by Rylee Swann
“You love me don’t you, Mac? You’d never disappear on me, right, boy?”
Through happy panting, he whines and does a little dance of excitement. His innocent enthusiasm puts a smile on my face and, opening the front door, we depart for a much needed walk.
Setting out toward one of the wooded paths Mac and I love, I struggle to lose myself in the tranquility of nature. It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun high overhead, and only a few decorative puffy white clouds in the sky. The air is crisp and the scent of fresh-cut grass wafts over me. Yet, despite having left my cell phone at home, too soon my thoughts snap back to a memory of Jayson.
“I’m going out.” Jayson slurs his words as he stumbles, trying to put his shoes on.
I frown, worried he’s going to fall and give himself a concussion. “You’re already drunk. Stay home, okay?”
He mutters something belligerent that I can’t make out and curses at his shoes. With very precise movements, he sits down on the floor and manages to shove his feet into them. Rising, he teeters but doesn’t fall. He’s not Irish but someone in his family must have kissed a blarney stone at some point with Jayson reaping the rewards. His shoelaces are untied, and I bend to tie them.
He laughs like what I’m doing is the best joke ever. “Thank you.”
I stare up at him, pleading with my eyes. “Don’t go out.”
With a big smile on his face, as if I haven’t said anything, he tries to kiss me. I back away, disgust no doubt transforming my features, worry tying my stomach up in knots.
“See that. See?” he says with a huff and marches with surprisingly steady footsteps to the door. “See?” he says once more as he leaves our apartment.
I don’t go after him. There’s no point. He’s bigger and stronger than I am and he wants to go. It’s impossible to pull him back inside. I know from experience.
I heave in a shuddering breath and release it in a long sigh. It’s past midnight and I’m exhausted from dealing with him since he started drinking several hours ago. I head to bed but know that it’ll be a sleepless night.
I’m not wrong, and wake a few hours later from a fitful sleep as wrung out as I was when my head hit the pillow. I finally give up and go about my day, but my worry increases as each hour passes. When it grows late and is time for bed again, I’ve convinced myself that he’s dead. He was too drunk. He fell in front of a moving car. He’s lying dead in a ditch. He’s John Doe at the morgue.
When I wake the morning of the second day, I can no longer hold back tears. And wonder not for the first time what the hell I’m doing here. I should leave Canada, get my life together, and find a man who doesn’t drink.
Of course, I don’t leave. I’m hopelessly in love with this man. It might be unhealthy and co-dependent but I’m so far down the rabbit hole I don’t know which way is up. It doesn’t help that I don’t really have anyone to turn to. No one can help me.
Just prior to dinnertime, the front door opens and in Jayson strolls with a big smile on his face. I’d just stood up from the couch to prepare something to eat—I don’t care about food but my stomach has been growling anyway—and stop midstride to stare at him in hopeless despair. I’m glad he’s alright but I’ve been on this ride too many times with the same results.
He strides closer and laughs. “Aww, you look so forlorn.”
I can’t tell if he’s still drunk or hungover. I ponder informing him that I’m not forlorn, I’m angry, but don’t bother. There’s no point in having that fight again.
Damned bastard.
Mac whines and the leash pulls taut, causing me to stop short. Turning back, I find him staring at me with deep, sorrowful eyes. It’s like he can read my mind and knows I’m troubled.
“You’re a good boy, Mac,” I say, to which he swishes his tail tentatively. I step to the nearest tree and sit, leaning my back against it. The bark is cool and scratchy through my shirt. He pads up to me and rests his head in my lap. “Oh, Mac, is that the memory I should go with?”
Remembering the exercise Gemma had me do, I gently squeeze one of Mac’s paws. He stays quiet and just settles down beside me as I pet him. There were good memories, too, as Gemma helped to remind me. Wrapping my arms around Mac’s neck, I burrow my face into his fur, not wanting to admit that my eyes are tearing up. Mac smells like a dog, an unmistakable scent of dirt and musk and just a hint of mint from the shampoo I used on him. I will get another set of cats soon—I miss having the little furry tigers around—but Mac coming into my life is an unexpected and much needed comfort.
