Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (14 page)

I dug up some excess energy to stand my ground on this issue. “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. I’ll sleep on the couch. Don’t worry. I’ll be out before you get up tomorrow. I’ve got an exam at eight.”

“An exam? Don’t tell me you’re sick, too?”

He chuckled. “A
school
exam. I’m going for my masters.”

“Oh.” He was a student? The idea had never occurred to me. In fact, what did it say about me that I’d never bothered to ask him if babysitting me took away from a job, or school, or a
life
? “What are you studying?”

“Forensic engineering.”

Wow.

My expression must have shown my surprise because he poked my shoulder. “You thought I was all brawn, no brain, huh?”

“No,” I said too fast, then tried to cover up. “I just…never heard of forensic engineering. It sounds complicated. You know what? You should go home and get some sleep in your own bed. You’ve had a rough few days. And now, your mother—”

“Is getting the best of everything under the watchful eye of Morrison General’s angels of mercy. I’ll call my sister in the morning to let her know what’s going on. But in the meantime, you heard Dr. Florentino. Nothing to be done for her except keep her comfortable. Her regular physician will see her tomorrow, order some tests, and we’ll see where we stand then. For now, she’s okay. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“I’m fine.” I swept my arm to gesture at my empty yard. “There’s no one here, remember?”

“A temporary reprieve. You said so yourself.”

“Temporary enough to get me through the night. Go home, Iggy. We both need some ‘normal’ tonight. Okay?”

He said nothing for a long minute while I listened to Midnight’s serenade and jangled my keys in impatience. “Okay,” he said at last. Before I had a chance to reply, he swooped in and covered my mouth with his.

The kiss took me by surprise, pulling me under, in a wave of emotion I’d thought I’d buried with my husband. His lips were soft for such a hard man, and I allowed myself a good minute to enjoy the long dormant sensations swirling through me.

Midnight’s strident meows pierced my eardrums and broke the spell. I yanked out of Iggy’s embrace as if boosted by rockets. I flattened my palms against my cheeks and gasped at the heat that seared me.

“I…umm…” I stumbled through my goodnight speech. “I should go inside. Thank you…I mean…for helping me out tonight, not for the hospital…I mean…I hope your mom’s okay. Good luck on your test tomor—”

“Jayne,” he interrupted with a knowing smirk. “Go inside. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded. While I stood rooted to the porch, house key dangling between my fingers, rapt, he sauntered down the walkway to the curb, whistling. I didn’t move until his taillights glowed red in the trees as his car turned the corner.

Only then did I open my front door, step inside, and breathe normally again. After settling Midnight, I climbed into bed and slept straight through with no interruption—a rarity—until eight am.

When I padded into the kitchen for my morning coffee, I discovered my good luck continued—still no reporters.

Maybe today would be a good day. I had the day off and had planned to stay locked inside the house, doing domestic chores, as tradition dictated. But, if the reporters stayed away, I could actually get outside for a while. In public.

The possibilities excited me. Maybe I could run a few errands? Nothing too major to anyone else, yet, for me, a sharp deviation from my normal routine. I might even find a salon and indulge in a real haircut, instead of taking a pair of scissors to my own split ends. And while I was there, I could take an extra hour to indulge in a much-needed manicure. No. Taking so much time would only tempt the fates. What if I got caught with my hair or nails wet and had to scurry out the back door of one of those places?

I shivered.

I could always go grocery shopping. Not nearly as indulgent as the salon, but after years of paying for the market to deliver, doing my own food shopping would remind me of life before David’s death, as banal and mundane as it might seem to outsiders.

Then again, if I really wanted to indulge, if the weather held out, a hike on the local nature trail sounded wonderful. Fort Lake, the town’s claim to Revolutionary War fame, was a popular place for picnic, sporting, history, or nature enthusiasts, with miles of walking paths, thanks to the efforts of the local Chamber of Commerce. I’d never been there, of course. I only heard about it from pet owners who’d mention it in passing: “Oh, we took Cookie to Fort Lake yesterday. He just loves to run through the woods there. I do, too. It’s so peaceful and lovely, especially with the tourists gone for another season.”

