Unable to lift my head to look at her, I try to remember. There was vodka. Not much, just three little mini bottles, the kind they give out on airplanes. Mom had them displayed on a shelf behind a plate painted with a picture of some old singer. I remember us drinking those…but I’m foggy what came after.

“We drank the little vodka bottles.”

Groaning, Ashley chimes in, “And then the Gin.”

“Gin?” Vaguely, I recall a deep green glass bottle. “Green bottle?”

“Yep.”

“How much did we drink?”

“All of it. Then you smashed it outside against the side of the trailer.”

“I did?” I’m shocked I can’t remember it, not shocked at my actions.

“Yep. You were screaming pretty loud too.”

Drinking is a favorite past-time in our trailer park, but it’s not something Ash and I ever got into. Concern about getting caught enters my brain— most likely for the first time. Not much stays a secret in our little community. “Does your mom know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How did you get her to let you sleep here?”

“I told her we were going to church and for a run and you shouldn’t be alone after.”

“Church?” I arch one eyebrow, but she can’t see it because my head is still dangling over the toilet bowel. I’m not sure if the thought of Ashley in church or her joining me on one of my daily five-mile runs is less believable.

“It was that or go home, and I was afraid to leave you alone.” Ashley’s voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “I can’t believe you might have a sister.”

***

Hours later, my hangover is finally at bay from a double dose of Tylenol and a gallon of water. But looking around the room makes me feel queasy again, only this time it has nothing to do with alcohol.

All of my worldly belongings fit into eight boxes— my usual seven, and one new box from the grocery store packed with Mom’s things I want to keep. Seventeen years of living and that’s what I’ve managed to collect along the way. And one of the boxes is almost completely packed with books. As I tape up the last box, tires on the gravel driveway at the side of our trailer alerts me to a visitor. Peering out the kitchen window confirms the visitor isn’t a welcome one. Evil Evans.

She knocks on the screen door frame, even though the inside door is wide open and she can clearly see me standing less than five feet away.

“Come in.” I don’t even stop what I’m doing to look up at her.

“How are you doing today, Nikki?” There’s zero warmth in her voice. Aren’t people who work with children supposed to be warm and comforting? This woman’s more like the ice queen.

“What do you want? I thought I had until tomorrow.”

“I came to give you something.” I look to her, but she doesn’t immediately move to take anything out. Instead, she forces me to make eye contact if I want to know what she’s here to deliver. I wait, holding her stare.

“Your mother gave me something a few weeks ago. She asked me to give it to you after she was gone. I wanted to give you a few days to grieve before I brought it by.”

Ms. Evans opens her bulging briefcase, slips out an envelope and holds it up. Mom’s handwriting is on the outside. There’s an ache in my chest, I fight the urge to reach up and clutch at it. “Did you read it?”

“No, I did not.” Her monotone voice matches her drab gray suit.

“Give it to me.” I put out my hand, my eyes never leaving hers. I won’t back down to this horrible woman. She can’t take me away from Mom since she’s already gone. I stare at her expressionless face, not letting her see the emotion hidden behind a mask. Eventually she hands it over.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. About noon?”

“Whatever.” I turn my back and walk into the back bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I wait until I hear her car pull away before I tear open the envelope.

Seeing Mom’s handwriting brings tears before I even begin to read her words.

Dear Nikki,

I know you’re probably mad I’m gone. But being mad is good sometimes. It makes you keep your guard up. The world is filled with people you can’t trust. They cloak themselves in good, but it only masks the bad underneath. You need to pay attention, find out who’s really hiding underneath.

It takes only the first few sentences in the letter for me to know she wrote it during one of her dark periods. The days she refused to take her medicine. Sometimes the side effects from all of her different pills were worse than her condition itself. It left her exhausted, unable to get out of bed for days, sometimes even weeks at a time. Eventually, she’d stop taking the meds. The dark period that followed usually lasted a few weeks. At first it wasn’t bad. But with each day off her medication, she’d become more and more paranoid. When I was younger, I thought it was true, that people really were out to get us. I constantly checked over my shoulder, like Mom did.

There are so many things that I should have told you. Things I kept from you because I needed to protect you. I didn’t want them to separate us. I love you, Baby Girl. To the moon and back, just like the book I used to read you. Only more. Lots more. So all of the secrets I kept, I kept for us. Because we were stronger together than apart.

But now you’re alone. So the truth needs to come out. I’m sorry to have kept it from you all these years. I don’t know any other way to tell you…I wish there was an easier way.