Woman in Blue

by Eileen Goudge

  On the evening of the day following her court date—the ragged edges of which had been eased only somewhat by Ollie—Kerrie Ann rose to her feet before a group of forty or so and took her turn at the podium. She stood tall and cleared her throat. She began to speak.

  “Hi. I’m Kerrie Ann. I’m an addict …”

  As she told her story for the umpteenth time, she felt another missing piece of her fall back into place. It didn’t matter how many times she’d shared in meetings. Each time there were new people who hadn’t heard her tale, and it was from their sad and knowing eyes, as much as from the wisdom of the old-timers, that she drew strength. You’re not alone, those eyes said. We’re with you. Parents, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters—all of whom had become alienated from loved ones due to their addiction. Sometimes they were reunited with those loved ones, sometimes not. But the message was always the same: It’s never too late. Keep the faith.

  Tonight she looked out over the motley assemblage and felt something akin to love wash over her. There was perky red-haired Sue, who had been sober twenty years and who was their unofficial den mother. Big Ed, in his studded leather vest, with tats covering nearly every square inch of his two-hundred-eighty-pound frame. Devon, a former executive, who could make you laugh while cringing at the same time with her stories about trying to walk a straight line in the corporate world while stoned out of her mind. Little pug-faced Shorty, who’d lost a leg in ’Nam, but not his sense of humor. And Kerrie Ann’s sponsor, Lois, a soccer mom with three young boys whose story of being busted in front of all the other moms when her stash fell out of her purse at a PTA meeting never failed to spark uneasy laughter and groans of sympathy.

  Tonight there was someone new. She couldn’t see his face—he was sitting in back, where a column partially blocked him from view—just long legs in blue jeans worn to snow at the knees and a pair of toe-sprung cowboy boots. It wasn’t until the meeting came to a close, while others were gathering into small groups to chat or drifting toward the exit, that he got up and started toward her.

  Recognizing him, Kerrie Ann froze.

  It had been a long time, and the face that had been so gaunt when she’d last seen it was fleshed out now. But she’d have known it anywhere. That smile, too—the smile that had once lit up her entire world.

  “Jeremiah,” she breathed.

  He didn’t say anything. He just stood staring at her as if they were the only two people in the room. Then he lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

  Kerrie Ann was speechless. “What are you doing here?” she asked when she found her tongue. Not very original. But it was all she could come up with in her present state.

  His simple reply rocked her to the core: “I came to see you.”

  She could see him clearly now, as if she’d been looking at him through a blurred lens and he was coming into focus: his stripey-gold eyes, the color of tiger’s-eye, which slanted up at the corners to give him a vaguely exotic, Keanu Reeves look; his smooth, cinnamon-butter skin and high cheekbones that could cut glass; the dark clock-spring curls erupting from his head. He was a bit older and heavier than she remembered, but he could still pull off the lean-and-mean rocker look that used to drive the girls wild.

  “How did you find me?” Her voice was unsteady.

  “I asked around. Your friend Shoshanna said to say hello, by the way.”

  “Bitch.” But Kerrie Ann laughed when she said it. Now that he was here in the flesh—the fully restored Technicolor Jeremiah—she could forgive her former roommate for revealing her whereabouts. She only wished she could harden her heart so she could stay angry at him.

  He glanced around the room, where people stood in postmeeting huddles. Big Ed had his arm around Weezie, who looked as if she were about to cry: Weezie had just lost a son to the same disease that had nearly claimed her. In another corner, Lois and Sue were sharing a laugh. And over by the refreshment table, the Admiral was deep in conversation with one of the newcomers, a pale, jittery young man whom she’d pegged as a tweaker. Jeremiah seemed at home in their midst—this clearly wasn’t his first meeting even if it was his first time at this one.

  He brought his gaze back to her. “You look good.”

  She bit her tongue before she could reply, So do you. Instead she shrugged and said, “Yeah, well, it’s been a while.”

  “So do you want to go somewhere? For coffee?”

