I walked down to the beach. I took a flashlight from my glove compartment and checked the time; it was already two in the morning.
The night was calm, and with only a few streetlights in sight I could make out faint silhouettes of people walking around in the distance. Some used flashlights to light their way, or maybe look for turtle nests or crabs. I started calling Charlene’s name, even though I knew deep down that she wouldn’t answer me. I searched around the dunes with my flashlight, hoping that maybe I would find her hiding somewhere. But after what felt like an eternity, there was still no sign of her. Nothing but empty sand and some scattered bits of trash here and there.
My heart sank as I feared what could have happened to her. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I walked back to my car, feeling completely broken inside. I drove home, exhausted yet still worried about what might have happened to Charlene. As much as I wanted to believe that she was okay, something inside me told me otherwise.
I couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread as I pulled into my driveway. My mind raced with all the possibilities of what could have happened. Was Charlene hurt? Lost? Worse, was she…?
Don’t even finish the thought.
I tried to focus on what I could do to find her. I had put out an ALPR hit for the license plate number of her truck and hoped that it would show up somewhere. But so far nothing. I grabbed my phone and called her again, praying that she would answer. I don’t know why I thought this time would be different, but it was my last resort. I had run out of ideas what to do.
Come on, Charlene, come on answer the darn phone!
After several rings, it went straight to voicemail again. I had walked up toward the door, shoulders slumped, my stomach in knots, when I heard tires on the asphalt coming down the street. I turned to see Charlene’s truck as it slowly drove toward me.
What on earth?
I stared at the red truck as it trundled up the street, my heart pounding. I squinted, trying to make out who was inside. It was definitely Charlene’s truck, but that didn’t mean she was driving it. When the truck pulled up in front of my house, I saw that Charlene was indeed behind the wheel.
My first thought was relief. But then I noticed that she was alone and there was something strange about her eyes. She didn’t look happy or relieved to see me, instead she looked determined. She stumbled out, and as I tried to approach her, I was startled by the dazed look on her face.
She was drunk.
“Charlene?” I asked, feeling so many conflicting emotions. I was relieved to see her, alive and well, but as that feeling subsided, it gave away to another. Anger. Here I had been worried about her all day, and she showed up drunk? At almost two thirty in the morning, on a school night?
She paused and looked at me. Her speech was slurred. “Oh, hi, Mom.”
I tried my best to contain my anger. “What’s this, Charlene? What is going on here? You’re driving around drunk?”
She shook her head. “No, I would never.”
“Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?”
She could barely stand still and was swaying from side to side. I felt like I was going to explode. But she was too out of control to have a real chat right now. It would have to wait.
“Charlene, go to bed. We will talk about this in the morning. You hear me?”
She saluted me like she was in the Army.
“Loud and clear,” she muttered before she turned and walked inside the house, unsteady on her feet.
I watched her go and sighed; I was relieved, but I was not looking forward to having that conversation in the morning.
THIRTY-EIGHTBILLIE ANN
Charlene was sick in the morning when she woke up. I heard her throw up in her bathroom, then walked in to help her, and to hold her long blonde hair. She gagged and gasped, then sat on the floor, head leaning on the shower door, sweat sticking to her forehead.
It was tempting to say something like that’s what you get, or that’ll teach you, but I didn’t think it would go down well. She was definitely sick from the drinking, and hopefully this would be a lesson for her on its own.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she muttered between breaths. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”
I exhaled and sat next to her, then pulled her into a hug. “You’re not a disappointment, sweetie. I worry about you, you know? You scared me like crazy last night.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I rubbed her back soothingly as she leaned against me. She smelled like alcohol and vomit, but I didn’t care. She was my daughter and I loved her, even when she made mistakes.
“You don’t have to apologize, Charlene,” I said. “But you do need to take responsibility for your actions.”
She nodded miserably and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know. I messed up.”
“We all make mistakes. Now I will have to punish you, though,” I said.
She nodded, hiding her head between her knees. “I knew that was coming. So, what will it be?”
“You’re grounded for two weeks,” I said. “You will only go to school and come home right after. No skipping classes again and no drinking. I need to regain my trust in you. Is that understood?”
“Two weeks?” she whined, all of a sudden seemingly better. “Two weeks? But then I’ll miss Peyton’s birthday party this Friday.”
I shrugged. “That’s what happens.”
She rose to her feet, then looked down at me still sitting on the floor. “That’s not fair, Mom.”
Now I was getting angry. I rose to my feet. “Not fair? How’s that not fair? You were driving your truck while intoxicated. You could have killed someone. You could have gotten a DUI. This is very serious, Charlene.”
She was in tears now. “Ugh, you’re just so… you and Dad are… ugh, I HATE you. Don’t you think I know what is going on, huh?”
“What do you mean?”