The porch was cool and quiet. The street had thinned to the soft hiss of tires far off and the occasional dog bark that never went anywhere. Frank Jr. stepped out with a bottle, twisted the cap with a small flick, and leaned against the rail. The moon sat low and clean over the rooftops, a pale coin balanced on a thread of cloud. His breath showed in little ghosts.
He took a sip, let it sit a second, then swallowed. The new fridge hummed through the wall behind him. Inside, silverware clinked, a chair scraped, Steve's low voice said something to Ian about soap.
The door creaked. Fiona came out, arms folded under her hoodie, hair pulled back like she'd been fighting the evening and won on points. She didn't say anything at first; she just stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, both of them looking at the moon like it might have answers.
"That was rough," she said finally.
"Yeah."
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "Debbie hates me a little right now."
"She'll hate me more," he said. "That's fine."
"She's a kid," Fiona said. "So is Carl. They're gonna carry that door slam around in their heads. If it turns into a habit, it's gonna make a groove."
"That's why they learn it now," he said. "Lines. They save you later. Even from people you love."
She glanced at the bottle in his hand, then up at him. "You told Lip to stop."
"I did," he said. He looked at the label like it had raised its hand to be called on. "One beer is not the road. For him, the road's right there. For Dad… it's the only thing he knows how to walk."
"Still looks like the same road," she said.
He nodded once. "I hear you."
They let the quiet breathe again. A train lowed somewhere past the viaduct. The neighbor's porch light blinked off, then on again, like it couldn't decide.
Fiona's voice softened. "I keep seeing his face at the door. The way he said 'my home.'"
Frank took another small drink, set the bottle on the rail, and rolled it with one finger. "He had a hundred chances to make 'my home' mean something. He picked the bottle. Every time."
She sighed. "He's still our dad."
"He doesn't act like one," Frank said. "So we don't have to pretend to be his kids when he's like that. We act like people protecting a house. That's the job."
She looked at him sideways. "You say that like it's simple."
"It's not," he said. "It's just clear."
The door behind them nudged open; Debbie's laugh floated out and then got swallowed again. Fiona watched the blur of family through the screen: Steve drying a plate, Ian stacking, Lip pretending not to care and caring anyway. Carl sprinted past the doorway with a towel on his head like a cape. It was the kind of normal that always felt like it was on a timer.
"What's your plan?" she asked.
"For Dad?"
She nodded.
Frank straightened a little, eyes still on the moon. "First—no cash. Ever. Not from us. Money is gasoline on him. If he shows up drunk, he doesn't come in. Not for five minutes, not for warmth, not for stories. Door stays closed."
"Cold is dangerous," she said.
"I know," he said. "So if he's bad, we call for help. Tony, ER, shelter, whatever gets him horizontal and alive somewhere that isn't our couch."
She chewed that, then nodded once.
"Second—if he shows up sober," Frank went on, "he gets food. Hot. He can shower. Clean clothes from the thrift bin. Then he leaves. No hanging around. No celebration. We make sober the only door that opens."
"Carrot and stick," she said.
"More like door and wall," he said.
She almost smiled, then didn't.
"Third—Kev keeps him out of the Alibi when he's lit," Frank said. "No bar stool, no stool choir. If he wants to drink, he has to find a place that doesn't know his name."
"Kev won't love that."
"He already does it on the hard nights," Frank said. "We make it every night."
Fiona tucked her chin in her hoodie. "And if he actually tries?"
"If he strings days," Frank said, "we help him get into detox. I'll make calls. There's always a list. We put his name on all of them. A bed opens, Tony drives. He bails, we don't chase. He sticks, we buy him time. ID, doctor, whatever keeps him standing."
"That's a lot of 'ifs,'" she said.
"It is," he said. He picked up the bottle, looked at what was left, and set it back down without drinking. "It's the best map I've got."
"Maps don't fix weather," she said.
"They keep you from walking in circles."
Fiona leaned into the rail with him. The wood was cool through the sleeves. "He called you a tyrant."
"He's not wrong." Frank's mouth tugged. "I'm done letting chaos vote."
She huffed out something like a laugh. "You make it sound clean."
"It won't be," he said. "It'll be ugly and loud and he'll say things that stick. But we can live with ugly and loud. We can't live with the other thing."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Debbie's going to ask tomorrow. Again."
"I'll tell her the same thing," he said. "And I'll sit with her after school. Movie, homework, whatever she wants. The love doesn't change because the rule does."
"And Carl?"
"I'll give him a job," Frank said. "Sweep the porch, take out trash, something that makes him feel like he can put his hands on this house and keep it standing. He needs weight that isn't anger."
A breeze slipped down the block and lifted the edge of Fiona's hair. She watched him as if weighing the words against the man. The moon slid out from a thin veil of cloud and put a cold line on his cheekbone, a little catchlight in the corner of his eye.
"You really think we can make him sober?" she asked, softer than the first time.
"I think we can make sober the only way to get to us," he said. "Whether he takes that way… I don't know." He tried on a smile and let it go. "I hope it works."
She nodded. "Me too."
The door whispered open again; Debbie poked her head out. "Can we start the movie? I picked something with a dog."
"Perfect," Fiona said.
"Five minutes," Frank added.
Debbie gave them both a look that said hurry and disappeared.
Fiona pushed off the rail. "We'll get yelled at if we take six."
"Wouldn't be home if we didn't," Frank said.
She paused at the door, hand on the frame. "Thank you. For holding the line."
He dipped his head. "For holding it with me."
She went in. The porch light made a little halo in the screen as it swung shut. Frank stayed a second longer, lifted the bottle, then set it down and screwed the cap back on. He looked up at the moon like it might answer back, then exhaled, grabbed the bottle, and followed the warm noise inside.