  Not so fast, thought Kerrie Ann. Jeremiah had to do more than show up looking like a bounced check made good to earn her forgiveness. “There’s coffee here. Help yourself.” She pointed toward the battered urn on the refreshment table.

  “Thanks, I already had some.” He made a face, to which she responded with a knowing chuckle: The coffee certainly wasn’t the draw at these meetings.

  She came to a decision. “You got a car?” He nodded, and she said, “Good. You can give me a ride home.”

  They stepped outside into the cool of the evening, where a mist lay over downtown Blue Moon Bay. It looked like an old-time photo, the edges of the buildings blurred and their colors faded to a uniform gray. She felt as if she had stepped from the present back into the past. She recalled other evenings like this one, accompanying Jeremiah to gigs. Even his movements, as he strolled along at her side, were as familiar as her own: his rolling gait with the little snap to it—a less exaggerated version of his cocky strut onstage.

  “I know,” he said with a chagrined laugh when they reached his car—a pimped-out old boat of a Cadillac, white with gold fenders, that made her think of Elvis in his Vegas period. “It belongs to a friend of mine who’s doing time. He’s letting me use it until he gets out.”

  She wondered if his “friend” was an indication of the kind of people he hung out with. If so, it didn’t bode well. But who was she to judge? She’d rubbed elbows with her share of lowlifes.

  Soon they were roaring along Highway 1 in the Caddie. As they approached the turnoff for Lindsay’s house, Jeremiah asked anxiously, “Do you have to get back right away? I was hoping we could go somewhere and talk. I know I have some explaining to do.”

  “What makes you think I want to hear it?” she snapped, but she didn’t protest when he blew past the turnoff.

  They drove all the way to Bean Hollow State Park, where they parked and got out. The beach was deserted at this hour. With good reason, she thought, shivering in her thin jacket as they set out along the sand, the cold wind off the ocean stinging her cheeks and sending her hair whipping about her head. They walked together in silence, the only sounds the booming of the surf and scrunching of sand beneath their bare feet.

  When they finally took shelter behind a dune, Kerrie Ann was chilled to the bone and had to huddle next to Jeremiah to keep from freezing. She made sure only their arms were touching, though, and she sat with her knees to her chest. She didn’t want him to get any ideas.

  “You said you had some explaining to do? Well, go on, I’m listening.” She wanted to lash out at him—five years without so much as a freaking phone call!—but all her anger seemed to have vanished. Weren’t they two of a kind, she and Jeremiah? They’d both messed up. He was no more to blame for the way things had turned out than she.

  He hunkered down into himself. She could feel him shivering. “It’s the same old story. I went out and stayed out for a long, long time.” His was the collective voice of countless meetings like tonight’s. “For a while I was even homeless, living off the streets, scoring whenever I could. If it weren’t for Father Tom, I doubt I would’ve made it.” He explained that Father Tom was a former priest who worked with street people. “He got me into rehab.”

  “Where, in LA?” She felt a little sick at the thought that at some point she might have passed Jeremiah on the streets and seen just another homeless man, not knowing it was he.

  “Nah, I was living in Phoenix at the time. Anyway, Father Tom pulled some strings and got me into Hillside, the state-run facility in Prescott. It’s not fancy, but it’s free, and the
guy who runs it is good people. Twenty-eight days later, I walked out a new man.” He gave an ironic laugh, and she understood because it had been the same for her, only in a different setting: That had been just the beginning of the climb up Mount Everest. “Just got my ninety-day chip.” He dug the coin from his pocket and pressed it into her palm.

  “Congratulations,” she said without sarcasm.

  “Thanks.” His flat, cheerless tone told her he knew he still had a long way to go.

  “So what are you up to these days?”

  “Nothing much—just trying to make ends meet.” He plucked at a blade of sea grass poking up from the sand. “I was on a construction crew, but I got laid off. Right now I’m crashing at a friend’s place in Echo Park while I look for work.”

  “What about your music?”

