She smiles. “Yes, I bake and dispense sage advice about living in the moment, you know, like a recovered Martha Stewart Buddha.”

She’s making a joke about recovery. My mother the alcoholic—who stands here clear-eyed, hair dark and full around her heart-shaped face—is being funny. It starts in my toes, this lightness that dances up my legs, through my arms, and into my whole body, swimming around in delightful bubbles, and I’m laughing with her. For some reason I have an impulse to share something with her. “Do you remember how you taught us both how to play the guitar?”

There’s something in her eyes, an expression—surprise? “I do. You were quite good.”

I peek at my notes to get it right. “Well, I’m teaching someone named Jarrod, and tomorrow I’m going to start teaching a little girl named Maree.”

Mom leans against the doorway. “I think that’s great, Claire. Really great. Especially with Maree; she’s got quite a bit of energy, but you’ll do just fine with her.” She sucks in her bottom lip, looks unsure of herself. “Speaking of, I still play—well, I picked it back up as part of my rehab, gave me something to focus on, and I’m playing at open-mic night at Pete’s.”

It’s a part of my mother I know nothing about, and it stings just a bit. “When?”

“Next Wednesday, February 20, around seven or whenever Pete decides to start it. There’s never more than me and maybe Hank if he’s got his harmonica on him.” I think she’s blushing, embarrassed? “I’d love it if you could be there.”

“At a bar, Mom? Is that a good idea?” I know it’s a rude question, possibly hurtful, but I can’t help but ask.

Instead of looking offended, she nods. “Fair question, Claire. I always go with friends, never alone. Ruth and Harriet will be there. Ruth said she could pick you up at 6:45.”

I add it to my calendar. “I’ll be there.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tuesday, February 12

I open the door, and before I can say a word, the girl smiles, points to her glasses, and says, “It’s me, Maree, like Mary with a y but with two e’s instead ’cause I love Anne of Green Gables, and she put an e at the end of her name, so I decided to also ’cept Dad said it had to be two e’s so people knew to make it sound like a y. I have no idea what that means.” The girl pauses her monologue. “You knew I was coming, right?” She breathes through her mouth, little huffs between her words. I nod, hide a smile. She really wants to learn how to play the guitar.

I check my phone, show her the screen, and nod approvingly. “You’re right on time. Very punctual.”