Pastor John looked out at the mountains.
— “Have you looked at your own life, Andrew? Have you been there for your son? Or have you been chasing something else while he waited for you?”
Andrew went silent. The question hit home.
— “We all have our ‘bottles,’ Andrew. Yours just looks like a corner office. But the result is the same—a child who feels second best. Your mother found her way back. Maybe it’s time you found yours.”
That night, Andrew sat on the porch steps under a blanket of stars. Eleanor came out and sat beside him.
— “Can’t sleep?” she asked.
— “Just thinking,” Andrew replied.
They sat in silence for a long time. Then Andrew turned to her.
— “Mom, I want to try. I want to try to be a family again. For Paulie. And for us.”
Eleanor wept and pulled him into a hug.
— “Thank you, Andy,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
The garden gate creaked, and Eleanor froze. She looked out the window to see a woman walking toward the porch. She was disheveled, wearing a dirty coat, her face bloated and her eyes bloodshot. Eleanor recognized her instantly.
It was Tammy. Her old drinking buddy. The woman she’d spent years in the gutter with. Eleanor stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. She didn’t want Tammy anywhere near Paulie.
— “Ellie!” Tammy yelled, waving a hand. “Look at you! Living the high life!”
She stumbled closer, the smell of cheap vodka preceding her. She looked terrible—aged, broken, and lost.
— “Hello, Tammy,” Eleanor said firmly.
— “What, no hug for your old pal?” Tammy laughed, swaying. “I heard you were up here playing house. Thought I’d come see if you wanted to celebrate.”
She pulled a pint of vodka from her pocket, half-empty.
— “Come on, Ellie. For old time’s sake. Just one drink. To us.”
Eleanor stepped back, shaking her head.
— “I don’t drink, Tammy. Not anymore.”
Tammy let out a harsh, rasping laugh.
— “Oh, please! You’re just like me. You’re a drunk, Ellie. Once a drunk, always a drunk. You think these mountains and these prayers change that? You’re just hiding.”
She shoved the bottle toward Eleanor. Eleanor stared at it. She remembered the burn. She remembered how it made the world go soft and blurry. How the shame would just… disappear for a few hours. Her hand hovered near the bottle.
— “Go on,” Tammy urged. “One sip won’t kill you.”
Eleanor’s fingers brushed the glass. She saw her reflection in the window—a woman who had worked fifteen years to be whole. Then she saw the bottle again. The temptation was a physical weight in her chest.
— “Just one,” Tammy whispered.
Eleanor gripped the bottle. She started to unscrew the cap. Her heart was pounding. She could smell the sharp, medicinal scent of the alcohol.
— “Grandma?”
Eleanor spun around. Paulie was standing in the doorway in his pajamas, looking terrified.
— “Grandma, please don’t,” he sobbed, running to her.
He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from the bottle. Eleanor looked at him—at his innocent, tear-streaked face—and the bottle slipped from her hand. It shattered on the porch, the vodka soaking into the wood. Eleanor dropped to her knees and pulled Paulie into a fierce hug.
— “I won’t, honey,” she sobbed. “I promise, I never will.”
Andrew stepped out onto the porch. He’d seen the whole thing. He looked at Tammy, his eyes cold as flint.
— “Get off this property,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
— “I was just—”
— “Get out!” Andrew barked. “And if I ever see you near my mother again, you’ll be talking to the Sheriff.”
Tammy scrambled away, muttering curses as she disappeared down the road. Eleanor stood up, still holding Paulie’s hand. She looked at Andrew, her face wet with tears.
— “I almost did it, Andy,” she whispered. “I almost threw it all away.”
Andrew stepped forward and put his arm around her.
— “But you didn’t, Mom. You chose us.”
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