me to or not.
~Sebastian
Andrea let several expletives escape her lips before crumpling up the paper and tossing it on the ground. Sebastian Evans was Bruce's best friend from childhood. They'd both joined the police force at the same time, after having gone through the academy together. Sebastian had been married once, but his wife had run out on him for another man. As far as she knew, he hadn't found anyone else. So now he's going to torture me. she thought. She rolled her eyes and stared at her front door.
"Well, I don't have to let you in!" she yelled.
She grabbed her keys that had been beneath the note and tiptoed out to her car. When she popped the trunk, she gasped, slamming it closed.
She cursed at the ceiling and then glared down at the trunk, "You seriously stole my wine?" and when she slammed her fists down on the car she smirked.
She knew the fix would be to go back to her favorite liquor drive thru and just buy some more. She slid into the driver's side and popped open the middle console where she kept her debit card. She was thankful that he hadn't stolen that, too. She started up the car and hit the garage door opener. As the door slowly slid open, she noticed something behind her. It was another car and there was Sebastian leaning on the hood of it! She slapped her steering wheel and cursed before smashing her thumb on the close button. Sebastian moved fast and ducked under the door before it could close. It sensed his movement and began to rise again.
"Andrea?"
She wouldn't look at him. She sat facing forward, the car still running, her fingernails digging into the steering wheel.
"Andrea, it's Sebastian. You remember me, don't you? Did you find my note?"
She ignored him and continued looking forward, clinching her jaw in anger. She wanted to get out of the car and scream at him and hit him, but she didn't move.
Sebastian was angry, too. He was mad at himself for waiting so long to come here. There were so many memories in this place. When Bruce and little Nathan and Charlotte were killed, Sebastian was devastated. He'd gone to the funeral and sat in stunned silence. It all seemed like a nightmare. After the funeral and the burial, he'd gone with the rest of the precinct over to the house. He watched Andrea as she played the perfect hostess. She didn't smile, but she greeted everyone, nodding her head as they tried, hopelessly, to say the right things. She was a very strong woman, very intelligent and Bruce had always called her a pint-sized fighter. She never let anything ruffle her feathers. Sebastian never worried about her. He honestly believed she would throw herself into the work she loved and would deal with her grief like a trooper. Thinking back on that now, he realized how completely foolish he had been. Who could deal with that kind of grief "like a trooper?" But, he'd let himself believe it then and made multiple excuses to stay away. That one day standing in that home had been excruciating for him.
It was the home that Bruce had grown up in and Sebastian had very nearly grown up there, too. They spent so many nights camping out in the backyard, telling ghost stories and making smores with their small group of friends. They'd played Cowboys and Indians, shot BB guns at the leaves on the trees and the various cans they'd set up along the fence line, and later on, they brought their double dates out to the sprawling backyard for a romantic picnic.
He'd mowed the lawn and trimmed the trees. He'd played with their dogs, Maggie and Cassidy, and he'd talked about his dreams of being a policeman with his best friend, Bruce. Most of all, he'd shared family dinners, not just with Bruce and his parents, but with Bruce and his sweet, little family, too. How many times had he swung little Nathan up on his shoulders, spinning him around as Nathan called out to his 'Unca Sebshtan' to go faster? How many times had he held Charlotte in his arms, watching her drink from her bottle and then carefully setting her on his shoulder to coax the little gas bubbles to the surface? Tears pricked at his eyes. There had been too many reasons not to come here again, and now he felt like he was paying the price, seeing Andrea this way.
The night before, he'd found himself turning toward Southlake, instead of home. It felt like a whim, but still, something propelled him there. When he pulled up in the drive and found Andrea face down on the garage floor, he panicked. He felt for a pulse, and sighed from relief when he found a strong one. He lifted her and listened for her breathing and that's when he smelled the alcohol. It assaulted him and it seemed to be coming out of her pores. He picked her up and carried her into the house. He'd found a blanket in a hall closet. It was musty from lack of use, but it would do. He laid her on the couch and covered her with the blanket. He sat and watched her for more than an hour. She seemed to sleep soundly, except for the occasional twitching. What really struck him is how she looked. She'd lost a lot of weight and was wearing what looked like a pair of Bruce's boxers and a dirty tank top. Her hair had obviously been yanked up into a greasy ponytail and not taken down for days. Her cheeks were sunken and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had all the signs of an alcoholic and that was without considering the fact that the floor was nearly stacked with empty liquor and wine bottles.