  Jeremiah gave a derisive snort. “My music? The band, you mean. Let’s see … Weiland’s working at Office Max, and Mazierski’s doing community service on a drug rap. Carlson’s the only one who made it. He’s in a real band. They opened for Bon Jovi last summer at the Hollywood Bowl. But then, he was the only one of us who was any good.”

  “You were good!” Out of old habit, she rose to his defense.

  He looked up at her, his lips curled in a small, sardonic smile. “Yeah? That must be why none of the scouts who came to hear us play ever signed me for a label. Hey, it’s okay—I always knew deep down it wasn’t in the cards. I stopped chasing that dream a long time ago.”

  “So is that what you came all this way to tell me?”

  “No. I came to say I was sorry. And …” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to see Bella.”

  Kerrie Ann fingered the coin in her hand, seeing it now as more than a chip: It was admission for one. Jeremiah’s ticket to gain entrance—into her life, and into Bella’s life. And that scared her. How did she know if she could trust him? What if he wormed his way into Bella’s heart only to leave them again? That was the last thing their little girl needed, especially now.

  She spoke cautiously. “That might not be so easy to arrange.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I gather.” She winced, wishing Jeremiah hadn’t been present tonight when she’d told all at the meeting. On the other hand, since he was in no position to judge, she was spared the scornful looks and recriminations she’d come to expect from others. “But it’s only temporary, right? She’ll be coming home soon?” Jeremiah’s naive assumption cut her to the quick. How could she tell him it might be months, years? Maybe never?

  “It could be a while,” she hedged. “At this point, it’s up to the judge.”

  “So we’ll go to court. Show them she has a mom and a dad to take care of her.” Clearly he didn’t get it. To him, it was no more complicated than retrieving a lost puppy from the ASPCA.

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  She told him the rest of the story: about her battle to win their daughter back … finding out she had a sister and Lindsay’s taking her in … and Bella’s foster parents’ wanting to adopt Bella. She watched his expression darken as she described the Bartholds.

  “Those assholes! They think they can just waltz in and take away our kid? We’re her parents, for fuck’s sake.”

  And what model parents we’ve been, she thought. A couple of recovering crackheads, one a neglectful mom and the other a deadbeat dad. “We screwed up, Jeremiah. Big-time,” she reminded him. “When there’s a kid involved, you don’t always get a second chance.”

  “So we’ll do whatever we have to. We’ll fight this—together.” Jeremiah cast her a hopeful look. “In fact, I was talking to one of the guys at the meeting, and he says there’s plenty of work around here if you’re not too choosy. So I thought, why not? This is as good a place as any, right? And that way I’d be around, you know, in case you need me.”

  Kerrie Ann sat stone-faced while her mind whirled. Was this some kind of ploy to get back with her, or was it just about Bella? Either way, she felt uneasy at the thought of what she might be letting in if she were to reopen that door. So she struck a middle ground, saying with a shrug, “Sure. Whatever.”

  It wasn’t a rousing show of support, but it was all the encouragement he needed. He broke into a grin. “Cool.”

  They were getting up to head back when she realized she was still holding his chip. She held it out to him. “Don’t forget this.”

  “Hang on to it for me, will you?” He folded her fingers around it, holding her fist cupped in his hands while he stood gazing deeply into her eyes. “That way you know I’ll be back.”

  Kerrie Ann debated a moment before shoving it into her pocket.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I wonder what’s keeping your sister,” Miss Honi fretted aloud. She was watching her favorite TV show, Meerkat Manor, but paying more attention to the clock on the wall.

  Kerrie Ann should have been back from her meeting by now; it was well past the hour when she normally rolled in. She hadn’t phoned, either. Amazing how one person could stir up more mischief than a whole pack of furry critters, thought Lindsay. “I wouldn’t worry. She probably went out with friends after the meeting.” Even as she spoke, she realized that she had no way of contacting those friends. She didn’t even know any of their last names.

  “This time of night?” Miss Honi didn’t have to add that the only places open in Blue Moon Bay at this hour were bars.