I’d lived in Snug Harbor for two months now and only left my house to go to work at the veterinary office. Long past time I ventured out and met my neighbors.

The screech of brakes pierced my eardrums as the first news van pulled to a halt at the curb outside.

I sighed. Then again, maybe my first instinct for the day was still the better idea.

“Come on, Midnight. Let’s go start the laundry.”

Terri

I sat rigid in my chair. It really was Gary—
my
Gary. Okay, technically not my Gary. He was the tea shop’s Gary. Gary the former scary bartender. An alcoholic. A boozer like me.

Why hadn’t he said anything?

Maybe he didn’t feel like sharing his secret all those times I was blotto. Who could blame him? But when he came to work at the shop, why didn’t he say something like, “Hey, I know how you’re struggling. I’ve been there,” instead of making me think he thought I was a loser desperate for a second chance? I mean, I was. But so was he.

Come to think of it, all the times I
was
drunk and he called me those awful names, was he reminded of what he used to be? Was that why he’d get angry? Was he on a dry drunk? A hundred questions floated in the ether around me, none of them very comfortable to face. I squirmed under a sudden urge to get out, get away before he saw me. But of course, it was too late.

Thank God for Max, who pinched my arm and whispered a hoarse, “Quit it. Sit still. I’m trying to listen.”

His admonition refocused me on Gary’s story.

“…From there, it was a quick slide. If I opened a bottle of wine at nine a.m., so what? We’d lived in France. It wasn’t a sign of a problem. It was
de rigueur
. Classy. Elegant. We were so very
French
. Claire and I were soon up to a half dozen bottles a day. And when the wine took too long to give us that careless euphoria we craved, we switched to vodka martinis and tonics. But the problems in our marriage just got bigger and louder. So did our fights.

“When Claire discovered she was pregnant, she quit drinking.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Cold turkey. I made the effort, too, but couldn’t pull it off. I’d tell myself—and her—I was under more stress than she was, worrying how to make my salary cover three when the two of us barely scraped by. I’d like to say she handled the pregnancy well. But I’d be lying. Mood swings, crying jags, angry outbursts. She blamed it all on hormones, and I accepted that. But I know now, she was going through alcohol withdrawal.

“One night, she woke up, screaming about bugs crawling in our bedroom. Everywhere, she insisted. On the walls, in the bedding, on her face. She clawed her cheeks until blood ran in these fine lines…”

He paused to sip from a bottle of water. In the audience, no one moved. Even Max seemed subdued by Gary’s story. All of us sensed it would get worse, but none of us wanted to believe it could.

“Finally,” he continued, “Claire gave birth to a seven-pound baby boy. Healthy, thank God. We named him Christian after my grandfather. The minute he was in the nursery and Claire was in her hospital room, she insisted I get her a glass of wine. Happy to have my drinking buddy back, I was only too eager to fetch a bottle and two glasses from a local shop. One glass led to two, and then a third. Claire never looked back after that. When it was time to take my wife and son home from the hospital, both of us were too drunk to drive. The obstetrician called us a taxi, but not before giving us a stern warning that we should seek help, if only for Christian’s sake. Claire laughed it off, but…”

Another pause, another sip. And then he brushed his hand near his eye. To wipe away a tear? If he did, I couldn’t blame him. I was barely holding it together just listening to his tale, and I wasn’t the only one in the room moved by his memory. But he’d
lived
it.

“I looked at my son, this tiny life, dependent on me to keep him safe and fed and warm. And I swore to him I’d do better. I’d be the man my father wasn’t. And I tried.” A bitter laugh escaped, and he tilted his head to the ceiling. “God knows, I tried. I’d be sober for a few days, but something would happen at work, or Christian would have a restless night, and I’d console myself with a shot, which would lead to another and another. I refused to go to a program. I was a real man. I could do this on my own. I didn’t need steps or pins that counted out my days and years of sobriety.” His face twisted into a grim smile.

