“But where is Alice?” Ruth says, and I can hear a note of concern in her voice that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

“Alice lives here now, Claire,” Harriet says, patting my hand.

I’m nodding because yes, I know this. Don’t I?

A phone rings and the woman at the bar answers loud. “Yeah, okay, outside.” She lurches to her feet and stumbles out the door.

I’ve already thrown on my coat, hat and scarf, gloves. “I’m not feeling so well.”

“Whiskey,” Harriet says.

“Stay, Claire. You’re here to see your mom play,” Ruth says. “Alice was really excited that you were coming.”

“Yeah.” I sound a bit gruff and short, but I want to get out of there. I want to go home. It’s been a long day—I can feel it in the softness of my bones, the weariness that hangs from my arms. I try to soften my voice. “Sorry, Ruth. I’m just tired, okay?”

There’s no wind when I step outside the bar, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. My mouth is dry, sticky with the taste of whiskey, and my temples pound. Why did I drink whiskey? I feel a sudden light-headedness I didn’t notice inside. I’m going home. I’m going home, I sing to myself. A woman is crying and the sound draws me around the corner to the back entrance of the restaurant.

“I’m sosorry to keep draggin’ you into this, Alice. I’mamess.” The woman’s words slur together.

“It’s okay, Jory. We’re not perfect; nobody is, and setbacks don’t mean anything other than a new challenge, right?” My mother’s voice.

I press a hand to my mouth to keep from crying out. She’s bundled up but her face is exposed, and she looks so much like the woman who once laughed and danced with Dad, who rocked me to sleep and baked the best chocolate chip cookies in Whittier. Seeing her now, combined with the cloying taste of whiskey in my mouth, makes tears slide down my cheeks. “Mom?”

She turns, and when she sees me, her head tilts. “Hi, Claire bear. Are you okay?”

I stumble to the side, the whiskey running a winning loop inside my body, and I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Mom.”

The door to Whiskey Pete’s slams open, and out come Harriet and Ruth, bundled and walking with a purpose.

“You go on ahead with our Claire, Alice,” Harriet says. “I’ll help Jory home.”

Mom slides her arm around my waist, and with Ruth flanking my other side, we hurry to BTI. In the elevator, I look down at Mom and feel the years we’ve lost in a sour queasiness that waters my mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here now, and I’m taking you home, sweetheart.”

“I’ve missed you, Mom.”