Rachelle strained to compose herself without burdening Aunt Irene with the details of the last call, but Aunt Irene knew something was awry.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
What Rachelle really wanted was to crawl into bed, curl into a ball, and stay there forever. She wanted to be alone so she could throw something. And cry.
Instead, she tried to feign interest in the third short story in the collection.
Aunt Irene patted her hand. “You go on and take a walk or something. Something’s got you distracted. Get away and talk to God about it.”
Rachelle graced her aunt with a halfhearted smile. “Does God hear heathens?”
She was thinking about Troy, their kiss, and how she had enjoyed it. If Veronica was telling the truth about Gabe, though, her transgression hadn’t been so bad.
“Does he hear heathens?” Aunt Irene repeated the question and raised her hands heavenward. “I sure hope so, cause you lookin’ at one. After I have shamed my family and hurt someone else’s child by driving drunk, God has every right to forget my name and address, like it seems most of my friends have.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “And Reuben.”
Rachelle took her hand. Reuben had called several times from Prairie View, where he attended college and was enrolled in summer school classes. But she was surprised that he hadn’t made the two-hour trek home, especially after Aunt Irene underwent surgery. Rachelle had been tempted more than once to ask what was going on, but had thought better of it.
Aunt Irene continued. “If God can love me and heal me in spite of myself, if he can hear my prayers and send me the peace I’ve begged for, he can hear you too, Rachelle. I could tell that last call unsettled you. Whatever it is, give it to God.”
Rachelle sighed. “That sounds so easy—‘Give it to God.’ What does that accomplish? What does that even really mean?”
Aunt Irene tried to sit up on her elbows. Rachelle stood up and propped a couple of pillows behind her.
“It means you tell God what you desire to happen in a particular situation and you ask him to make the best decision on your behalf,” Aunt Irene said. “Then you just stop worrying about it, do the best you can with the options and opportunities available to you, and let God work it all out. He’s the only one in control anyway.
“Believe me, that’s easier said than done. But after lots of practice, you eventually learn to really let go and trust him. I’m not a pro at this myself. There are things I’m still working through. But I know God is in the fight with me.”
Rachelle began to weep. “What if you’re too angry to turn it over? What if you just want to hurt the person who hurt you?”
Aunt Irene leaned forward and took her hand. “Whatever it is, Rachelle, you have to feel the pain, then let it go. It will eat you alive if you don’t. You have to work through the anger, then forgive and determine what’s next. Forgiveness is always key. You have to release yourself and the other person.”
Rachelle wiped her eyes and looked at Aunt Irene. “I don’t understand. When I sit with you, you share all of this wisdom and helpful advice. Then I find out you’re out somewhere drinking too much and driving. Which Irene can I trust?”
It was Aunt Irene’s turn to tear up. “I deserve that,” she said. “When I look in Indigo’s eyes, I can tell she’s asking herself the same question: which Mama does she really know, and which one can she rely on?
“I fell into drinking years ago, after David and Meredith died.
Losing my only son left a hole in my heart that hasn’t healed to this day.”
Rachelle sat back in her seat. Now she understood.
“When I got the call that he and Meredith had been killed instantly on the Gulf Freeway, part of me died too.” Aunt Irene squeezed her eyes shut to staunch the looming tears. “But I had to keep it together for his kids. Reuben was twelve, Indigo was seven, and Yasmin was just eight months—not even old enough to remember anything about her parents.
“I had to wipe their tears and provide them with whatever they needed to make it through the loss. I stopped being their grandmother in order to raise them, Rachelle, and when I did that, I didn’t have a chance to grieve.”
Rachelle climbed onto the bed next to Aunt Irene and hugged her.
“I accompanied Charles to his company Christmas party about a year after the accident, and one of his bosses gave me a glass of champagne to toast Charles for being named the top car salesman of the year,” Aunt Irene said. “I sipped it at first, then a waiter walked by and offered me a second one. When I drank part of that, I felt a little buzz. I realized that for the first time in what seemed like forever, my heart wasn’t aching. I could think about losing David and never seeing Meredith again and about the tragedy of it all for my grandchildren and feel numb. Numb was better than the pain.”
Rachelle did the math and looked at her. Reuben was twenty.
“This started almost eight years ago?”
Aunt Irene nodded. Rachelle could tell the confession was helping her.
“That’s what your Uncle Charles was referring to when John, the lawyer, was here.” Aunt Irene removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “He’s seen me cycle on and off alcohol several times since then, usually when I’m stressed. I’ve always hidden it well—I’m a deacon’s wife, you know?
“I usually could pull myself together and quit on my own. The hip injury last year threw me for a loop, though. Nothing the doctors gave me would dull the pain. I tried the vodka one day and it worked, and there I went again.”
“What happened on the day of the accident?” Rachelle asked.
Aunt Irene sighed. “I mixed my prescription medicine with the alcohol. I had scrubbed the kitchen floor late the night before, after the barbecue. Because I had been drinking, I didn’t realize just how much I was moving my hips.
“That Monday morning, the pain was so fierce I wanted to scream. My hips felt like they were on fire. I took my anti-inflammatory medicine as usual, but this time, I also took a prescription painkiller. Then I had the nerve to chase it down with my usual morning drink—the vodka.”
Rachelle nodded. “Yeah, that would leave you impaired. But where on earth were you going?”
Aunt Irene shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I really don’t remember. I recall thinking I was hungry. I believe I was headed to the Chinese place on Thompson Avenue. Or maybe I wanted to go to the cleaners. There’s no telling.”
Aunt Irene looked sunken and sad. She lowered her eyes and surveyed her hands while she let her revelations sink in. Rachelle hugged her again.
“Are you addicted, Auntie?”
Aunt Irene shrugged. “I don’t think so, but then again, why would I be drinking early enough in the day to crash a car at one p.m.? I haven’t had a drink since the accident and I haven’t craved one, but I’m also on prescription pain medicine now, for the hip injury, versus over the counter.”
Rachelle sighed. “Professional help is available if you really need it, you know? You’ll get through this. You’ll be fine.”
Aunt Irene nodded. “I think so,” she said. “But now you know why Reuben rarely comes home. He thinks I’m a hypocrite and can’t stand that Charles tolerates it. And look how Charles and the girls are suffering because of me.
“I’m wondering if he’s selling any cars these days, or if people are shunning him at work too. He won’t say. Yasmin, she’s so young and unaware, she loves me unconditionally. Indigo can’t stand to be in the same room with me. I’m really worried about her.”
“It’s going to all work out, Auntie,” Rachelle said. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me faith is about? I just want you to get better, and if you need it, get some help so this doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t, Rachelle. I know how much is at stake,” Aunt Irene said. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but I hope you do too.”