The house was a wreck, nothing like the way she and Bruce used to keep it. Parts of it looked like it hadn't been touched in a year. There were still two high chairs sitting at the table, now covered in dust. In the office, what Sebastian knew to be Bruce's laptop still sat, closed and covered in dust. But other parts looked like the worst episode of hoarders. There were clothes scattered everywhere. The framed family pictures that used to line the mantel were lying in a heap of broken glass on the floor. There were stains in the carpet, some were obviously vomit. He couldn't believe his eyes. Part of him wanted to stay there with her and confront her or comfort her when she woke up. He knew that he needed to get away, though, and gather his thoughts, make a plan of action. He wanted to talk with a friend of his who had dealt with his wife and alcoholism, too. He needed advice. All he'd ever experienced with it was when he'd arrested someone for drinking and driving or brawling at the local bar. Sure, he'd read up on the disease for work, but he'd never had to deal so personally with it.
That's when he decided to write the note. After writing it and setting it on the table, he walked into the garage and reached in the car to hit the garage door button. He would simply dash underneath as low as possible, so it wouldn't react and open again. As he reached in, he saw her keys, dropped in the driver's seat and a thought crossed his mind. He took the keys and opened the trunk. Sure enough, there sat a case of wine. He picked it up and put it in the backseat of his car. He knew she'd be looking for it in the morning and when she didn't find it, she'd go buy more. He didn't know much about alcoholics, but he knew that much was true. He made the decision to arrive back at the house in the morning and just sit and wait in the driveway for her to open the garage door.
Now, he found himself standing and trying to talk to her through the car window. She was ignoring him and revving the engine. He could tell she was angry, but his friend had advised him to not try to appease her. His best course of action was to try to bribe her.
"Andrea! I've got your wine in my car! I didn't want it to get hot in the trunk!" he yelled, trying to be heard as she gunned the engine again. "I can get it for you!"
She stopped the car and glared at him, "Then, get it!" she screamed. Sebastian's friend had told him that when someone who's addicted to alcohol has an opportunity to get more, they can't help themselves.
"You have to try to win her over with the offer, so you can start building that trust relationship," he'd said, patting Sebastian on the shoulder.
"So I'm supposed to actually give it to her? Let her drink it? he asked.
"Believe it or not, yes. I know it sounds counterproductive, but she's never going to listen to you if you refuse to let her have any of it. It's all about gaining trust while also managing her drinking for her. She's still a mother, even though her kids are gone." Sebastian felt the words sting him. He wanted to run from them, but he bit his lip and nodded for his friend to continue, "If you happen to break a bottle or two in transit, you might be able to talk her out of trying to go get more by reminding her that drinking and driving isn't safe, that there are children out there who can get hurt. There's no pat answers here, Sebastian. You're going to have to try things and sometimes you'll fail. Don't deny her the drink. Just limit how much she has and figure out ways to convince her she doesn't need it. Ultimately, you've got to get her to trust you, so that you can get her in to see a professional. She needs help that you simply cannot give her. You can be her friend, though, and walk with her through it."
It still seemed odd to him to let her drink, but he knew his friend had already dealt with the same things he was now facing.
Andrea sat staring at him until he finally moved to his car, opened the back, and pulled out the case of wine. After his friend had told him to break some of the bottles in transit, he'd tossed a few in the garbage before heading home. Now, as he looked at all that remained, he wondered if he could break some right there. He shook his head, because the bottles were in a deep case and he knew the only way to break more would be to pick them up and drop them. That wouldn't exactly look like an accident.
