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to Betty Ford.”
    Mrs. B stops apologizing and says, “No! I’m not that bad. The Betty Ford Center is for people who have real problems.”
    No one says anything. They all just look at Mrs. Blume.
    Her face collapses. She wails, “Nooo.”
    Maggie wants to go to her, tell her it’s all right.
    Except that it isn’t. And Maggie isn’t going to pretend it is anymore.
    It’s Mr. B who says it’s over. That it’s gone too far. It’s gone on too long. Everyone has tried to cope, but they can’t anymore. Mrs. B needs help that they can’t give.
    By now Mrs. B is really crying.
    “Anyway,” Maggie concludes what she’s telling you brightly. “She’s left. Gone. On her way to Betty’s.”
    When you ask her how she feels, Maggie says, “Fine.”
    You don’t say anything.
    Maggie says, “Okay. Fine, a little. Scared, a lot. Hopeful and afraid to hope. It could all go wrong. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to hope. But maybe … maybe just facing the fact that Mom is an alcoholic will make a difference for all of us.”
    Aug. 29
    History of Ducky’s Sunday, Part II
    You hang out around the house until midafternoon.
    You watch some pretty dumb movies.
    You waste time on the Web.
    You clean the kitchen.
    You give up and go to Sunny’s house. But she’s not at home.
    No one is. While you are standing halfway down the front walk, thinking about leaving a note (bad idea), making a few phone calls (not appealing), or driving around aimlessly pretending you are searching for Sunny (appealing — a good, guilt-free way to waste time, except for the waste of fossil fuel), Dawn shouts your name from next door.
    You accept her invitation to enter her casa and go to the mat with baby Gracie.
    Gracie laughs at all your jokes. Fortunately, you don’t suspect her of having a hidden, terrifying agenda.
    As if she has read your mind, Dawn observes the babies have it easy.
    “They don’t worry about expectations,” she says. “They just put it out there. They’re happy?
    They laugh. They’re hungry? They cry. No miscommunications. No hurt feelings. And they’re willing to forgive you if you make a mistake. So you think they’re crying because they want food and you discover they want to be changed. Change them — they’re happy, you’re happy.”
    You say, “Yeah.”
    Ducky the great communicator.
    Dawn says, not unexpectedly, given the lead-in: “So, what about you and Sunny? Any chance?”
    Just like that, she asks the question.
    The two-letter negative is on the top of your tongue, but you lack the straightforwardness of a mere baby like Gracie.
    You say, “Well, uh.”
    You say, “Sunny’s great. I love her, but …”
    You say,” I wish I could be different about this.”
    You finally wind down your extended version of “N” followed by “O.”
    Gracie staring at you. Dawn is studying you too.
    You pretend Gracie is fascination personified. She agrees and laughs in delight.
    Somewhere above you, Dawn says, “It’s too bad. But I do understand, Ducky, more than you think. And you know what? Sunny will too. Eventually.”
    You hope that this is TRUE and that it will happen SOON.
    Aug. 29
    History of Ducky’s Sunday, Part III
    P.M. approaching A.M.
    You … no, I wish I could fall in love with Sunny.
    I do, I do, I really, really do.
    But I can’t.
    Aug. 29
    History of Ducky’s Sunday, Part IV
    You wish you could go to sleep too, don’t you, Ducky?
    Like Ted the Snore Machine in there.
    But you can’t.
    Not until you’ve talked to Sunny.
    You get up and go into the kitchen. Maybe you’ll clean something else: the laundry room, the den.
    You forgot you used up all the cleaning supplies on the kitchen.
    Aug. 29
    History of Ducky’s Sunday, Part V
    So what are you going to say? If you go with the “just be friends” routine, it’s gonna sound like the lame lose-yourself it usually is.
    How did “just” get to be attached to the word “friends” anyway?
    You’ve lived a long