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“Oh sure,” Paige said, her voice bordering on shrill, “I’ll bet Betsy would have called you to say that she’s sure her daughter is cheating on your son, but would you like to come to Sunday brunch at the club? Where is she, anyway? Why isn’t Betsy here with you? Isn’t she supposed to be your best friend?”

Paige didn’t miss her mom’s cheeks as they flushed crimson through the already-pink luster left over from the cold. She might not have been around much, but she knew her mom.

“She had Bunko tonight.”

Paige let that moment hang in the air. Nothing she said would have the power to convey what she felt for her mother as much as her mom’s own answer. Bunko. Paige seethed under cool skin, thankful her body’s visceral reaction to the cold that surrounded them masked her emotions.

“Mom, I love you. I won’t get in the way of Brad and Julia anymore, I promise. I didn’t want to make you upset either, but you’ve got to ask yourself why you stay friends with that woman when you know she isn’t ever there for you. Has she stopped by in the past month to check up on me? Has she asked what she can do to help you with all this going on? Please, don’t give yourself to anyone who isn’t worth your time. You know now more than ever how precious the gift of time is, and how little of it we have left.”

Paige was out of breath, but she didn’t know when she’d get another chance like this one. Her mom looked down at her through damp lashes. How much more water could she shed in the course of their night?

“I know. And I hear you, but adult relationships are much more complicated than that.”

“Are they, Mom?”

Marge’s mouth opened, the age-lines on her forehead deepened. Before she could say anything, a car screeched into the hospital drop-off. A man threw open his door, darted out of it and half-dragged a limp body out of the back seat. Paige readied herself to tear the driver apart for his subpar care of a patient, until she saw who the patient was.

Her brother stumbled towards them, barreling like a bull out of his pen, but with less grace. When he got close to Paige, bile rose in the back of her throat.

“Jesus, Brad. You smell like Grandpa Jack. And you somehow look even worse.”

He stood to face her, looking nothing like the confident, distinguished educator he was, the drunken stoop of his head not helping things. He pointed a finger at her, but no words came out, so after a few seconds, he let his hand fall back to his side. Shaking his head, he walked inside the double doors.

Her mom stared after her son. “Wow,” Marge said. “Just… Wow.”

“That’s an understatement,” Paige said softly. “He’s worse off than Dad.”

“Should we admit him?” Marge asked.

“Nah, let him sleep it off the old-fashioned way. The headache’ll remind him why he’s too old for this tomorrow. Plus, I think it would be nice if only half of us were admitted to the ER this month. Any more than that and we might raise some red flags with the authorities.”

Marge smiled and went to her daughter, wrapped Paige in an all-encompassing hug.

“I’m sorry, Paige-O. I see you, you know.”

“I see you, too, Mom. And I love what I see. Don’t settle for anyone who can’t tell you the same thing.”

Marge nodded and left, leaving Paige to think about her night so far. Maybe she’d underestimated her small town. Like many of the places she’d traveled to, visited, lived for just long enough to consider a place home, Banberry was alive and kicking, churning out drunks and shitty friends and lovers and cancer. It may have been a microcosm of what she’d fallen in love with outside the protective walls of the peaks that surrounded her, but it was turning out to be pretty comprehensive.

Her brain slowed for a moment, leaving room for Owen to slip back into her thoughts. It was kind of him to show up for her brother and his particular brand of drama. It was also needed. Brad didn’t have many friends, especially since he taught at a community college and high school in Butte, the neighboring town she’d seen Julia and Chris slinking around in. He’d longed for someone to talk to, to have intelligent conversations with, and if Owen filled that void for him, she was happy.

Wasn’t she?

She was. She wouldn’t begrudge her brother the gift of friendship just because it made her life harder when she came to visit. Paige peered inside at her brother, passed out in their mother’s arms, childlike in repose. She wanted the world for him, friends and a loving girlfriend included. He’d grown into someone who could be a good friend, good partner—he just needed to find good people.

On that note, though, she didn’t think getting hammered was the healthiest way to work through the fact that his girlfriend of almost fifteen years might be cheating on him. Or had that been Owen’s doing? Had Brad, once again, chosen someone who would take advantage of his kindness, his loyalty?

That bothered her the more she thought about it. They were grown-ass adults and the only way they could solve an intellectual and emotional question was to ply themselves with so much alcohol that at least one of them couldn’t even form a coherent sentence?

She liked a good bottle of wine every now and then, rum when the situation called for it, but she certainly didn’t get falling-down drunk any time she had a problem. As she watched Brad sit up only to retch what remained in his system onto the otherwise-sterile floor, she didn’t think twice before she plucked her phone from her purse and dialed Owen’s number.

Each ring filled her with more anger. If Owen used Brad to air his complaints about her, so help her… Why else would Brad have gotten so falling-down drunk? Finally, a very long four rings later she heard someone pick up, but the phone clattered, then static filled the other end.

She growled.

“‘Lo?”

“What the hell did you do to my brother?” she spat out.