Disturbance

There is trouble amid our daffodil-yellow house on Seventh Avenue. Sooner or later, it is bound to happen. Dad and Laura never allow themselves to consider what happens if she comes back. I don’t know why they decide to forget Katrina’s patterns and how she acts since she left. The moment she is ever lonely enough, sad enough, not drunk enough, or mad enough, she immediately turns back to us. She tries to destroy the normal we make again. Whenever she returns, a disturbance forms in all of us, just in different ways. Which brings us to today, August 29th, when she feels something enough to change everything.

The peaceful morning starts with Dad, a man who normally doesn’t realize the consequences of his actions until it’s too late, passionately working on creating pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. Then there is Laura, my half-sister who lives in her own daydreaming world, dancing around in her best lily-pad green princess dress and tiara. I am preparing the best showing of The Sound of Music with pillow forts, twinkling lights, and blue and purple blankets covering every piece of furniture in the living room. Dad lets us sleep in, which means he will make us do chores tonight to make up the wasted morning. He makes fancy breakfasts now since he stopped letting Laura have her weekly calls with Katrina, who, as per usual, upset Laura because all she does is disappoint.

Around eleven o’clock, we hear a car pull up. Dad abandons his burning, scrambled Disney-shaped pancake to look out the kitchen window and immediately comes to Laura and me. I am only fourteen, but when I see Dad, my stomach digs a deep pit; this isn’t going to be good.

“Grab your sister, get in the hallway closet, and do not move until I come back and get you. She’s here,” Dad says as he runs out of the living room and back into the kitchen.

I hear the panic in his steps as he leaves. They must have had another fight; that is when she usually comes to test if she has the power to make us fall apart completely. I look at Laura and immediately get annoyed with the lack of urgency I see in her. She is too young. No six-year-old kid expects an irreversible change in their life.

“I’m gonna go get Grumpy,” Laura says as she starts out of the room.

I grab her arm and pull her, not in the cheerful way I usually do when we play, so she knows this is serious.

“Laura, no! You don’t need that stupid stuffed bear. We have to hide now,” I say.

“But, Alice, I need Grump….” Laura says, and she puts on her best pouty face that gets her what she wants.

“No, you don’t. Now come on.”

We swiftly scrunch into balls as we sit in the closet, and I cling to Laura tighter than I want to. We hear her yelling as she gets closer to the entrance of the house. I cover Laura’s mouth because she squeals every time the screen door fights against the hinges. It feels like our house is in danger, delicate like a flower, and can’t protect us as she tries to strip each layer of it away until she reaches us. I cover my exposed ear to the sound of what seems like the screen door giving up as it is ripped away, trying to salvage as much innocence as I can for myself.

~

When Katrina married my dad, I was five, and from what Dad told me and my own scattered memories, I lived in my own world. My mom, Lili, had been dead for a year and a half, and Dad was at the point where he only spoke of Mom when nothing else would comfort me. She was the love of our lives and the woman that kept Dad sane. Mom was the best of us. She grounded him and kept us in line. When Dad took over his family’s auto-repair business, he worked more than he knew he could. Mom stayed home, and we played, crafted, and planned surprises for when he got home. Every Friday, Mom planned elaborate movie nights based on her favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz. Her favorite craft was making pottery; she had her own studio and let me make whatever I wanted while she crafted items that we used religiously in the kitchen. Dad displayed every piece she created; we even painted her mess-ups or broken pottery and found new ways to use them. We had a drawer filled with assorted painted scraps that we used to place spatulas on when flipping pancakes or lay ladles on after stirring soup; any excuse to show off Mom’s art. Mom was Dad’s balance; he was always overcommitted and overscheduled, and when she died, he fell into a whirlpool of gloom, anger, and loneliness. He stayed at home with me instead of working. He told me bedtime stories that Mom went to Oz to live with Glenda the Good Witch because she was too good for this world. He left me with babysitters so he could go to therapy, but he would spend his time out doing more than sessions. When he left his vortex of sorrows to go back to work and tried to be the happy, balanced man he was again, he returned with her by his side.

