That’s not true. He might grate on the nerves sometimes, but Lucas had his good qualities. And the last few weeks had been better than she expected in terms of getting along with him. It was just that her life was careening out of control like it hadn’t since she was a child. She felt shaken and vulnerable.

A vision of her mom surfaced from the dusty corridors of her mind. Kate had been eleven and had just returned from her best friend’s house. She often went to Mackenzie’s house just to escape her own. But Mackenzie was mad because Kate never invited her over, and Kate had run out of excuses.

Kate closed and locked the front door before removing her snow boots and wiggling her numb toes. “Mom?” she called, not knowing whether or not to expect an answer. Sometimes she found her mom doing laundry and humming game-show tunes, and other times Kate wished she hadn’t returned at all. It was the uncertainty she hated most. Even at eleven she knew it was true.

There was no answer on this night, so Kate set her heavy book bag on the rocking chair, flipped off the lights, and climbed the creaky stairs. Maybe her mom was asleep. She crossed her fingers on the banister as she ascended.

The bathroom light glowed in the darkness. She opened the door and found her mom on the green shag carpet next to a mystery stain they’d inherited with the house. One of her mom’s sweater-clad arms draped over the tub ledge, and the other hugged a clear bottle of alcohol. The room smelled sour, and Kate turned on the fan.

“Mom,” Kate whispered. She shoved aside the fuzzy pink slippers her dad had sent for her birthday and knelt on the carpet. “Mom.”

Her mother stirred as Kate slipped the empty bottle, still warm from her mother’s hand, out of her grasp. “Katie, baby.” She licked cracked lips and opened her eyes to glassy slits, reaching toward Kate with her delicate white hand. It didn’t quite make it and instead thumped on the carpet beside her leg.

“Come on, Mom. Let’s get you to bed.” Kate helped her mom stand, wrapped an arm around her gaunt waist. Propping her mom’s arm around her own shoulders, Kate led her next door to the bedroom. Her mom wobbled and staggered, bumping her bony hip into Kate’s and stepping on her cold toes.

When they reached the bed, Kate helped her mom out of her sweater and black slacks. She tugged a nightgown over her head, turned back the covers, and guided her mom into the bed, then pulled the woolly blanket over her. Her breath reeked of vodka.

“Katie . . .” If her mom wanted to say more, it was swallowed by oblivion.

“’Night, Momma,” Kate whispered before extinguishing the bedside lamp and leaving the room.