As he walked back into the garage, Andrea slowly opened the car door and stepped out. He noticed she was in the same clothes as when he'd left her and his heart broke in two. It reminded him once again what a tremendously bad friend he'd been, not just to Bruce, but to her, as well. He frowned but followed her into the house. He had a gut-wrenching feeling the next few weeks and even months or year would be both mentally and physically exhausting. He would do it, though. He had to.
Four Years Ago…...
Andrea Fraylen was running late. There was no real reason for it, except that she’d been enjoying the quiet of the morning, the softness of her pillow, the warmth of her bed with its cotton sheets and old-style quilt. Despite her husband, Bruce’s, gentle prodding, she’d clung to her sleepiness, stretching her body out across the kind-sized bed and then quickly pulling her arms and legs back up into the blankets, scrunching the pillow into a ball under her head. She really wanted to fall back into that deep, dreamless sleep she’d been enjoying only moments before. Her obligations waned. Not even the fact that she hated being late seemed to coax her into action. She allowed her guilty pleasure of quiet comfort put her a full 30 minutes behind schedule.
Once reality set in, Andrea knew she’d made a big mistake. Just because she wasn’t actually employed by a company, didn’t mean she had no time constraints. Being a court reporter and working a deposition meant she had to be at a certain place at a certain time. Glancing at the clock as she popped out of bed, she wasn’t sure how she was going to make it from her home in the suburb of Southlake all the way to downtown Dallas by no later than 7:30 a.m. The deposition was at 8:00, and the lawyer that called it was, by no means, ever late.
Andrea jumped in the shower, hoping Bruce had left some hot water. She only needed ten minutes, and she’d be out. As soon as she stepped out of the shower, she heard her 16-month-old daughter, Charlotte, calling out from the room next to hers. She still had to take Charlotte and Nathan, her two and a half-year-old son, to daycare, before she could even hit the highway toward Dallas.
She slipped on her bathrobe, pulled her wet hair into a fresh twist with her towel, and raced across the hall to Charlotte’s room.
Charlotte grinned and held up her arms, her fingers wiggling, as soon as Andrea opened the door. “Mama!” Charlotte called. “Mama!”
Andrea couldn’t help but smile. Charlotte was a dream, come true. She had big brown eyes and thick, dark, curly hair. Bruce was so thrilled that he got his “little Andrea.” Andrea swung Charlotte up in a hug and kissed her on the cheek. After the typical morning routine, Charlotte was clean, dressed in a pink, long-sleeved top and blue jeans, pink socks and a bow, holding tight to her favorite soft dolly, and ready to go eat.
Andrea looked at Charlotte’s dolly and smiled. Charlotte loved the doll with the bright green dress and yellow hair. It was a gift from Andrea’s grandmother, Charlotte’s only living great-grandmother, who lived in Germany. Andrea thought it was rather ugly, but was glad that Charlotte loved it. It was just three months after they received the gift that the call came that Leigh Trinton, beloved mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, had passed away.
Andrea squeezed Charlotte tight and hurried down the stairs, dodging toys along the way. Her panic was increasing as the time slipped away from her. She turned a corner and was in the kitchen in a flash. Bruce turned to see Andrea placing Charlotte in her high chair, ruffling Nathan’s hair as she stepped past him to get Charlotte’s breakfast ready. Andrea was grateful that Bruce had gotten Nathan up and dressed that morning.
Bruce stopped her, “Running late? Why don’t you let me take care of the kids? I can even drop them off at daycare today on my way in to the station. I got most of my work done yesterday. Barring some sudden, big case today should be a pretty slow day.”
Andrea looked up at Bruce with relief. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course, I’m sure. I’ve got this. You go finish getting ready. Don’t you have that depo downtown today?”
Andrea kissed him on the lips and turned. She quickly kissed Charlotte and Nathan on the tops of their heads, whispering I love you to them and back to her husband. As she made her way toward the stairs, she answered Bruce over her shoulder, “Yep! And it’s with Madsen. He’s a bit of a stickler on time, you know.”