Katrina was the glue that sealed us back together. She helped us find the perfect house in a new city to wash the loss of Mom away. She stayed home with me while Dad got back on his feet at work, and she helped me find places to display my mom’s art. She let us watch The Wizard of Oz until it was like background noise to us all. I accepted Katrina into our lives, yet I never let the thought go of Mom being with Glenda the Good Witch. I was sure she was waiting for me in Oz. Eventually, that faded. When Katrina told me she was pregnant with Laura, everything changed. It was after Laura was born that Katrina lost control of her drinking, fought with Dad, and left Dad to deal with Laura and everything else at home. That’s when I had to step up, and when I saw a crack in her ruse of happiness and family she pretended to love so much.

~

“Don’t do this!” Dad screams. He is the only thing keeping her from us.

Before we know it, glass shatters, and Katrina is in the house. She storms the kitchen and flings the precious, memory-filled pottery across the room, and it explodes against the wall. Laura and I hold each other closer than we knew we could; I stop breathing and can’t seem to find a normal rhythm to inhale and exhale with. I try to steady myself, but I spiral, not being able to see the crashes. I feel the windows shatter all at once while Katrina and Dad run throughout the house. The walls weaken and start peeling away like string cheese, unable to stand upright once pulled. The floors vibrate as the whirlwinds surge through the hall, and the roof rattles as it prepares to crumble down. The closet feels like it will be all that is left once we leave it.

Laura twirls the end of my baby hairs that don’t fit into my ponytail. I resurface and start to regain control of my breathing. Katrina is yelling about the missed phone calls and something about how he can’t ignore her forever.

Dad tries to stop her, but she’s a storm. Determined, she is not going to stop until she has us.

I hum Laura’s favorite song from The Sound of Music to mask the screaming we hear in the kitchen. Laura giggles for some god-forsaken reason, and I squeeze my hand so hard against her mouth that she bites me.

“OW. Stop it, Alice,” Laura yells. It’s like she forgets we are hiding for our lives, and she thinks this is a hide-and-seek game.

“Seriously, Bob, you have them in the fucking closet,” Katrina says as Laura blows our cover.

I hear Katrina move towards the door. Dad tries to block her path, but I hear him hit the ground. Her steps are loud and sound like a low bass thumping through a car speaker with the volume fully turned up. She stops, right in front of the door. I let go of Laura, fling both hands on the doorknob, and try to fight against her. The top of the door scratches the frame as it swings open, and Katrina looks down on us and smiles with her crazed eyes and chuckles.

“Mom!” Laura chuckles as she jumps up. I swear she is the dumbest kid I have met.

I return to my original curled ball position, but Katrina grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet. She is not as delicate with me as she is with Laura. I guess fourteen is too old for the delicacies of childhood. We exit the closet, and the house is still standing. No walls have fallen, no roof crumbled, or windows shattered. Just our stuff destroyed; anything that belonged somewhere flung away from its home, broken kitchen appliances, Mom’s pottery smashed.

She grabs our things, but she doesn’t pay attention to what she takes. She tries to convince me that everything will be okay as she grabs some CDs, a pillow, two Care Bear t-shirts that are lying on the ground, and one pair of underwear from the laundry basket sitting against the wall. The tv is still on, and scenes of the Von Trapp family flash across the screen as the children are comforted by Maria during the storm that fills the night. She shoves us towards the door to leave the house. Dad is still on the ground, and his dark curly hair is covering his eyes.

“Oh my God—Dad. What did you do,” I scream as I look up at Katrina. My throat feels like it might rip open.

“Stop, Alice, he’s fine. I didn’t do anything! He tripped and hit his head. Now, come on, we’re going… and never scream like that again,” Katrina says, grabbing my arm.

He looks dead. His chest is moving, but still.