“Then one morning, when we were out of booze, Claire and I argued over who should go get more. I won, based on the fact I was still coming down from the previous night’s bender. She climbed into the car and drove off. I dozed on the couch ‘til the sirens woke me.”

He choked on the last word and reached for his water bottle yet again. I wept openly now, the tears streaming down my face.

“I didn’t even get out of my seat until the police came to the door. They told me she’d skidded on a patch of ice and driven into a wall at approximately seventy miles an hour. Two blocks from our house.” He shook his head. His face was a mask of anguish. I don’t know how he managed to keep breathing. “She never stood a chance. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and was propelled out of the car. Her skull was fractured in six places, pieces of bone embedded in her brain. Claire was twenty-three years old when she died. She’d been a dancer, a wife, and for four short weeks, a mother. She was my best friend. She loved classic rock, chocolate ice cream with peanut butter, white Persian cats with blue eyes, and me. And like that…” He snapped his fingers again. “…she was gone.”

His voice cracked, and it was obvious he couldn’t speak any more.

I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed. Loud and long. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one. While I could guarantee every heart in that room broke for him, I was one of the rare few who knew the man personally, who knew his child. After hearing his story, I had the overwhelming urge to run straight to his house and pick up that little boy, grab him into an enormous hug, and promise to protect him from ever again knowing a moment’s pain or loneliness.

In the front of the room, Gary cleared his throat. “I had two choices at that point. I could dive into a bottle and achieve a similar fate in no time at all, or I could get serious about getting sober and take care of my son. Be the father he deserved. I chose Christian and sobriety. It wasn’t easy. The first thing I did was clean out my house of everything with the slightest alcoholic content. Which, let me tell you, as a pastry chef, was a severe handicap. I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t some macho man, no matter what I’d thought before. I was weak. And tired. And hurting. In mourning for Claire. And in way over my head with a newborn.

“Chris would wake up in the middle of the night for a feeding, and I’d get this…this…
thirst
deep in my gullet. It wasn’t an ordinary thirst. Water couldn’t quench it. Neither would any soft drink, coffee, or tea. And I’d start thinking I could probably suck on a diaper wipe to get a hit. Then Chris would yawn or snort or he’d wrap his tiny fist around my finger, and I’d think about Claire and how much she’d miss of his life. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. So I’d forget about sucking a diaper wipe and grab another glass of water. Day by day, I fought back that unquenchable thirst, battled those inner demons clawing at my door.  Monday turned to Tuesday, February turned to March, and years went by. Christian will turn nine soon. He’s happy. He’s healthy. And so am I. But it’s still a struggle. For the last several years, up until very recently, I was actually working as a bartender. Can you believe it? Long story how I wound up there, and the whys aren’t important. What is important is how it made me feel when I’d see a fellow alcoholic at the bar, trying to numb the pain, outrun the sins and the memories. I’d wanna grab them by the shirtfront and shake some sense into them, but we all know you can’t force a boozer to give up his booze ‘til he’s hit rock bottom. My rock bottom was losing Claire. Some rock bottoms are worse, some aren’t so bad. But the big truth is the same, no matter how long you try to hide from it behind a beer or wine bottle or that vodka martini.” His eyes met mine, connected, and stayed with me. “The unquenchable thirst is always there and those demons will always claw at the door.  They never stop. You can change where you live, what you do, who you associate with, but you’ll never be able to go back and correct your sins. All you can do is accept them as who you once were and vow to continue to do better every single day while time moves on. That’s the truth I live with, and I’m betting all of you live with it, too.”

He finished by asking everyone to stand for the Serenity Prayer. While I joined hands with Max on one side and a teary-eyed woman on the other, I spoke the words by rote.  To be honest, I had no idea how my legs managed to still work. My standing was proof that my brain could work on auto-pilot because, frankly, my mind was blown. I’d heard lots of stories since I started rehab, I’d even shared my own horrific story of my drunken father shooting my mother before killing himself. But what Gary had shared shook me off my unsteady foundation.

