The face staring back at me looks like it’s a hundred years old. I put on some frosty white eyeshadow to brighten up the dark smudges around my eyes then add a couple of coats of mascara. I stand back, survey my work. “Better,” I whisper. “But not much.” All night I kept dreaming that someone was trying to open my door. I don’t know why I would dream that, because no one can. Not anymore. The kitchen counter is littered with a new crop of empty beer bottles. There’s no sign of Aidan. Probably sleeping it off. I shove the empties into the cardboard box on the back porch, turn on the dishwasher, and finish tidying up. Zapped of all energy, my movements are slow. How am I supposed to help Aidan — fix him? It all sounded so simple when I laid it out for Liam. Just have a little chat and everything will be peachy. What the hell was I thinking? God, we’ve got so much to talk about, so many issues, unanswered questions, it’ll take days.