“Katrina, if he isn’t okay, I won’t forgive you,” I say with tears filling my eyes. “He’s all I have.”

“Alice, I swear, you’re so dramatic. You have us,” Katrina says with her demented smile as she shuffles us towards the door more.

Laura bends down and gives him a loving peck on the cheek. Like he is asleep and not knocked out. His voice grumbles and his feet twitch a bit. God, this is a nightmare.

“Can I get Grumpy before we leave, Mom?” Laura asks, resisting leaving.

Katrina laughs.

“Laura, you girls are too old to rely on toys now. You won’t be able to make it in this world if you rely on things like that for comfort. God, girls, you’re taking forever… time to go.”

Laura starts to cry, and I get flashes of the misery we are about to endure. As she pulls us out of the house, we exit from the door she tried to destroy. The height tallies we compiled over the years are scuffed… wishing us farewell. She pushes us into her dad’s 1999 Toyota Corolla, and we drive away.

The car is a small, Jolly Rancher green color that has scratches and bumps along the body of the car. It smells like a cat peed all over the seats, and then someone tried to mask it with vinegar. The hot, musky air of the car, combined with leather seats that flake with a single stroke of my hand, makes the pit in my stomach grow deeper; I think I am going to be sick.

I wonder why Katrina even bothers to take me with her like she has some claim over me. I know I am too old to cry over missing someone, but in this moment, I choke back tears. Giving up, I start uncontrollably crying. I cry for my mom I can barely remember; I cry for my dad that I need to be here for me, I cry for Laura for loving her still, and I cry because Katrina left us shattered like we were before.

Katrina looks over and touches my shoulder gently, almost like she is comforting me.

“Alice, I’m sorry if I startled you back there, but you know your father has been shutting me out, and I deserve to see my children. Especially when I have worked so hard to get to a place where I think I can start to help take care of you girls. I’m good now; I’m back on my feet and have been working for a few months,” Katrina says as she squeezes Laura a bit tighter. God, she repulses me. Like this proves that she is ready for this again.

I close my eyes, and I feel a spiral coming again. I open my eyes to a watermelon rind greenish-yellow colored sky with wind swooping between the trees we pass on the highway. The unforgiving wind plucks leaves, stems, and dead branches carelessly. We shouldn’t be driving through this; this car can’t take this kind of fight. The car feels warmer, or maybe that is just the flush in my cheeks, but my seat starts to rattle.

“Don’t call me one of your children. You aren’t a good mom, and you shouldn’t be giving Laura this false hope right now. We all know in a month or two you won’t be good anymore,” I say with the lump in my throat burning. I wonder if it hurts her to hear the truth. She has a good poker face, though, and rarely lets anyone see what impact they have on her.

Leaves and branches litter our path, turning the road into a maze as the humid air seeps through the windows and the wind searches for its next target.

“Shut up, Alice! Don’t say that about Mom—” Laura yells.

The seat starts to shake, and I worry it’s the wind ready to take us—or it’s a buzz from Katrina’s phone receiving a call.

“No… she left us, Laura. Why don’t you ever take time to think about that? She didn’t want to be a mom. She left us when Dad was too busy taking care of every little thing for her and us,” I say as I let my rage start to roll through me. I shift my gaze towards Katrina.

The air feels like the windows are rolled all the way down to let our speed rush throughout the car. I feel my hair moving uncontrollably across my face, and my frustration grows as I can’t tame it.

“You left. You are supposed to be there for us. You are supposed to show me how to curl my hair or wear makeup or deal with girls at school. You are supposed to stay and always take care of Laura and me. You are supposed to be the one that holds Laura’s hand, that comforts her, and teaches her to feel confident. A random FaceTime, phone call, or weekend doesn’t make up for that. You said you are here for me; you said you want to be my mom. You said you love Dad. You pretended to step up and be that mom who was there when I needed one most. You gave me confidence in this family, then left nine years later. You can’t just come and go into people’s lives like this. You started to lie, made Dad lie for you, and made him come up with excuses for you, but you never even apolog—”

“Girls, stop. I have to get this,” Katrina says as she fumbles her way to get to her pocket. Of course, she doesn’t care about when she left us. She will never listen or admit she regrets leaving me.

