Coldwater. Diana Gould

Lounge, knocking back shots of 151 proof rum, feeling invulnerable because of the cocaine. I was with a group of people. Who were they? How had I gotten there? Then I remember coming to behind the wheel of Gerry Talbot’s Range Rover, doing 85 on the freeway, terrified of what I might have done and not even known about. I’d been having more and more of these blackouts, but that didn’t make them any easier. Mike had said that was a symptom of alcoholism. But to see Julia? In danger? And not even know? What kind of a monster had I become? I closed my notebook and looked out the window into the darkness. Julia! What happened to that adorable girl, so guileless and good-spirited? The answer was unavoidable. I was the closest thing to a mother she’d had, and I’d failed her. Even before I left, I wasn’t there.

      I’d told myself I was so toxic, she was better off without me. But without a mother to guide her, she’d gotten lost. She was throwing herself away, as I had. How could it have been different if all she had was me?