by Allen Eskens
When they brought me back to court, they offered me a way to stay out of prison. It was a program called Drug Court. They said that it would take at least eighteen months to complete and more likely a couple of years. I would have to go to court once a week and do what they told me to do. I didn’t know much about it, but as long as I didn’t have to go to prison, I didn’t care. I figured I could fake my way through anything. I was wrong.
Early on, they made me go see a psychologist. I resisted, but deep down I knew that I was messed up. At first, things didn’t go well. I hated everything about my psychologist. But then I got tired of fighting, and I started talking. She was nice, and she didn’t judge me. I told her things I’ve never told anyone, things I’ve never told you. It felt good to talk about it. She said that I was suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder and bipolar. That explains why, my whole life, I felt like I was walking around with a thousand short fuses in my head.
I’ve made some big changes in my life. I got my driver’s license now, and a job. I am in recovery, and I have been sober for four years. That hit of meth that you saw me do was the last time I did anything. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol either.
I know you are probably reading this and saying to yourself, what’s her angle? But there is no angle. I am out of Drug Court now, and I go to meetings every week. I’ve been working the twelve-step program and doing good. The one step that I’ve been dreading is the one I take now. I must reach out to those who I have harmed and offer to make amends. I want to make amends with you, yet I know that I do not deserve your forgiveness.
So that is why I am writing to you today. I want to tell you and Lila and Jeremy how truly sorry I am for what I did. I was a terrible mother and a terrible person for so many years. I do not expect to hear back from you, and if you don’t respond, I’ll understand, but I need you to know that I am sorry.
I guess that’s all I have to say. I will not contact you again. If you ever decide that you have it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll be here with open arms.
Your mother, Kathy
I folded the pages together again, my head thumping as the words in the letter pushed against my memory. I couldn’t remember my mother ever speaking to me with such clarity. It almost read like someone else was telling her what to write. I thought about that for a moment. I guess that was a possibility.
I read the letter again and felt the same confusion. I can’t deny that I wanted to believe her. What son wouldn’t want that person in the letter for a mother? But I had Jeremy to consider. I couldn’t expose him to this new Kathy if the old Kathy still lurked in the corner. I had to know that the letter was genuine. I looked at the return address on the envelope and saw that she was still living in our old apartment. After everything that had happened in the intervening years, she was in the same place with the same landlord—Mr. Bremer.
I still knew Mr. Bremer’s number, and I typed it into my phone, pausing my thumb over the Send button for a second before hitting it and making the call.
Chapter 28
I hadn’t been back to Austin since the guardianship hearing, and frankly, I hadn’t planned on stepping foot in that town ever again. But as afternoon bled into evening, I found myself sitting at a café in downtown Austin, watching Jeremy eat pancakes, and waiting for Terry Bremer to show up. I called him from Buckley to ask one simple question: had my mother really changed? His answer: “We should talk.”
I don’t think Jeremy realized that we were in Austin, even when our mother’s old landlord entered the café and walked over to our table. Bremer wore what looked to be the same flannel shirt he wore the last time I saw him so many years ago. But then again, I’d known Terry Bremer for most of my life, and I couldn’t recall ever seeing him in anything other than a long-sleeved flannel shirt, even in the middle of summer.
“Hi, Mr. Bremer,” I said, reaching out my hand.
“I think you can start calling me Terry,” he answered, giving me a firm handshake. I could feel thick calluses on his palm, and it brought me back to the days when I worked for him as a teenager. My hands must have felt like sponges in his grip now—the hands of a thinker not a doer, as he used to say.
He slid into the booth opposite Jeremy and me. “Hi, Jeremy,” he said.
“Hi, Mr. Bremer,” Jeremy said, not showing a hint of surprise.
I opened my laptop and started a movie for Jeremy to watch so that Bremer and I could talk. With earbuds in his ears, Jeremy became insulated from our conversation. Then I laid Kathy’s letter on the table.
“Mom sent this to me…back in December. I didn’t read it until today.” I pointed at the return address. “Is Mom still living at her old apartment?”
“She is.”
“Then you probably know what she’s been up to over the past few years?”
“I do,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on her. You should probably know that I kicked her out of that apartment at one time. I try to be understanding, even when renters do a little jail time. She missed a lot of rent and I overlooked it. But I kicked her out when she got that second possession charge—the one that came out of that guardianship hearing.”
“You heard about that?” I said.
“I heard her side of it. I think I have a pretty good idea of what happened. The bottom line was that I had to evict her.” Bremer held his hands up in surrender. “I had no choice. I had to bring the unlawful detainer action. I put her stuff in a storage unit. Your mother was in a bad way, and I agreed not to toss her stuff if she managed to stay out of prison. But if she went to prison, well, I can’t pay to store her property for years.”
“And yet she managed to wiggle her way back into the apartment?”
“That’s not exactly how it went, Joe. When I told her that I put her stuff in storage, she told me to just burn it. She thought she was going to prison and nothing mattered.” Bremer looked at Jeremy, who was paying attention to his movie. “Joe, what happened at that hearing tore her up inside. She always came across as tough and sometimes just flat-out mean, but after that hearing, she was a whipped dog.”