As she answers, I hear Dad scream through the phone. The seat rattling slows. She sits there silently, poised almost, as he yells at her. I hear mentions of the kitchen and glass and me and Laura. He seems so angry that I feel the pit in my stomach begin to settle. I know he will never leave me like they did. Katrina hits a bump in the road, and I resurface. The wind pulls away, and I look out the rolled-up windows to see the calm sky and the road not filled with debris. It’s going to be okay; he is okay.

“Robert, stop. You are being irrational and are overreacting right now. You don’t get to talk to me like this. I am getting my time with the girls. You can have your turn when I feel like you are stable enough to keep them,” Katrina says in a way that almost sounds proud. I can’t believe she actually thinks what she is doing is okay.

She continues to play with Laura’s hair while Dad screams at her. She suddenly hangs up on him.

“Isn’t Dad so boring… He just takes everything so seriously,” Katrina says, looking down at Laura, laughing almost.

Oh my God, I am with an actual psychopath.

“Yeah, so boring,” Laura laughs along with Katrina. I can’t believe it.

After what feels like days, even though it has barely been two hours, the car turns down a gravel road towards Katrina’s parents’ house. She moved into their house when she left us. As the car bumps along the windy road, Katrina starts to gather the random assortment of essentials she grabbed from our house. We arrive at the Christmas tree-green three-story house, and she pushes all of us away from the car and towards the front door.

When we go inside the house, Katrina enters as chipper as she can. We walk through the long hallway full of photos of Katrina as a child. Her hair is still as curly and dark as it is in the pictures. We settle in the living room that is wrapped entirely in a backsplash of wood paneling. The dark brown wood against the bright wintergreen carpet and the traffic-cone orange-colored couch create a space where we always played before Katrina left. The wicker basket that holds all of Laura’s toys is still in the far back corner of the room. Laura quickly goes to the basket to rediscover the toys she’s forgotten. The pile of Magic Tree House books that I read until the spines unraveled and slowly released pages are scattered against the wooden box-framed tv stand. I walk over to the unorganized stack and grab a book.

~

The first time Katrina brought Dad and me to her parents’ house, they told me to call them Granna and Pop. They wanted to spend lots of time with Dad and me to get over the shock of Katrina getting married to someone so quickly. Along with wanting to know how someone was ready to get married so quickly after losing their wife and having a child. They were kind, but I knew they had to get used to me like I had to get used to Katrina. They bought me books and tried to find out what my interests were. I never spent the night at their house or anything like that until Laura was born. After Laura came, Granna and Pop had us over a lot. Granna loved hosting movie sleepovers. My favorite was when we watched The Wizard of Oz with ice cream and would get to dress up as Dorothy and Glenda. Laura and I didn’t have too much in common, but everyone tried to make sure we got along. As Laura grew, she called Pop, Poppy, and Granna, Gran, which did not settle well with me at all.

I refused to change their names. It felt like they favored Laura. When we fought, they picked her side to settle the argument. When Laura whined, they just gave her what she wanted. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t jealousy because I felt too old to get mad about who got to pick what snacks went with our movie. We stayed at Granna and Pop’s house more when Dad and Katrina started fighting or Dad caught Katrina lying to him. They started trying to get help, which turned into Dad finding out how much Katrina did behind Dad’s back. Especially how much she drank. Granna and Pop would distract Laura and me and try to explain it to us in ways that made it sound more like Katrina ate too much candy and just needed to work on eating less candy. It was worse than that, I know they tried to hide it from us, but I could tell just from how worried Dad would get over her.

