“Are you sleeping?” she asks.

“It’s too loud in here … and I’m not very tired,” he whispers.

“I see … your mother says you won’t answer the door when she comes by to clean,” Celia looks around the trailer, giving the first indication that she notices the state of his home.

“It’s not safe for her here.” Mr. Craig won’t meet Celia’s gaze, keeping his eyes trained to the matted carpet.

“Are you taking your medications?” Although the question should sound accusatory, there’s not even a hint of judgment in her tone. After minutes pass with no response from Mr. Craig, Celia continues, “I’m not fussing, I just need to know what’s going on, so I can help you. If something happened to your medications, or if you weren’t able to take them for some reason, it’s all right. I just need you to be honest with me.”

“They’re trying to trick me,” he whispers. “My pills are blue, but the pharmacy sent white pills. I don’t take white pills.”

“Would you mind showing me the bottle?” Celia asks.

He reaches over to open the kitchen cabinet and hands her a medication bottle. She reads the label and places them on the counter.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Mr. Craig. This is the correct medication.” She holds up her hand when he starts to shake his head. “I know it looks different, but it’s the same medication and dosage. The pharmacy must have switched manufacturers, and they didn’t remember to tell you.”

“How do you know? Someone switched the pills, and they’re poisonous. I know it. I’m not taking them,” he says, fear laced throughout every word.

“You don’t have to take them. I’m not here to force you to do anything. But if something like this happens again, I hope you’ll come to me. We can look up the pills on the Internet—even call the drug company, to be sure. I don’t ever want you to take anything that would harm you, because I care about you very much. But I’m concerned because I think the voices are loud again. Am I right?” she asks, and his eyes fill with water.

“I hate this disease,” he whispers, a sob breaking through. “I hate what it’s done to me … to my family.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m so sorry.” Celia places a gentle hand on his back as his tears fall.

Dusk settles in as we drive out of the hospital parking lot. I’m exhausted, and I imagine Celia is worse off than me. She didn’t even hesitate when I took the car keys out of her hand to drive.

“I can’t believe we had to drive three hours to find a bed for him. That’s ridiculous,” I say as I turn onto the highway, shaking my head in disbelief.

“There are never enough rooms available for psychiatric patients. It’s not uncommon for a patient to sit in the ER for days waiting for a bed. It’s discouraging, to say the least, but it comes with the territory.” Celia sighs and rests her head on the window.

“I hate to say it, but we may need to stop by the fire department to get a good hose down. A scrub brush to the nose may be in order, too.”

The stench has permeated the entire car, our clothes, and dare I say, even our skin. Although Mr. Craig is safely admitted to the hospital, his aroma lingers.

“I know being in this car with him was a whole new level of unpleasant. I’m really sorry, but thank you for being so understanding—for treating him like a human being.” She turns her head and smiles faintly.

“He is a human being.”

“Exactly, but so many people see the symptoms of the disease, and not the kind and gentle man underneath. When I see my patients at their worst, I try to remember them at their best. They shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed of their struggle. They’re still in the fight, after all. The only shame is in giving up.”

I watch Celia as she peers out the window. I’m in complete wonder of this woman—all the oddities and intricacies that make her who she is. She sees people for all they could be, instead of the broken bits they show everyone else. She possesses unimaginable strength under the façade of sass and spunk. There’s nothing weak about my Tink—not one fucking thing.

“You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, Celia,” I say, hoping she feels the naked honesty of my words. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, peppering her knuckles with kisses.

She shifts away from the window and places her head on my shoulder, clasping her arms around my bicep. “That means more to me than you will ever know.”

I tip my head to hers, resting in her comfort. “I’m having dinner with my family. It would mean a lot to me if you would join me.”

She looks up with a smile at my invitation. I can’t believe I ever hesitated to let her into my life. I want her seeping into every nook and cranny of me.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Cannery River” by Green River Ordinance

Present Day

“DO YOU THINK I look all right? Am I dressed okay for dinner with your family?” Celia asks as she turns for me on her front porch. Her yellow skirt billows around her knees as she twirls. She clasps the top button of her white sweater and looks up at me for approval. I eye her from head to toe, taking my time before answering. I can’t help it; she’s so damn cute when she squirms.

“You look beautiful. Well, except for one thing.”

“What?” She looks down at her body and smooths her dress nervously, searching for what’s out of place.

“I think you have a little something right here.” I bend down and bury my face in the crook of her neck. My hands wrap around her tiny waist, and I pull her into me. She giggles as I lightly run my lips over her delicate neck, up to her ear. “You steal my breath.”

“Oh,” she whispers, and I feel her body relax as she falls into me.

Yes, Tink, fall into me.

I swat her ass playfully, and her body jolts at the contact. When her surprised eyes meet mine, I can’t help but grin. “I especially like your glitter dust, although I think you’d sparkle without it.”

“Why thank you,” she says, with a tiny curtsy and a flip of her skirt.

“And the little girl shoes are hot.”

“They’re called Mary Janes.” She rolls her eyes as she swings her purse over her shoulder.

“Whatever they’re called, they make you look innocent and naughty at the same time. I see lots of spankings in your future, Tink.”

The fire in her eyes says, “Bring it on.”

We drive to my grandparents’ house with the constant chatter of the world according to Celia Lemaire. She talks about how she wishes Adam would introduce Sara to his children. She tells me how worried she is about Alex. She just knows something is bothering her, but can’t put her finger on it. She tells me all about her phone calls from Audrey and how much she’s enjoying being in Chicago for training. I’m starting to notice the only thing Celia won’t talk about is herself. I know very little about her past. When I prompt her, she only gives vague answers and then changes the subject. She’s become quite the mystery to me.

When we arrive, Mom and Granny are sipping sweet tea on the front porch rocking chairs. If I know them at all, it’s of the Long Island variety. Granny calls sunset “tea time,” which is another way of saying, “Pour your old grandmother a stiff drink.” And it’s deserved; she’s endured Sarge for the last fifty years.

Celia’s halfway up the front porch steps before I round the truck to open her door. Mom jumps up, arms outstretched, and they both let out a squeal. She envelops Celia in a bear hug, tipping side to side while she squeezes.