He thumps his tail on the ground as a reminder to keep petting him. I comply as the memory of a very good time floods my mind. I let it wash over me as I sit with this wonderful dog amid the tranquility of nature.
I call another, younger version of Jayson while out running errands—including picking up dinner—to find out if we need more soda. I don’t drink the battery acid, but he does. This is only his second visit to me in New York, and it’s been wonderful having him here so far.
“When are you coming home?” Jayson asks.
“Not too much longer now.”
“Umm, take your time,” he says, his voice full of mischief and mystery.
“Uh-oh, what are you doing?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He laughs. “It’s a surprise.”
I’m a little worried but mostly pleased that he wants to surprise me with something. “You’re not making a mess, are you?”
Another laugh, more hesitant this time. “Well…nothing I can’t put back.”
“Oh my god, what does that mean?” A vision of my apartment caught in a vortex of Jayson’s wild imagination flashes before my eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. I just want all the guests to be here before you get home.”
What?
“Guests? What are you—?”
“Shhh, it’s a surprise party. Most of them are here already.”
What in the world…?
“Did you somehow manage to coax in the stray cats from the neighborhood? Or knock on neighbors’ doors that I don’t even know?”
Now he’s almost giggling, which is more worrisome than anything. “Just give me another hour, okay?”
I calculate how long it’ll take me to finish my errands and nod. “It might be a few minutes longer than an hour. Is it safe to leave you alone that long?” I’m only half teasing.
“Yes. If you don’t like it I can put everything back the way it was.” Another chuckle. “Okay?”
“Are you rearranging my furniture?” I simply can’t image what he’s planning.
Through more laughter he says, “I’m hanging up on you now. See you in an hour.”
I arrive home exactly one hour later. I rushed through shopping, eager to get home to whatever craziness awaits me. Hefting up the shopping bag, I get out of the car and walk to the door of my two-story garden apartment. Putting the key in the lock, footsteps bound down the stairs inside. He’s standing in front of the door with a big grin on his face when I open it.
I smile back, his mood infectious. “Did I leave you enough time to do whatever it is you’re up to?”
He nods and takes the shopping bag from my arms. “Close your eyes and come on up.” He takes my hand to help lead me up the stairs. “No peeking.”
“Alright…” I draw the word out and begin the climb. I can tell when we’ve reached the landing and reach out for the wrought iron railing that separates the living room from the stairwell. “Can I open my eyes now?”
He surprises me with a quick kiss on the lips before moving away, the rush of air telling me he’s no longer standing beside me. I hear the rustle of the shopping bag being placed on the kitchen counter and then a little laugh from him.
“Okay, open your eyes. Happy birthday!”
I open my eyes and blink in utter confusion. It’s not my birthday. This is June and I was born in October. He knows this. Then, I squint into the living room, not sure of what I�
�m seeing, and take a few steps forward. In the center of the coffee table is a round birthday cake with a few candles randomly placed in it. More amazing than this are the guests he spoke of earlier. All of my stuffed animals are placed around the cake, one sitting on my desk chair and a couple others on beach chairs he pulled from my closet and spread around the table. It’s not like I own an army of stuffed animals, but apparently just the right amount to attend this party. Some are even wearing pointed party hats.
I turn to him with what is no doubt an incredulous expression.
“I told you I could put it all back the way it was,” he says in a hesitant voice, half worried, half pleased.
A gigantic smile erupts on my face and I rush forward to hug him. “This is amazing but it’s not my birthday.” I hope not to hurt his feelings in case he really thought it was.
He lets out a huge breath as his arms wrap around my body, his embrace always so warm and comforting. “I know.” He places a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ve missed too many of your birthdays already and I don’t know if we’ll be together in October, so I wanted to celebrate it now. Is that stupid?”