It would be a lie not to admit that Katrina was fun; that wasn’t the issue. That was what drew my dad to her from the start, or that was what he told me when he explained to me who she was and why he wanted her to be a part of our family. Katrina and Dad fed off each other’s imbalances. She made Dad more fun in ways; the dishes didn’t have to be cleaned instantly, shoes were allowed to be left out, at her best, bedtimes didn’t exist, and she made him laugh. He added order and structure to her life that she wasn’t used to. He gave her responsibility and expected and trusted her to handle it. That was at the beginning, but after a year of Dad trying to get Katrina help, after things got bad, they decided it would be best if Katrina stayed at Granna and Pop’s more, and we stayed with him until she could get grounded again. We still got to go and see her occasionally, and I would read my favorite A to Z Mysteries books to Laura so she would be quiet, and I could get some peace before she got her second wind to force us all to play with her.

On our best days, we were like play-date friends that would get lost in our imaginations, willing stories to come to life and whisk us into the chaos of the magical land of Oz. We made lists of what we would ask the wizard for once we made it to the Emerald City; instead of courage, a heart, or a brain, Laura always wanted a new Care Bear and an endless supply of desserts. I always wanted to ask the wizard where my mom lived when she went to be with Glenda the Good Witch. I never shared my list though because Katrina taught us that wishes don’t come true if you share them. We stopped visiting after Katrina spiraled and left Granna and Pop’s. Dad said she came back after a while. Laura would call her sometimes, but Katrina set her distance from us and didn’t want to come back.

~

I start to move out of the room to our room in the basement, and my plans are interrupted by Katrina.

“Granna, Pop, we are back! Robert finally answered me and is letting me take the girls for a bit,” Katrina says like it is completely true. She drops the bag of things from our house and goes over to Laura. I return to my old pile of books to ignore this madness.

“What’s that, honey? Where have you been? You left hours ago—I texted you,” Granna says as she walks out of her room upstairs.

“I haven’t been on my phone. Bob and I met to talk about the girls,” Katrina starts to explain.

“Now, I thought you said Robert was going to keep the kids for a few extra weeks since you weren’t following through on all of your responsibilities with the girls,” Granna says, crossing her arms and tilting her head to look above her reading glasses.

“Yeah, but he called me today and said that if I wanted to take the kids for a bit since it has been a while that it might be good for us to spend time together,” Katrina says with a big smile on her face as she walks to hug Laura, who is still digging through her basket.

“Katrina, you can’t throw a fit when he holds you responsible when you don’t follow through. I don’t blame him for being cautious. I swear, sometimes you act like you’re a teenager. You’ve got to start being more reliable. You can’t be this impulsive. I don’t have anything cooked for the girls; their bed doesn’t have clean sheets on it. When were you going to tell us they were coming? I mean, what were your thoughts when you left without warning us that we needed to get ready for the kids,” Granna says, getting closer to Katrina.

“God, Mom, you have to calm down. Everything is fine. The girls are here now, and you don’t have to change their sheets, and you don’t have to cook a feast every time they come. You know they are here now… can we just enjoy it and drop this, please,” Katrina says.

Laura grabs everyone’s attention while she plays. She calls Pop downstairs so they can rock in his dark-gray recliner that he always sits in with a white neck pillow nestled around his neck. Granna moves to the kitchen to start getting supper ready.

After a few minutes of Katrina and Pop playfully asking Laura questions, Granna comes back with her iPhone in her hand. The screen is on, and her reading glasses hang low on her nose while she glares at the screen.

“Katrina let’s go chat in the kitchen while the kids get settled,” Granna says in a high-pitched way that sounds like a question.

“Okay, sure. What’s up?” Katrina asks quickly as she gets to her feet.

“Well, I am just a little worried. I texted the girls’ dad, and he just—”

“You did what? Mom, give me your phone. What did you say?” She grabs the phone and scrolls through the texts.

“Okay, girls, time to grab your stuff. We have to go,” Katrina says as she starts to stir again.