“She brought it all on herself,” I said, my words sounding defensive, even to me.
“There’s no doubt about that,” he said. “What happened to your mother wasn’t your doing. In fact, I want to tell you how proud I am of you. I saw your mother heading for that cliff, but there’s nothing you can do if a person doesn’t want the help. That’s just how it is. But you took your brother on. That had to be tough, and I respect you for it.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Sometimes, Joe, it takes the world crashing in around you to realize that you’re not in control. Some addicts can’t see any way out until they hit that rock bottom. When I went to see your mother in jail that day, I think she found her rock bottom.”
Bremer reached up to his neck and lifted a silver chain up through his collar, a gold medallion hanging on the end of it. He unhooked the chain and handed it to me. The medallion, about the size of a half-dollar, had a triangle in the center with XXV stamped in the middle. Around the edge of the medallion was the inscription TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE. Along the three sides of the triangle were the words UNITY, SERVICE, RECOVERY.
“I hit rock bottom over twenty-five years ago,” he said. “It cost me my family, my job, everything.”
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“Not many people do. But I wanted you to understand that I’m talking to you as someone who’s been where you mother was.”
“Where she was?”
“Well, maybe that was a poor choice of words. Addiction is a struggle. Most people think that the only thing you have to do to stop being an addict is to stop drinking, or stop using. That’s not the case. If you stop drinking, you may be sober, but you’re just one bad day away from going back to the gutter. Recovery is a lifestyle. You have to change how you see the world and how you see yourself. That’s what your mom’s trying to do
right now.”
“So, she could go back to being a meth head at any moment? You see the problem, don’t you…Terry?” It felt strange addressing him by his first name. “I can’t let her…” I nodded toward Jeremy. “I can’t open that door again. Not unless I’m sure.”
“Joe, I could pick up a bottle of beer tomorrow, and I’d be back in the hole that I spent twenty-five years climbing out of. No one can give you a guarantee.”
“But I’m responsible for him.” I again nodded at Jeremy. “I can’t just forget everything and trust her. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I understand,” he said. “It takes time. It took me some time to trust her again. I didn’t just let her walk back into that apartment. In fact, I rented it to another family for two years. When your mom got out of jail, the court put her into a halfway house, then a sober house. They helped her get a job, and she’s really good at it.”
“What does she do?”
“She works for me.” Bremer smiled. “She’s my bookkeeper.”
“Bookkeeper? Like…she handles money?”
“She does. She collects rent, pays the bills. She does it all.”
“You trust her with cash?”
“Joe, when I hit my rock bottom, I was fired for stealing tools from my employer. I have a felony conviction for theft, so I know what it’s like trying to find a job when the world has you branded a certain way. I saw that your mother was trying. I gave her a chance, and she’s come a long way.”
“That’s why you let her back into her old apartment?”
“Not completely.” Terry had his fingers laced together on the table, and he looked me in the eye as he spoke, glancing away occasionally when he needed to draw upon a memory. “She worked for me, so she knew that the apartment had become vacant. When she asked me to let her move back in, I hesitated.”
“So you don’t fully trust her yet?”
“It wasn’t that. Not really. Going back to your old haunts can be a bad idea. Those places have ghosts—memories. Why take the risk? I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to move back into her old apartment, and I said so. But she told me that she needed to do it. She needed to face her past. Either she would be strong enough or she wouldn’t. Her ghosts are you boys. She can’t run from that by changing apartments. She had to face it head-on.”
“And…how did it go?”
“She’s been there a year and I’ve never seen her stronger.”
I tried to picture my mother as a strong person and couldn’t.
“Joe, I can’t tell you what to do. You have to make the decision on your own. But I gave your mother another chance, and I don’t regret it.”
“You don’t have an autistic brother to worry about though.”
“True enough,” he said. “But if you want to see for yourself, Kathy’s going to be at an AA meeting tonight in the basement of Grace Lutheran. Starts at seven thirty. As it happens, I’m the scheduled speaker this evening. It’s an open meeting, so you’re welcome to join.”
“She’ll be there?”
“Come see for yourself.”
Jeremy pulled his earbuds out and spoke for the first time since Bremer arrived. “I think I have to go to the bathroom,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, sliding out of the booth. I walked Jeremy most of the way to the men’s room and stood by to make sure he went through the correct door. Then I returned to the booth where Bremer was standing.
“I know it’s hard to make a leap this big,” he said. “There’s been a lot of history. Just keep in mind that people can change. I did.”
I nodded, not wanting to argue. Bremer held out his hand, and I shook it.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said. “And I meant what I said: I’m proud of you. I really am. If you decide to leave well enough alone, I’ll certainly understand. And this little meeting of ours…” He waved his finger above the booth where we’d been sitting. “Your mother will never know about it unless you tell her.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
Bremer gave me a tight-lipped smile, patted my shoulder, and walked away.