Andrea was surprised when just ten minutes later she heard the garage door opening. Bruce never seemed to have trouble managing his time. She stepped over to the window and looked out. Bruce’s silver Toyota Highlander was backing out of the driveway into the cul-de-sac. He looked up at the window and waved, smiling brightly. Andrea waved back and blew him a kiss. Even running late, she couldn’t stop herself from watching the SUV until it was out of sight down the street. I certainly have the perfect life, Andrea thought. She went right back to getting ready, and within fifteen minutes, she was in her car and on her way.
She popped a CD in the player of her white Nissan Maxima, and immediately began singing along to one of her favorite songs. It wasn’t long before she pulled onto the highway, going east toward Dallas. It also wasn’t long until she found herself at a complete stop. What in the world? she thought. She pushed the button to change from the CD to the radio and began scanning the stations to figure out why the traffic was so backed up. It wasn’t as if she expected clear roads but no one was moving. Clearly, there had been a wreck or something. She laughed at the thought that it was probably nothing but a stranded car on the side of the road. People will stare at ANYTHING, she thought, shaking her head.
After several minutes of searching, she found a radio station covering traffic. Apparently, there was a wreck, a bad one. All traffic was being diverted to the service road. Andrea groaned. Despite her best efforts, there was no way she was going to make it on time. She pulled out her cell and made the dreaded call to Madsen’s office. The admin was very gracious and understanding. Too bad it wasn’t going to be the admin that Andrea would have to eventually answer to when she finally reached her destination.
The traffic began to crawl along. There was no other way for Andrea to get where she needed to be, so she decided to relax as much as possible and enjoy the music now piping through the speakers. As she inched down the highway, Andrea thought about her family.
She grew up very quickly, not really having much of a childhood. Her parents divorced when she was just six years old. She was the oldest of four. Her mom had custody of all the kids and worked two jobs. Andrea barely saw her dad all those years. She was expected to, at first, help her mom with her siblings, and then, basically raise them herself once she hit the ripe old age of ten. It was hard, but it was all she knew. It made her responsible, organized, dutiful, and annoyed. At 16, she couldn’t believe how her friends lived their daily lives. They practically had no responsibilities at all. She had to admit she was jealous of their freedom. She earned her driver’s license the day of her 16th birthday and began the new chore of driving her siblings to all their activities. Her mom was barely ever home. Her dad had simply stopped coming around.
As soon as she graduated high school, Andrea moved out. She was tired of being the parent, and besides, her brother, Ethan, was old enough to take over. Her mom was disappointed at first, but soon realized how badly her daughter needed to live her own life. Andrea moved from her hometown of Fairfield, Iowa all the way to Arlington, Texas, another suburb of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. She went to court reporting school and worked full time at a restaurant. She lived her life exhausted, but loving every second of her freedom.
Court reporting school was much harder than she expected it to be. In fact, it took her three years to finish. She’d never been so tired in her life of hearing people ask, “So when are you going to graduate?” or “How much longer do you have now?” It was a self-paced course, so there was no set amount of time. Andrea saw some of her friends finish before her and still others who ended up behind her. School was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. It took her three tries to pass the certification exam. The day she received her certification in the mail had been the happiest day of her life.
She started out slow, but soon had so much work; she barely had time to breathe. She loved it. She met Bruce four days after her 24th birthday. They literally bumped into each other at a sports bar where her best friend, Margo, had dragged her. Their drinks spilled and they laughed, embarrassed at first, but then, Bruce invited her to sit with him and bought her another drink. They spent the next two hours talking. Andrea found out that Bruce was a police detective in Arlington. He was 27 and had grown up in Southlake. They exchanged numbers, and it wasn’t long before they were both in love. They married just over a year after they met.
Bruce was everything a girl could wish for in a husband and father. He was hysterically funny. He was always kind and extremely smart. Andrea was just shy of 5’5”, so Bruce’s 5’10” frame suited her perfectly. He was muscular and dark, except for his bright blue eyes that danced whenever he talked about something that excited him. When their son, Nathan, came into the world a little over a year after they married, Andrea watched as Bruce held him. She could see the wonder in his eyes as he touched Nathan’s tiny fingers and counted his tiny toes. He was a very attentive dad. He changed diapers and held Nathan when he cried. He curled up next to Andrea when she breastfed both Nathan and, later, Charlotte. Bruce treasured every moment he had with the kids, and Andrea loved him all the more for it.