“Absolutely not, Katrina. What is going on? You said you two discussed this and came to an agreement. He could have called the police. My god, he should have. He can take you to court; he is probably going to try to take the girls for good. I mean, what in the hell were you thinking?”

I’ve never heard Granna swear before. It feels weird, like somehow, I know this is more serious now. I see my opportunity and dash downstairs, determined not to move until Dad comes to get me.

Laura stays upstairs, and after a few minutes, I can’t handle not knowing what Granna is saying to Katrina. So, I slyly creep up the red-carpeted staircase and try to avoid a creaky step. At about four steps from the top, I stop and stoop. I can’t hear them too clearly, but Pop seems to be getting Katrina in trouble for taking us.

“If you start lying, we won’t trust you again…”

“Your actions today resemble how you were when you quit AA and started going down that path again,” Granna says, shaky and uneasy. “Why are you putting the girls through this, they are going to remember this, and Robert will never let…”

“Will you just please let me explain how this is his fault,” Katrina interrupts as she pushes her chair back.

I go back downstairs; this is too tiring. I stare at the wall for a few minutes while in bed. Laura comes down with tears in her eyes and crawls into bed with me and fills me in on what the adults are talking about. Laura and I lie in bed for a bit longer and play with the blanket we used to share when we would sleep over at Granna and Pop’s house. I try to make Laura sit and think hard about what all has happened to us since Katrina left. I remind her about all the times she cried for her, and the only ones to come to her were me or Dad. I ask her how she still possibly likes Katrina more than Dad, and she gives me nothing to work with. I try to make her think of what she would ask the Wizard of Oz right now.

“Wouldn’t you want to ask for Katrina to keep her promises and not leave? I’m sure Dad would wish for her to keep her promises,” I say as she laughs. She says I am just being silly. Then I hear a car speeding down the driveway. I grab Laura, and we run upstairs as my stomach fills with excitement; he’s here.

Dad bangs on the door and yells for Katrina to come out. Granna and Pop come out from the kitchen with Katrina. She looks panicked as we all gather in the room by the door; I feel the tension building strong enough to shake the foundation of the house.

“Look, just let me talk to him, he wasn’t letting me see the kids, so I—” Katrina says as she tries to convince them that she isn’t in the wrong. I feel the walls beginning to shudder, or maybe, it’s just the door.

I bolt to let Dad in. Katrina tries to grab my arm. Granna blocks her and lets me go to the door.

“Absolutely not, Katrina. You have put these girls through enough today. Alice gets to see her dad. You don’t get to keep her from him anymore.”

God, I love Granna. She gets it… I am not Katrina’s to take.

I unlock the door, and before I finish opening it, Dad is in the house. He hugs me and makes sure I am okay. He looks awful, his normal wrinkles are intensified, and his eyes are dark and red, like he has been crying.

“Robert, I am so sorry; I had no clue. Please, don’t think we would have let her do this if we knew. That’s why I texted you…we would—” Granna says so fast. I wonder if she thinks Dad wouldn’t let Laura see them anymore.

“Come on, girls, we’re going home,” Dad interrupts coldly and abruptly as he takes a sigh of relief.

“But I don’t want to leave,” Laura says with confidence that I haven’t heard from her before, like she means every word. “I love it here with Mom, Gran, and Poppy. It’s not fair that you get to pick when I see them. I wanna stay.”

The room grows uneasy as everyone starts to stir. We can all feel the walls shifting. The house seems much smaller with everyone in here; I can’t remember the last time we’ve all been together without something brewing within us.

“What, Laura, you don’t know what you are talking about. She isn’t good. Dad takes care of us; he doesn’t leave us. She doesn’t want you,” I say in utter disbelief of Laura.

She closes her eyes, and I see that she is about to start losing it. I get closer to Dad to make sure I am by him no matter what.

“Stop telling me that I don’t know anything! Alice, you always boss me around and tell me what to do and say. You don’t listen to me,” Laura says, glaring at me with the same look I give Katrina.