Chapter 29
I drove to a park on the north side of Austin to ponder the minefield—the many minefields—before me. Was I crazy for even considering going to the meeting? I’d fought so hard to get that woman out of our lives. And I had done it—I had won. Lila, Jeremy, and I were a family, just the three of us. I knew that I should just hit the road and make the two-hour trip back to Buckley, but every time I committed to leave Austin, I would hear Lila’s voice telling me that there’s no such thing as a lost cause.
Lila had read Kathy’s letter; she had talked to Kathy on the phone, and she believed that my mother had changed. Bremer believed it too. If they were wrong, I would wield one hell of an I-told-you-so. But in all honesty, I didn’t want to be right about this. I didn’t want my mother to be the mess I remembered. It seemed to me that the only way to put this tug-of-war to rest would be to go to that AA meeting.
At seven thirty I rolled up Sixth Avenue and parked across the street from Grace Lutheran Church, far enough away to be inconspicuous, but close enough that I could watch people drift in from the parking lot. I didn’t see Kathy, but I saw Terry Bremer. As he approached the church doors, he stopped and turned, scanning the assortment of parked cars until he spotted me in the distance. Then he smiled, nodded, and headed inside. A few more stragglers made their way in before the parking lot fell quiet.
I couldn’t leave Jeremy alone in the car, but taking him with me carried an enormous risk. How would he react if he saw his mother? I would need to find a place where we could eavesdrop and not be seen. And Jeremy would need to obey me without arguing or fighting. This undertaking had calamity written all over it, yet for better or worse, I had to go in.
I turned to Jeremy. “Remember how sometimes in the movies people go into churches, and they have to be very quiet?”
He nodded.
“You see that church over there?” I pointed.
He nodded again.
“We’re going to go in there for just a little bit, and I need you to be very quiet. Can you do that?”
“Maybe I can.”
“I mean no talking at all. You understand?”
“Maybe, I’ll be very quiet for you, Joe.”
“Great, and stay by my side, okay?”
He didn’t answer.
My watch read 7:38 as we made our way to the church. The meeting would be started already. With everyone in their seats, they might not notice a couple guys slipping in through the back. We stepped inside the entrance, and light, spilling from a doorway to my left, caught my attention. I could hear voices coming through that door, and I motioned for Jeremy to follow me. The doorway led to a set of stairs and a basement. From the top step, I could hear a woman—not Kathy—making announcements about an upcoming sober camping trip.
The stairs were open on the sides, except for the wooden spindles and handrails, and if we stayed on the top step we’d be out of view of the people below. I put my finger to my lips to tell Jeremy to keep quiet, and we sat down. From there we could hear the meeting as if we were in the same room.
As Jeremy took his seat beside me, my phone dinged a single chime. A text message. I forgot to put my phone on silent. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my phone out, silenced the ringer, and looked at the number. I didn’t recognize the caller.
“Tonight’s speaker,” the woman below said, “is someone we all know. He’s kind of the rock of this group.”
I read the text on my phone: R U the reporter?
I typed back: Yes. Who is this?
As I waited for the reply, I turned my attention again to the speaker. “So without further ado, I would like to introduce Terry B.” The smattering of claps suggested that there were around twenty people in the basement of the church.
I looked at my phone again. This is Moody. You want to talk?
I nearly dropped my phone. I quickly
typed: Yes. Call me. Then I switched my phone to vibrate, stood up, and motioned for Jeremy to follow me outside so I could take the call. Moody Lynch, the fugitive, was about to contact me. I wasn’t prepared. My head wasn’t in the right place, but I’d be damned if I was going to miss this opportunity. I motioned again, but Jeremy didn’t move.
My phone buzzed. Not over the phone. In person. Tomorrow. 1:00. I’ll text you where to go. Then, a few seconds later, another text: NO COPS!
From below, I could hear Terry Bremer’s voice. “Thank you. My name is Terry, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Terry.”
I sat back down beside Jeremy. Moody wants to meet in person. That wasn’t the plan. This was supposed to be a simple conversation over the phone. I typed my reply: Bad idea. Why would I meet with someone accused of murder? Call me.
Terry Bremer had one of those deep, soothing voices, the kind that should belong to an aging country singer. He said, “I know I’m supposed to be talking to you tonight, but I have a favor to ask everyone here—and one person in particular. I’ve heard Kathy N. tell her story before, but there are some new folks here who I think would be truly inspired by listening to her. So, if she’d be willing, I would love to have her take my place at the lectern. Would that be okay, Kathy?”
There was a hushed mumbling, and then I heard my mother speak. “I haven’t prepared anything. I’m not sure.”
I looked at Jeremy’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to hearing his mother’s voice for the first time in years. At first he looked confused, as if trying to place it. Then his eyes came to rest on some blemish on the wall ahead of us, his expression reminiscent of someone straining to hear a dying whisper.
Bremer said, “Kathy, I would be honored if you would tell your story in my place. Please?”
“I guess I could,” she said.
My phone buzzed again, and I looked at the message. I didn’t kill anyone. If you’re Angel’s brother, then you need to hear what I have to say. I love her and won’t harm you. Just no cops.