The traffic continued crawling along as Andrea merged with the other cars into one lane and down to the service road. She could see the fire trucks blocking off all the lanes on the highway up ahead. There were police cars all over the place. Strangely, there were no ambulances. She figured they must’ve already come and gone.
As she continued to follow the cars off the highway, she couldn’t help but look up. It was obvious that something had happened that caused a car to go down the steep side of the highway, at least part of the way. She could see the broken railing up on the highway. There were more fire trucks on the service road, forcing the commuters to go all the way to the right to get around to the traffic light.
Andrea glanced at the apparent accident site. There was a mangled vehicle being pulled by a large tow truck up the side of embankment. Is it silver? she wondered, shivering at the thought. As the cars in front of her stopped, she looked again. It was definitely a silver vehicle, silver SUV. It was pretty broken up. She could tell it had taken a tumble down the hill. She squinted, trying to get past the thought that snuck into her head. It was a Toyota. She could see the Toyota symbol when what was left of the back end of it turned slightly into her view. She shook. It can’t be. It can’t be Bruce’s, she thought. Does he even come this way? He never comes this way, unless…her thoughts faded. She knew he came this way only when he was taking the kids to daycare.
She didn’t want to look again. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to believe it. She soon realized she had to know, had to get these crazy thoughts out of her head that it was Bruce’s car, or she would never be able to concentrate on work. She looked one more time, convinced she was going to see that it wasn’t Bruce’s car after all. She believed with all her heart that she would notice a bumper sticker that didn’t belong or perhaps the vehicle would have different color seats.
What she noticed was not the car this time. It was something lying at the bottom of the hill just within view, next to the closest fire truck. Her body shook. She screamed and jerked her car to the left, barely missing the car in front of her and coming nose-to-nose with the fire truck.
Andrea leapt out of the car, running toward the thing she saw crumpled on the ground. Several police officers ran toward her, yelling at her to get back. As the first officer reached her, she fell into his arms, pointing, reaching, screaming, “That’s my baby’s! That’s my little girl’s doll!” The officers looked at her in horror. They stopped in their tracks and looked down to where Andrea was pointing. There on the ground, twisted, flecks of blood across its face, was a plush doll with a bright green dress and yellow hair. One of the officers picked it up with his gloved hand. “Ma’am? You say this is your child’s…” he stammered. Before he could finish, Andrea collapsed. Everything around her went black.
Chapter Two
One Year Later...
Andrea's body jerked and she stirred. There was too much light! She didn't want to open her eyes, but her body felt stiff and she couldn't remember where she had landed the night before.
When she finally opened one eye, she found herself crouched on the floor, her face planted on a wooden table. She moved to sit up and groaned. Her eyes were crusty and felt like they were full of sand as she rubbed them, trying to focus on her surroundings. She looked around and realized she'd somehow "landed" on the floor by the coffee table. There were empty wine bottles strewn about and a Jack Daniel's bottle in her lap with just a swallow of the brown whiskey at the bottom. She frowned and snatched the bottle up, gulping the last of the burning liquid. She gasped and threw the bottle across the room. It bounced around on the carpet before stopping next to a chair.
She propped her arms up on the table and pushed. It took several tries before she was finally able to lift her small frame off the floor. She was wearing blue checkered boxer shorts, a filthy neon yellow tank, and one sock. She stood trying to balance herself against the spinning room. She flopped down on the couch behind her and sighed. She grabbed at the blanket that was crumpled there.
"I hate my life!" she screeched, her voice cracking. There was no one there to hear her.
