The woman nods and walks away, eyes lowered, her back bent like she’s already given up on the day.

“Who is that?” I say.

Mom leans close, lowers her voice. “Jory is a recovering alcoholic.” Mom seems to reconsider her words. “She’s trying, at least. It’s been hard for her.” Her voice is gentle, soft, full of empathy.

It loosens something in my chest. “You’re helping her?”

“I’m trying.”

I hug her, clumsy, holding on like she might melt away, and beside me I hear the click of a camera taking pictures. Then I release her, and I sit down to write and write and write across a fresh page of my notebook because this I want to get down and make sure that I never, ever forget. Mom is sober. Mom is sober.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY

Saturday, February 23

Today is Maree’s tenth birthday. I know this because I’ve written it down so many times I think I might actually remember it. Hah. That’s a laugh. A buzz from my phone. Birthday party for Maree at 3 p.m. Hang decorations. Today is her 10th birthday. You have cake and a present.

Outside, a deep-blue sky shimmers above a fresh layer of snow blanketing the entire town. I love walking in powdery new snow; maybe I’ll go for a walk later.

Someone knocks on my door. My mother. At first I can’t move, but she smiles at me and she looks normal and sober and suddenly I’m smiling back, happy to see her. She hands me a note card, which I read before putting it on the refrigerator with several others.

She sets a covered cake pan on the counter. “Ruth said you planned on baking a cake for Maree but that you may have forgotten to do that.”

I chew my bottom lip, scan the kitchen, don’t see anything. She uncovers the cake. Chocolate frosting with flowers and candy letters that spell out HAPPY 10TH BIRTHDAY, MAREE!

My chest tightens. “Thanks, Mom.” A buzz from my phone. Decorate for Maree’s birthday. On my desk are decorations, still packaged, that I obviously intend to hang.

“Can I help?” Mom asks.

There isn’t much, just a few metallic streamers and a banner and a few balloons. “Here.” She hands me one end of the banner, and together we hang it across the kitchen cabinets. We work in a comfortable silence. When we’re done, we both step back to survey our work. Mom touches my arm and I lean into her. “That looks nice, Claire. She’ll love it.”

“Do you want to stay?” I ask.

Mom tilts her head, looks surprised. “Yes, but not today. I’d love to come over another time, if you’d like?”

“How about tomorrow?”

Her eyes are bright and she nods, lips pressed together. “Yes, yes, that sounds lovely.”