I can still smell the moonshine. Its aggressive scent and sharpness still linger in my mind. How could he drink that? My nose stung after I just smelled it, so how could he drink it? It makes me think that my dad isn't all there, either. I know he says Kathleen is nuts, but if he drank that garbage, then he's the pot calling the kettle black.

I have been warned by my Grandma Carolyn that I have the gene. Like if I was to maybe take a drink, I'd flip some switch and never be able to turn it off. I don't believe that kind of stuff. I think I inherited my height and skinniness from my dad, and my hair and eyes from Kathleen, but I don't buy in to inheriting poor choices as part of the gene pool.

I'm still wrestling with the decision to call my grandma and tell her about dad. But I'll wait and see if he was telling the truth about it being a one time thing.

When I was younger Grandma Carolyn took me to a meeting, Ala-something or other. It was in the back of the Presbyterian church and there were about eight or nine kids ranging from seven to about sixteen. These two men were leading it and I couldn't understand why I was there. Some of the kids were talking about their parents and how they got drunk and did hurtful or dangerous things. Then they all turned to me and waited. But I didn't have anything to say. I had never seen my dad drunk. So, all I could say was. "My dad is a nice guy."

One of the men said it was okay and that no one would judge me. All I could muster was the truth.

"My dad ain't tooken a drink since before I was born. He's a real nice guy."

They all just sort of stared at me, like they were disappointed.

My dad got really mad at Grandma Carolyn when he found out she'd taken me to the meeting. He looked her in the eye and said through clenched teeth, "He doesn't need that crap, Momma."

Later, she took me aside and admitted her mistake. "Maybe that wasn't the right group for you, Rory. I know your daddy's been sober for a long time, and I hope I'm wrong about this, but there will come a day when he'll be weak and you'll see a side of him that you won't like. I've been through this, Rory. I've been through it with both of them, but I didn't have any body to talk to."

I remember feeling like I was betraying him, by even listening to her. I had no reason to doubt my dad or his promise. At least, not until today. Today was a game changer. Grandma was right about one thing, I did need to tell someone.



Etienne Kristopher is my polar opposite. He's short and pudgy, while I'm tall and skinny. He has rosy cheeks and blond curly hair while I have dark auburn hair and olive skin. Still, Etienne is my friend and has been since he was born. He has this infectious laugh that usually ends with a snort. But more importantly, he is Uncle Albie's kid.

Uncle Albie will know, without a doubt, how to handle this. All I have to do is go hang-out over there.



Albie shows up Friday night to take me to their house for a sleepover. While I gather my stuff, Albie sits at the kitchen table with Dad.

"How's work?" he asks.

"So far, we're staying afloat. Most of the locals have stayed pretty loyal. But we'll see how long that lasts. Can't really compete with those big warehouse stores."

"I don't know, neighbor of mine just bought something from that place over in Iverton, said he spent more time trying to find someone to help him than it was worth."

"Did he buy from them?"

"Yes, but said he'd never go back."

Dad lifts his shoulder casually. "Saying and doing are two different things."

I wonder if Dad even realized the irony of his statement. Saying and doing are two different things. Amen.