Her life had been a blur since the events the year before, the day her life ceased and this new hell began. At first, lots of people came around. There was too much food and too much company. Most of all, there were too many words. She didn't want to hear about how she'd see her family again or that they were together in heaven as angels or, the worst, that she'd find someone to love again some day and start anew. What the hell was wrong with people? That lasted for about three weeks and then there was silence. She was alone most days. The occasional visit from a close friend only ended with hurt feelings. Andrea could be hateful, and there was a part of her that relished in her ability to chase people away.
She could also be completely silent. Her mom had chastised her for it about two months after the day. Good old mom, who never understood why Andrea needed to work outside the home. Good old mom, who thought that the fact that Andrea had grown up without her own mother being at home would mean that she wouldn't work once the children came along. Good old mom, who constantly reminded her that she missed out on her children's lives. Good old mom, who said it was improper and poor manners to not make conversation. After all, she had flown all that way to be there. Andrea would spew some vile words and mutter that she hadn't asked her to come. She told her mom to just leave, that she wanted to be alone. There were too many words. Her mom left and never returned.
When the silence, the permanent silence finally came, she found a new friend in the bottle. At first, she would just pick up a bottle of wine or a six-pack of wine coolers from time to time. When that no longer satisfied, no longer drowned out the voices of her children and husband, she'd moved on to more wine bottles and stronger liquor. She rarely ate anything, and when she grew tired of the stares that came from the people in the grocery store, after she'd show up wearing her pajamas, slippers and a robe, she started going to those drive thru liquor barns. There she could buy cases of what she wanted. She would take them home and lug them in from the garage. Days later, she'd be back in her car, driving to pick up more and then back to the garage.
How many times had she thought about just closing the garage door and leaving the car running after one of her outings? She felt like a coward. She'd come close a few times, but then when she couldn't catch her breath, she'd panic and turn the car off and dash inside. She loathed herself, her "existence" in this lonely, dark place.
She'd thought about buying drugs. She lived in one of the most affluent cities in the metroplex and was sure that she'd be able to find someone to sell them to her, but she'd been a court reporter long enough to know what happened to people who bought illegal drugs. Why take the risk when she could buy all the alcohol she wanted?
She laughed at her thoughts about court reporting. She hadn't been to a deposition since just before the day. Why should she? She hated people. Hadn't she and Bruce worked hard enough over the years and put enough in savings for good reason? What better reason could she have than living in this darkness? Besides, Bruce had taken out a large life insurance plan on himself and on her not long after they married. They'd also had a death plan on the house that would pay the balance due, if either of them died. Thanks to the Internet, she could pay the rest of her bills without stepping out the door. She kept up with them, after one instance where her natural gas was shut off and in order for them to turn it back on, they'd have to come inside the house to test it. It horrified her at the thought of someone coming in her safety zone. She'd done it but promised herself it would never happen again.
She sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened the night before.
The last thing she remembered, she had just pulled into the garage and stumbled out of the car. She was already drunk. She didn't remember going in the house. She didn't even remember if she'd shut the garage. Had she gotten her case of wine out of her trunk?
She got up to look and again, the room spun in flashing circles. She held out her arms to steady herself and went into the kitchen, kicking empty bottles out of her path as she went. There was no new case of wine. She scowled.
When she turned to walk out to the garage, she noticed a white piece of paper on her kitchen table. She snatched it up and squinted to read the neatly printed words:
I came by tonight to check on you. I'm sorry I haven't been by since the day of the funeral. I've been making excuses to not come, but since it's almost been a whole year, I knew Bruce would want me to check on you. I found you in your garage, on the floor. I carried you inside, laid you on the couch, and made sure you were not hurt.
Andrea, I'm worried about you. I blame myself. I should've checked on you sooner and more often. Some best friend I am. Bruce would be ashamed of me. I'll be back by tomorrow. I'm going to help you, whether you want me to or not.
~Sebastian
Andrea let several expletives escape her lips before crumpling up the paper and tossing it on the ground. Sebastian Evans was Bruce's best friend from childhood. They'd both joined the police force at the same time, after having gone through the academy together. Sebastian had been married once, but his wife had run out on him for another man. As far as she knew, he hadn't found anyone else. So now he's going to torture me. she thought. She rolled her eyes and stared at her front door.