  “She could have gone to someone’s house.”

  “Wouldn’t she have called in that case? Last time I checked, her dialing finger weren’t broke.”

  Miss Honi reached into the box of See’s chocolates on the end table by the sofa. She’d been fairly good about sticking to her diet but still allowed herself a treat in the evenings. She selected one, popping it into her mouth. She frowned in thought as she chewed. In her pink satin dressing gown, with her golden bouffant swaddled in a sparkly hairnet, she looked like one of her angels—Kerrie Ann’s own personal guardian angel. Though Lindsay had hoped the days of her sister needing to be looked after were past.

  She eyed the open book lying facedown on her lap. All day she’d been looking forward to curling up with the new T. C. Boyle novel, but it looked as if that would have to wait. “She’s a grown woman,” she reminded Miss Honi. “She doesn’t have to check in with us every minute of the day. Do I phone you every time I’m going to be late getting home?”

  “That’s different. When it’s you and that boyfriend of yours, I know there ain’t nothing much going on.”

  Lindsay surrendered with a sigh, closing her book. “Grant and I have been together a long time. At this point, no, it’s not a thrill a minute. But it’s comfortable.”

  “So’s an old pair of slippers.”

  “Well, I’ll take sheepskin over satin any day,” Lindsay said, wriggling her toes in her Uggs slippers while glancing pointedly at the old woman’s marabou-trimmed mules.

  “Hmmpf,” grunted Miss Honi, reaching for another chocolate. She went back to watching the antics of the meerkats, which were apparently of far greater interest to her than Lindsay’s love life.

  If only she knew …

  These days Lindsay felt as if she were leading a double life. On the surface all was calm and orderly, but underneath she was a bubbling stew of emotions, all due to Randall Craig. She daydreamed about him constantly, so vividly at times that she could almost feel his hands traveling over her … his lips against her skin … his arms and legs tangled with hers. At work, mindless tasks like stocking shelves and setting up displays had become delicious oases in which her thoughts and memories could roam unhindered. Once, while meeting with one of the reps, a perfectly ordinary middle-aged man, she’d found herself captivated by the curly golden hair on his wrists, so like Randall’s, to the point that she’d completely lost track of what he was saying. With a red face, she’d had to ask him to go over the list of titles one more time.

  So far Grant was clueless, but she didn’t know fo
r how much longer. All she knew was that she wasn’t ready to let go of him just yet. Grant was a sure thing, whereas Randall was still a mystery in some ways. Whenever she probed too deeply into his past, he grew evasive. Did he have another lover, or was there a wife hidden away somewhere like in Jane Eyre? Was he harboring a dark misdeed from his youth?

  Unsure of their status, she’d been keeping Randall at bay to some extent, using work as an excuse. They spoke regularly over the phone, and once, when he’d insisted he couldn’t spend another moment apart from her, he’d driven down and they’d met for lunch.

  But that was about to change. Recently he’d approached an editor he knew at the San Francisco Chronicle, who’d given him the green light to do a piece on Lindsay’s plight. It was publicity she sorely needed in the face of the inconclusive results of the environmental study. But it also meant the cat would be out of the bag as far as Randall was concerned. Lindsay had invited him for lunch this Sunday so he could scout around and take some photos. And as soon as Miss Honi sussed out the situation, there would be no living with her until Lindsay dumped Grant in favor of Randall—which wasn’t going to happen, at least not anytime soon. She didn’t relish the thought.

  She set her book aside and rose from her chair by the fireplace. Chester, curled asleep at her feet, stirred and grunted before tucking himself back into a ball. “I’m off to bed,” she announced. “If you want to wait up, fine, but if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be no good tomorrow.”

  Miss Honi got up off the sofa and clip-clopped over in her mules to give Lindsay a hug and a kiss good night. She smelled of chocolate and Pond’s face cream. Lindsay felt her worries recede. Miss Honi wasn’t always a ray of sunshine, but her arms never failed to warm.