I look up to meet his eyes, my heart bursting with this beautiful gesture of his. “It’s perfect. I love you, Jayson Fox.”
His eyes light up and he smiles down at me. “I love you too, birthday girl.”
My tears wet Mac’s fur but I let them fall. That was such a good day. We kissed, he lit the birthday candles, and I blew them out. He wanted to know what I wished for but, of course, I didn’t tell him. I wanted my wish to come true, after all. He sang “Happy Birthday” to me and admonished the guests for not joining in. I remember almost busting a gut laughing, and start laughing now through my tears.
“Oh, Mac, what should I do?” I’ve never wished more that dogs could talk but it probably wouldn’t help anyway. He’d just give me a dopey grin and tell me with overblown enthusiasm to choose love. Isn’t that what dogs are all about? Unconditional love?
Mac suddenly picks up his head, his ears pointed forward, a low whine coming from his throat. A moment later, there’s the rustle of someone approaching and I tense. I’m sure it’s nothing dangerous, I hope. And, besides, I’m in no mood for conversation. Inwardly, I shake my head at myself. What a ridiculous thought to have when an ax murderer might be about to end me.
In this moment, I realize I very much want Jayson by my side.
To protect me.
To love.
Damnit.
20
Jayson
“Jayson?”
I startle awake, arms and legs flailing in an embarrassing effort to sit up only to find I’m already in a sitting position. What the fuck? I can’t focus, and rub grit from my eyes with the heels of my hands. Slowly, the room comes into stark white clarity. A hospital room.
“Jayson? Are you okay?”
This time I recognize the voice and nod. I think I’m okay. I try to smile but it’s probably more like a dopey grimace.
My sister laughs.
It is so damned good to hear that sound coming from her. To hear any sound coming from her. She woke from a coma a few hours after I arrived at the hospital but she was in no condition to talk, much less have a conversation. I’ve been ensconced in a chair beside her bed for four days, only getting up to stretch, go to the bathroom, and get food when the nurses insist I eat. She’s slept most of the time since then, her doctor assuring me that she’s okay and out of danger. I haven’t been able to believe that. Until now.
Until my sister laughs.
Leaning forward, I take her cool hand in mine and hold on tight. “How are you?”
She meets my eyes, hers filling with tears and spilling onto her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to die, really.”
“Oh no, no, Carrie, don’t cry. It’s alright.” I stand, taking her by the shoulders until she’s sitting up, and hug her. She throws her arms around me like I’m a life preserver. “It’s going to be alright.”
She cries against my shoulder until the tears soak through my shirt. I give her time to let it all out. She needs this release. The fact that she scared herself this bad is a good sign. It means she OD’ed by accident. I’d worried it was on purpose.
“I’m sorry,” she says again when the worst of her sobbing has subsided. “I’m such an idiot.”
I let go of her and retake my seat so I can see her face while we talk. She sinks back onto the pillow with a soft sigh. She’s a beautiful woman, beaten down by poor choices and low self-esteem. When she puts in the effort, she’s a blue-eyed, blonde bombshell who everyone turns to when she enters a room. Not now, of course. Now, her face is drawn and haggard, dark circles under puffy eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. That’s from the drugs. It kills me to see her like this and the knot in my stomach flies up to my heart and squeezes.
“Tell me what happened?” I ask in a quiet voice. “Would you like to share?”
She’s silent for a moment then laughs. “You say that like this is a meeting.”
I nod, my expression grave. “Can you think of a better time to need a meeting?”
Her laughter dries up when she realizes I’m serious, her mouth left hanging open in shock. “I…umm…but it’s just us.”
A wry smile creases my lips. “I need a meeting too. Let’s help each other?” I need her to open up, to really face what happened and why, so there will be less chance of it happening again. She’s come so far already. I can’t let her think that taking a step backwards is the end. Time to get her moving forward again, if she’ll allow it.
