September 4, 2000

Adam Rove was not your average thirteen-year-old. He wasn't what you would call abnormal by any means, but he differed from his classmates in one very significant way. He and his mother were very close. There were times when young Adam was in such perfect synch with is mom that he was certain he knew exactly what she was thinking. He wished today was one of those times.

Elizabeth Rove had been standing at the kitchen counter, spatula held loosely in one hand as she stared at some distant something only she could see. Adam hated when she got like this, lost in her own internal world. It always seemed to hurt her. He wanted to erase that look on her face, eradicate it from wherever it lived inside her. He decided to keep her from burning the eggs instead. Start on the things he could definitely do now, work on the harder things later.

"Mom," he said quietly, carefully laying his hand on her arm. The last thing he wanted to do was startle her. "Mom," he called louder. "The eggs are done."

Elizabeth blinked and glanced at her surroundings in bewilderment. "Where..." she murmured as her gaze fell on her son. Her eyes seemed to snap into focus and she gave him a brilliant smile that was a touch too bright to alleviate the tightness developing in Adam's chest.

"The eggs, Mom," he said quietly.

"Oh, right." She turned off the burner then surveyed the eggs. "They're overcooked. You don't mind having cereal, do you?"

Adam shook his head and began to fix a bowl. "Mom?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He made a quick face at "baby" before asking, "What were you thinking about just now?"

Elizabeth stiffened for a moment before shaking her head and discarding the eggs. "Nothing."

"It looked more like something than nothing," Adam murmured before shoving a spoonful of sugar-coated Cheerios in his mouth.

"I was just daydreaming. Really, it's nothing you have to worry about."

Is it something you're worried about? The words burned on the tip of his tongue, held back only by his mouthful of milk. He ate the rest of his breakfast in silence figuring it was the wise thing to do. But he strongly doubted he had nothing to worry about.

It had almost become a game—sort of a twisted scavenger hunt. Where has Mom passed out this time? Would it be in the living room? The dining room? The powder room by the den? The kitchen? Grace Polk shuddered but crept closer to her destination. She hated it most when she found her mother on the kitchen floor. It brought back the memory of Becky Coogan backing out of the room and out of a two-month friendship that had shown such promise. Grace took a deep breath and shoved the memories to the back of her mind. The mission now was to finish her roundabout route to the kitchen and hope she find her mother on the way.

She didn't and she found herself hoping her mother had stumbled into bed for once as she stepped into the kitchen. Her dad was there, kneeling beside his wife slumped against the cabinets under the sink. "Ah, Sarah," he sighed. "Let's get you up." He draped a limp arm around his neck and carefully lifted her in his arms.

He turned around, stilling when he caught sight of his daughter standing in the doorway. Neither spoke, choosing to stare at each other over the rank, prone figure of Sarah Polonsky. Then Sarah snorted and wriggled in her husband's arms, challenging his grip. He readjusted his hold on his wife as he and Grace pretended he hadn't seen her glare of disgust and sadness and she hadn't witnessed the rampant shame he attempted to hide beneath a pleasant but distant manner.

Her father headed toward her and Grace wordlessly stepped out of the doorway. He paused and braved meeting her gaze one more time. "We'll get through this, Grace. She'll get through this. Whatever...pain is driving her to this will pass."

Grace didn't want to fight so she nodded though they both knew they didn't believe his hopeful words. As she went through the almost mechanical routine of making her breakfast, Grace allowed herself to admit something she usually tried not to think about. After over three years of her mother's drinking and her father's discreet attempts to make her better, Grace doubted they'd ever get through this.