“Please, let me stay. I don’t want to leave,” Laura says as she shifts her attention between Katrina and Dad, trying to see who is going to take over.

We all see it in her; she starts spiraling. I mean, she’s crying and everything. She falls to the ground, and the walls start to crumble like a poorly built sandcastle. The ruthless winds return, and the floors rumble as Laura rolls over and looks at the ceiling. The roof slowly forms little divots that look like teardrops, and they slowly grow, building the anticipation of what will come when they fall.

Laura goes on and on about how she can’t leave, and she won’t leave. I can’t believe it; she wails about how being with Katrina is better than Dad, and she doesn’t want to be alone. How can she possibly want to stay with the woman that left us? The ceiling paint continues to fill and droops lower. The floors feel unsteady, the chimney sounds like it's scraping down the side of the roof, and the walls start to twist like Twizzlers. This is our twister taking us away to a better place, like Oz, that has a wizard to gift us our wishes. I reach my limit and start screaming too. At this point, Laura and Katrina deserve each other. I start to forget why I wanted Laura to hate her from the beginning. I just want this to be over.

The wind tunnels throughout the house accompanied by all it has conquered. Trees, limbs, leaves, lost beloved treasures, floorboards, glass, and water dance to the song the wind whistles.

We are all in the room talking over and fighting with each other. Laura runs to hide under the bed. Katrina pulls her focus away from Dad and starts after Laura. I yell for her to stop. Granna and Pop, who look hopeless, beg for Katrina and Dad to calm down. Then, Dad moves across the room and shouts over the ruckus.

Everything and everyone go quiet. This isn’t a tornado taking us to Oz for a fraudulent wizard to tell us that everything we need to solve our problems is already within us. We all resurface to find the house in order and Laura still hiding. The tension, screaming, and falling apart finally dissipates.

“This isn’t going to be settled in one night. Kat, Laura can stay here tonight, if your parents are here. We will meet tomorrow to try and work this out,” Dad says, sounding weak and defeated.

I get in the car with Dad, and we start down the long gravelly road. It is a car ride filled with so much silence; it feels like the death of something.

When we get home, the house is in shambles compared to how clean Dad always makes us keep it. I walk over to the counter and pick up a trash bag from its designated drawer.

“Don’t worry about that tonight. We just need to turn off the tv and lock the doors. We’ll take care of everything else tomorrow,” Dad says, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs to sit on.

“Look, Alice. I’m sorry about everything that happened today. You have been so strong and brave throughout all of this, and I—”

I immediately start to cry, and he hugs me tight.

“Appreciate how much you have been able to help and take. I’m proud of you; You’re just like your mom…”

We stay there saying nothing for a while, and I can tell he is crying too.

“We are gonna get through this, and everything will be okay,” Dad says as he wipes his tears and stands to go to his room.

I walk into the den and step over all the scattered pillows and blankets. The final credits of The Sound of Music are displayed on the screen. I turn it off and place the DVD back in the plastic case. I start for my room, and I hear crickets chirp louder than usual from the absence of the screen door. When I walk over to the spot Dad fell this morning, it creaks, and the closet door is still open. I go to close it softly as the floor continues to creak; I try to avoid the door’s old wood scratching against its frame. I decide to crawl into bed with Dad, so I walk down to his room and twist the crystal knob on the door. His snores fill the silence in the house. When I turn to close his door, I see Laura’s favorite Care Bear, Grumpy, poking out around the corner of the hallway. I go pick it up and hold it to my chest. I cautiously walk into Dad’s dark room and slip under the covers. I feel comforted by his presence; somehow, it feels natural, almost familiar, that it is just Dad and me. No Katrina causing chaos or pain with her unreliability. No Laura to remind us of Katrina. I shake the feeling away, hug Grumpy again, try to get some sleep, and not think about how happy I am that Laura is with Katrina tonight.