"Well, I don't have to let you in!" she yelled.
She grabbed her keys that had been beneath the note and tiptoed out to her car. When she popped the trunk, she gasped, slamming it closed.
She cursed at the ceiling and then glared down at the trunk, "You seriously stole my wine?" and when she slammed her fists down on the car she smirked.
She knew the fix would be to go back to her favorite liquor drive thru and just buy some more. She slid into the driver's side and popped open the middle console where she kept her debit card. She was thankful that he hadn't stolen that, too. She started up the car and hit the garage door opener. As the door slowly slid open, she noticed something behind her. It was another car and there was Sebastian leaning on the hood of it! She slapped her steering wheel and cursed before smashing her thumb on the close button. Sebastian moved fast and ducked under the door before it could close. It sensed his movement and began to rise again.
"Andrea?"
She wouldn't look at him. She sat facing forward, the car still running, her fingernails digging into the steering wheel.
"Andrea, it's Sebastian. You remember me, don't you? Did you find my note?"
She ignored him and continued looking forward, clinching her jaw in anger. She wanted to get out of the car and scream at him and hit him, but she didn't move.
Sebastian was angry, too. He was mad at himself for waiting so long to come here. There were so many memories in this place. When Bruce and little Nathan and Charlotte were killed, Sebastian was devastated. He'd gone to the funeral and sat in stunned silence. It all seemed like a nightmare. After the funeral and the burial, he'd gone with the rest of the precinct over to the house. He watched Andrea as she played the perfect hostess. She didn't smile, but she greeted everyone, nodding her head as they tried, hopelessly, to say the right things. She was a very strong woman, very intelligent and Bruce had always called her a pint-sized fighter. She never let anything ruffle her feathers. Sebastian never worried about her. He honestly believed she would throw herself into the work she loved and would deal with her grief like a trooper. Thinking back on that now, he realized how completely foolish he had been. Who could deal with that kind of grief "like a trooper?" But, he'd let himself believe it then and made multiple excuses to stay away. That one day standing in that home had been excruciating for him.
It was the home that Bruce had grown up in and Sebastian had very nearly grown up there, too. They spent so many nights camping out in the backyard, telling ghost stories and making smores with their small group of friends. They'd played Cowboys and Indians, shot BB guns at the leaves on the trees and the various cans they'd set up along the fence line, and later on, they brought their double dates out to the sprawling backyard for a romantic picnic.
He'd mowed the lawn and trimmed the trees. He'd played with their dogs, Maggie and Cassidy, and he'd talked about his dreams of being a policeman with his best friend, Bruce. Most of all, he'd shared family dinners, not just with Bruce and his parents, but with Bruce and his sweet, little family, too. How many times had he swung little Nathan up on his shoulders, spinning him around as Nathan called out to his 'Unca Sebshtan' to go faster? How many times had he held Charlotte in his arms, watching her drink from her bottle and then carefully setting her on his shoulder to coax the little gas bubbles to the surface? Tears pricked at his eyes. There had been too many reasons not to come here again, and now he felt like he was paying the price, seeing Andrea this way.
The night before, he'd found himself turning toward Southlake, instead of home. It felt like a whim, but still, something propelled him there. When he pulled up in the drive and found Andrea face down on the garage floor, he panicked. He felt for a pulse, and sighed from relief when he found a strong one. He lifted her and listened for her breathing and that's when he smelled the alcohol. It assaulted him and it seemed to be coming out of her pores. He picked her up and carried her into the house. He'd found a blanket in a hall closet. It was musty from lack of use, but it would do. He laid her on the couch and covered her with the blanket. He sat and watched her for more than an hour. She seemed to sleep soundly, except for the occasional twitching. What really struck him is how she looked. She'd lost a lot of weight and was wearing what looked like a pair of Bruce's boxers and a dirty tank top. Her hair had obviously been yanked up into a greasy ponytail and not taken down for days. Her cheeks were sunken and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had all the signs of an alcoholic and that was without considering the fact that the floor was nearly stacked with empty liquor and wine bottles.