“Umm…” She hesitates. Her struggle is written on her face, and I silently pray she makes the right decision. She sighs and throws a hand up in the air as her cheeks redden. “Alright.” She gnaws on her lip while I cheer and fist pump inside my head. Sitting back in my chair, I give her the space to share without any added pressure. She flicks her gaze in my direction then lowers her eyes. “Hi, I’m Carrie and I’m an alcoholic.”
I offer her an encouraging smile. “Hi, Carrie.”
She smiles, but it’s forced. “Okay, umm, wait.” She pats the bed on either side of her. Clearly, she’s searching for something. Or stalling. “Where is it? Help me find it.”
“What do you need?”
“I want to sit up. Isn’t there a button or something to make the bed move so I can sit?” She picks up the call button and shows it to me. “Here it is!” She’s poised to press the button and I jump up to stop her. She needs a meeting, not an interruption. “Wait, no, that’s not it.”
“Here, this is the right one.” I hand her the device.
She takes it with a sheepish grin. “What’s this other one do?”
“Calls the nurse.” I wait beside the bed until she’s raised the head to the level she’s comfortable with and then sit back down. “You were sharing…” I say to prompt her back on track.
She settles back and takes a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, so I uhhh have been sober for four days. Is that right?” I nod and she frowns. “So, that’s really like only one day. I was pretty much out of it the rest of the time. I…almost killed myself. By accident. I took too much drugs and washed them down with alcohol. And then kept drinking. I don’t remember much of that day. I think I started in the afternoon. There wasn’t even any particular reason why. No trigger, no life-altering event. I just…I don’t know. I stopped doing what I need to do. Going to meetings, talking with my sponsor. Loving myself. I got lost. Nothing seemed like it was working. Oh god.” She buries her face in her hands and cries, her breath hitching, shoulders shaking. Through her sobbing, she tries to speak but thinks better of it when she can’t get any words out.
I lay a hand on her knee, offering silent support.
Finally, she raises her head and smiles at me through still flowing tears. “Mom and Dad really did a number on us, didn’t they?” Again, I nod, a smirk lifting one corner of my mouth. “I look in the mirror and tell
myself every day that I’m beautiful and worthy of being loved. Most days, I don’t believe it and life goes on. But…” She pauses as a big smile creases her face and lights up her reddened eyes. “But once in a while, I do believe it and every day that I do is the best day of my life. I want more of those days, you know? I want to enjoy life. And you, oh god, you’re my hero, Jayson. You’re my inspiration. You used to drink more than I do, and you did it. Got sober. If you can, I can. Okay, that’s it. I’m going to do better. Thanks for listening.”
My heart breaks. “I love you, Carrie.”
She waves me off with a hand. “I know. It’s your turn.”
I let out a guffaw. “You know? Who are you, Han Solo?”
“You’re such a geek.” She laughs, and I can tell that she’s already starting to feel a little better.
“That’s nerd to you, missy.”
More laughter and some healthy color enters her cheeks. “Stop stalling. It’s your turn.”
I have been stalling. This isn’t a share I’m looking forward to. With a reluctant nod, I shut my eyes for a moment. Time to share the dirty truth. “I’m Jayson and I’m an alcoholic.”
Carrie offers a small smile. “Hi, Jayson.”
“I started drinking when I was twelve years old. Snuck liquor out of Mom and Dad’s liquor cabinet. They never paid attention and never missed any of it that I knew of. I watched them drink and saw how happy and relaxed it made them. I needed that. The abuse was easier to take if I knew I could get drunk later.” Carrie’s lip starts to quiver and I switch up my share to the present, get closer to what I’m dreading. “Anyway, the drinking continued and escalated to pot and cocaine when I was old enough to score it on my own. With money from paper routes and any other odd jobs I could get.” I scrub my hand over my face, grimacing at the rough bristles from four days of growth. “So…let’s fast-forward this to a few days ago. When I got the call that my sister was in the hospital, I dropped everything and booked the next flight out to get to her.”