After the meeting, a crowd milled around him. Men clapped him on the shoulder, women took both his hands in theirs. I hung back with Max. I don’t know why. Gary knew I was here; he’d locked eyes with me during his speech. Eventually, I’d have to talk to him. If not here, then at the shop. What would I say to him? I needed time to digest all I’d just learned. With that in mind, I crept closer to the back exit. Max grabbed my wrist before I could get to my coat and make a not-so-clean getaway.

“Hey. Are you ditching me?”

“No, of course not.”

Honestly, I’d kinda forgotten he was there. Like how, during the day, under the brilliance of the sun, you kinda forget the moon’s on the other side of the world. Or maybe, the opposite, in this case. I mean, Gary’s story was so dark and bleak, but with that glimmer of hope like moonlight on a starless night. Whereas Max was the sun, all blistering hot and shiny, temporarily hidden by a bunch of storm clouds. Crap. I have no idea what I mean. All I knew was, at that moment, nothing else existed for me but Gary. Gary and his pain, his courage, his example. And my desire to find somewhere to hide ‘til I could face him again.

Actually, you know what it was like? It was like I was Lois Lane and I just found out I’ve been working next to Superman and dismissing him ‘cuz I didn’t really ever get around to knowing him since I had this preconceived image in my head. And how that made me the biggest dope on the planet, but also, it made me feel kinda flattered since he’d shared his truth and all the pain behind it with only me.

Forget it. I’ll never get this right. All the more reason to get out while I still hadn’t done or said anything inane. Not out loud, anyway.

I grabbed my coat and turned to Max. “You wanna go for coffee or something? There’s a diner a coupla blocks from here. Makes the best cheesecake in the county.” A total lie, by the way. They had a sign on the wall that said that, but a sign didn’t make it true. I had no sudden yearning for their soggy-crusted, overly processed cheesecake with its canned fruit topping. I just wasn’t ready to face Gary yet. I needed to make that quick exit before—

“I see we both skipped out of work early without checking with the boss.”

Too late. “Gary. Umm…hi.” Yep. All that sweating and pondering, and that lame statement was the best I came up with. Clearly, I did not think fast on my feet.

Max wasn’t much more eloquent. “Hey, man. Great speech. Did all that really happen to you?”

Gary gave Max the full stink-eye. “Yes.”

“Cool.” I inwardly winced, but Max must have realized how callous he’d sounded because he added a quick, “Well, not cool, but you know what I mean. I’m Max. Max T.”

“Gary S.”

Max glanced from Gary to me. “You and Terri know each other?”

“We work together,” I interjected.

“At the tea shop?” Max smirked. “I assume you’re more than just the dishwasher, though, right?”

“I’m the chef,” Gary replied, each syllable bitten off, sharp and succinct.

“Gary’s actually a renowned
pâtissier
,” I added and received an angry glare from both men in response.

“Oh, right! I’ve sampled some of your tasty tidbits,” Max said and nudged an elbow in Gary’s direction. “When Terri here sneaks me into the shop after hours.”

If looks could kill, at that moment, Gary’s gaze would’ve put me in a box in the church’s backyard with all the old patriots from two hundred years ago.

“It’s not like that,” I tried to explain, but Gary cut me off.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business as long as nothing goes missing or gets damaged.” His eyes took on a burning intensity, conveying some hidden meaning to me, but with my brain fuses all fried, whatever he wanted to say escaped into the wilderness of questions still whirling in my head.

“Terri and I were on our way to the diner for some coffee and the county’s best cheesecake,” Max said. “Care to join us?”

“Is that right?” Gary said, his focus still locked on me. My face practically caught fire from embarrassment. “Thanks, but I can’t. I have to pick up Christian at school. Enjoy. Terri, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

All of a sudden, I didn’t want to go anywhere with Max. “Actually, would it be okay if you brought Christian back to the shop for a while? I wanted to go over some menu options with you.” Yes, I was lying and yes, everyone knew it. As I’ve already revealed, I don’t think fast on my feet.

“The party details, right?” Gary picked up my lie and ran with it. “I think you’re overanalyzing this event, but fine. No more than an hour or two. Christian has homework.”

“Thank you,” I said with a grateful sigh.

He wagged a finger in warning. “You owe me.”