The house was a wreck, nothing like the way she and Bruce used to keep it. Parts of it looked like it hadn't been touched in a year. There were still two high chairs sitting at the table, now covered in dust. In the office, what Sebastian knew to be Bruce's laptop still sat, closed and covered in dust. But other parts looked like the worst episode of hoarders. There were clothes scattered everywhere. The framed family pictures that used to line the mantel were lying in a heap of broken glass on the floor. There were stains in the carpet, some were obviously vomit. He couldn't believe his eyes. Part of him wanted to stay there with her and confront her or comfort her when she woke up. He knew that he needed to get away, though, and gather his thoughts, make a plan of action. He wanted to talk with a friend of his who had dealt with his wife and alcoholism, too. He needed advice. All he'd ever experienced with it was when he'd arrested someone for drinking and driving or brawling at the local bar. Sure, he'd read up on the disease for work, but he'd never had to deal so personally with it.
That's when he decided to write the note. After writing it and setting it on the table, he walked into the garage and reached in the car to hit the garage door button. He would simply dash underneath as low as possible, so it wouldn't react and open again. As he reached in, he saw her keys, dropped in the driver's seat and a thought crossed his mind. He took the keys and opened the trunk. Sure enough, there sat a case of wine. He picked it up and put it in the backseat of his car. He knew she'd be looking for it in the morning and when she didn't find it, she'd go buy more. He didn't know much about alcoholics, but he knew that much was true. He made the decision to arrive back at the house in the morning and just sit and wait in the driveway for her to open the garage door.
Now, he found himself standing and trying to talk to her through the car window. She was ignoring him and revving the engine. He could tell she was angry, but his friend had advised him to not try to appease her. His best course of action was to try to bribe her.
"Andrea! I've got your wine in my car! I didn't want it to get hot in the trunk!" he yelled, trying to be heard as she gunned the engine again. "I can get it for you!"
She stopped the car and glared at him, "Then, get it!" she screamed. Sebastian's friend had told him that when someone who's addicted to alcohol has an opportunity to get more, they can't help themselves.
"You have to try to win her over with the offer, so you can start building that trust relationship," he'd said, patting Sebastian on the shoulder.
"So I'm supposed to actually give it to her? Let her drink it? he asked.
"Believe it or not, yes. I know it sounds counterproductive, but she's never going to listen to you if you refuse to let her have any of it. It's all about gaining trust while also managing her drinking for her. She's still a mother, even though her kids are gone." Sebastian felt the words sting him. He wanted to run from them, but he bit his lip and nodded for his friend to continue, "If you happen to break a bottle or two in transit, you might be able to talk her out of trying to go get more by reminding her that drinking and driving isn't safe, that there are children out there who can get hurt. There's no pat answers here, Sebastian. You're going to have to try things and sometimes you'll fail. Don't deny her the drink. Just limit how much she has and figure out ways to convince her she doesn't need it. Ultimately, you've got to get her to trust you, so that you can get her in to see a professional. She needs help that you simply cannot give her. You can be her friend, though, and walk with her through it."
It still seemed odd to him to let her drink, but he knew his friend had already dealt with the same things he was now facing.
Andrea sat staring at him until he finally moved to his car, opened the back, and pulled out the case of wine. After his friend had told him to break some of the bottles in transit, he'd tossed a few in the garbage before heading home. Now, as he looked at all that remained, he wondered if he could break some right there. He shook his head, because the bottles were in a deep case and he knew the only way to break more would be to pick them up and drop them. That wouldn't exactly look like an accident.
As he walked back into the garage, Andrea slowly opened the car door and stepped out. He noticed she was in the same clothes as when he'd left her and his heart broke in two. It reminded him once again what a tremendously bad friend he'd been, not just to Bruce, but to her, as well. He frowned but followed her into the house. He had a gut-wrenching feeling the next few weeks and even months or year would be both mentally and physically exhausting. He would do it, though. He had to.