“What’s that?” George asked of the bag Graham carried. He showed it to his dad.
“Krista’s mom made it for mom.”
“What for?”
“Um . . .” Graham paused. He’d assumed it was to keep her warm while she stayed in the hospital with Grady. He knew women liked to sew and knit and often gave pieces as gifts, and he had also heard of prayer blankets, but as he held it in his hand, he wasn’t exactly sure. “I don’t really know.”
Graham opened the car door to the back and set it on the seat and then opened his door. He slid into the driver’s side and waited for his father.
“Your mother does that.”
“Does what?”
“Makes things for people, like casseroles. She meddles.”
Graham reminded his father to buckle up, and then he started his car, intent on ignoring the jab against his mom. He drove slowly through the alley, keeping in mind the other vehicles parked back there. He pulled out onto Third Street and turned left.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to stop at the bank.” The lie fell easily. His father said nothing as Graham drove down the road. When he passed the bank, his father noticed instantly.
“You missed the bank.”
“I know.” Graham pressed the gas pedal and picked up speed. The signs changed from twenty-five to thirty-five and then fifty.
“Where the hell are you taking me?”
“Grady needs you today. He’s going to need his family when he wakes up.”
“Graham, if you know what’s good for you, you turn this car around right now and take me home.” His father spoke sternly, and if Graham had been younger, he might’ve listened. As it was, it was time for George to accept Grady’s issues.
“No can do, Dad. Mom and Grady need us, and we’re going to be there for them. You always talk to me about how I need to be a better brother; well, now’s the time for you to step up and be a better father.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“I did,” Graham cut his father off. “You need to accept that Grady is an alcoholic, that we’ve enabled him for years. If his overdose isn’t a wake-up call, I don’t know what is, but it’s time we stop pussyfooting around Grady and get him the help he needs before he does something we all have to pay for.”
“Your brother is fine.”
“Except he’s not, and deep down, you know he’s not. I get there’s some pride there—you don’t want people looking down on you—but let me tell you something; they already do.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” George angled himself away from his son and looked out the window at the passing scenery.
Graham nodded and ended the conversation for now. His father was thickskulled and prideful. It was going to take a lot to get through to him.
When they arrived at the ferry booth, Graham showed the attendant the pass he had purchased and took the ticket with his lane assignment on it and drove to the line. They were right on time and boarded instantly. He shut his car off, pulled the lever of his seat, and reclined.
“Who’s Roxy?” His father’s voice broke through the silence between them.
Graham knew exactly who she was. “She’s a local. Friends with Grady. Used to hang out with us when we were younger. How do you know her?”
“She’s called the house looking for Grady.”
Graham sat up and readjusted his seat. He hadn’t heard of his brother and Roxy dating, but it made sense. By most accounts, Roxy Jean Wilkins was trouble. She originally hailed from Anacortes, and when she was seventeen, her parents split. Her father moved to a small shack that straddled the town lines of Cape Harbor and Skagit Valley. When they were teens, they used to think it was funny. If you were on the left side of the house, you were in Skagit Valley, but go to the bathroom, and you were in Cape Harbor.
When Roxy would stay with her father, she would come into town and hang with the locals, which included the Chamberlain twins, Bowie, Austin, and a few others. She was never one to hang out with Brooklyn or the Whitfield sisters, and if you asked any one of them what they thought of Roxy—well, their thoughts wouldn’t be pleasant.
Rumors about Roxy swirled through the towns. Some said she dealt drugs, others said she had a hard life, some people stretched the truth about her, and a few said they understood her, while others pretended they didn’t know her at all. Most of all, Roxy was an opportunist, and Grady’s downfall was her opportunity to try and fit in with the tight-knit group from Cape Harbor. She’d hung around more in the last couple of years, always with Grady.
“What did you tell her?” Graham asked.
“Nothing—he isn’t home, and it’s none of her business.”