And Never Let Her Go by Ann Rule

beforehand, but became an even more intense alcoholic.”
    Fahey’s own insurance and pension plans ran out. And the commissions due on policies he had written in the past slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. The Faheys had done so much to help others before their world collapsed, and now, without asking questions or pointing a finger of blame, friends stepped in and quietly paid their electric and phone bills.
    While her five siblings were old enough to work, Anne Marie was not. Providing her with clothing and food was “haphazard,” according to Brian. “We tried to look out for each other as best we could. It was complicated. We couldn’t go and ask the neighbors for food or money, so we just tried to get by as best we could. We all just sort of hung in there together.”
    Most teenagers responsible for a nine-year-old could not have managed as well, but all of the Faheys were bright and resourceful, and devoted to family. In time the older brothers and Kathleen moved out, managing to attend college on grants and scholarships,until finally just Brian and Anne Marie were still living with their father. And when he was drunk, they stayed away from him. Anne Marie lost herself in books when she was sick and home from school. Sometimes she wasn’t sick but didn’t want to go to school, so she hid in the closet.
    As young as she was, Anne Marie had a fierce pride. She never wanted anyone to feel sorry for her because she didn’t have a mother, or a nice house or new clothes. She developed a persona that hid her insecurities and her sorrows; her laugh boomed louder than ever, and she was clever and full of mischief when she was with her friends. But she always went to
their
homes, because the Fahey children had long understood they couldn’t bring friends home.
    Anne Marie’s home life was unpredictable, to say the least. And like all children of alcoholics, she and her siblings had come to fear their father’s sudden outbursts of temper. They learned to absorb his words without really listening or simply to block out his rages, but they didn’t want to have their friends know how bad things were.
    Sometimes their house was cold because the electricity had been turned off again when the bill wasn’t paid. Their father had used the social security checks to buy liquor instead. When there were no lights at home, they would study at friends’ homes or at the library. There was often no hot water, and sometimes no water at all, a situation that would last for many months at a time. Once, the Faheys’ telephone was cut off for an entire year. Anne Marie took her hot showers at school after gym class, and never told her friends that it was the only way she
could
take a shower. She went to tremendous lengths to appear to be just like the other girls her age. She could not bear to be pitied.
    Anne Marie had love—from her siblings, her grandmother Nan, and a few other relatives—but she had little else. Her clothes came through hand-me-downs and a few Christmas presents. Even putting food on their table was problematic for the Fahey children, but somehow they managed. After they were grown, they sometimes wondered how they had done it—but something or someone always came through with clothes or food or a little money.
    And they were all workers, just as their grandmother had taught them to be. Everybody but Annie worked at one time or another in the Freel’s tavern, O’Friel’s Irish Pub. On a busy Saturday night, Robert might be tending bar upstairs, and Brian was the bartender downstairs. Kathleen worked at O’Friel’s for nine years. Kevin, the tall redheaded Freel brother, used to tease AnneMarie, “We’ll get you one day, too, Annie. Don’t think you’ll get away from us!”
    She would laugh and say, “I don’t work for you, Kevvy.” She loved Kevin, and Bud and Ed and Beatrice. And they loved