Always Watching

“Fields of Gold” over and over on the stereo, singing it as he went about his day. Sometimes in the evening we’d look at photos together of Chinook as a puppy, of all our years with him, both crying, knowing we were losing our beloved dog soon, neither of us knowing that cancer would also claim Paul’s life less than a year later.
    Now I softly sang, “You’ll remember me…”
    Lisa picked it up. “When the west wind moves…”
    We drifted off, our minds filling in the rest of the words in a silent chorus.
    After a moment, Lisa said, “When I opened my eyes, I saw him. He had a hand on the back of your chair, and he smiled at me, then he disappeared.”
    Her eyes filled with tears, and she swiped at them, a quick angry motion. I remembered the flash of fear in her eyes when she’d first woken up, how she’d been looking at something behind me. She was probably hallucinating from the GHB in her system, or there was some other physiological explanation, but I didn’t think for one moment that Paul’s spirit had truly been there. I did, however, recognize that Lisa thought he was and that her vision was very real to her. I didn’t want to take that away. She was waiting for me to say something.
    I smiled and said, “That’s a lovely thought. I’d like to think that your father still visits us.”
    “You don’t believe me.” Her voice was flat and resigned, like she’d expected me to let her down. The thought saddened me.
    “Lisa, that’s not what I—”
    She said, “I didn’t overdose.”
    I didn’t know how to answer, suspecting that she had overdosed but in the ensuing amnesia from the drug had forgotten taking it, so I simply said, “Okay.”
    “I didn’t —someone gave me something.”
    “Who? Was it one of your friends?” I tried not to sound accusing, but the tone was there, and my daughter, always intuitive, especially when it came to any censure from me, picked it up immediately.
    “You still think I’m taking drugs. I told you, I quit. ”
    I took a breath, started again. “You’re my daughter—I love you and I want you to get well. I’m afraid that if you’re still living on the streets, hanging around people who are doing drugs, you might start using again. Seeing you tonight, like that…” I cleared my throat. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you.”
    I tried to will her to look at me, but she was pressing her thumb hard against crumbs on her plate and licking them off. Quick, angry motions.
    She said, “I was doing fine until last night. I have it under control.”
    I waited for her to elaborate, but she was staring into the fire again. I decided to drop it, hoping that over the next few days I’d be able to revisit the conversation. I changed the subject. “I saw Garret recently.”
    She took a bite of her toast, chewed hard as she kept staring into the fire. Her face unreadable, she said, “Yeah.”
    She didn’t say it as a question, or like she wanted to know more, but I still added, “I gave him your father’s tools—I didn’t think you’d want them.”
    No answer.
    “He’s got a photography studio now.”
    Still no answer.
    “And he was asking about you—he said we should stop by sometime.”
    Now she turned. “Did you tell him where I was?”
    Thrown by the heat in her voice and confused about the source of it, I said, “I didn’t know where you were—but I did tell him that I’d run into you at Fisherman’s Wharf. He was worried about you.”
    This time she dropped her mug on the side table with a thump, her plate following after. “Why can’t you just stay out of things?”
    “I don’t understand what the problem is with my telling Garret about you. You used to be so close, and he misses you. He’s your brother and—”
    She stood up. “He’s my half brother. And we were close when we were kids, until the two of you started to gang up on me.”
    “Gang up on you. You mean when we were trying to help?” Was that what this was all about? She felt like Garret and I had joined forces against her?
    She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, you were real helpful, Mom.”
    “Lisa, can you please just sit down and explain why you’re so upset?”
    “Don’t discuss me with him, or anyone. This is my life.” And with that she stalked off, leaving me staring at my half-eaten toast, my own fear growing. She’d almost died the previous night, and she still wasn’t taking responsibility for the problems in her life—next time she could