The thought of men, of marriage, even dating, was new. She’d been too busy building her career and raising her sons to date. Now starting anything up seemed pointless since she and the boys would be moving cross-country.
Her protectiveness toward the boys made her wonder why could the men in their lives not see how great the boys were? Although, she had to admit, Luke had been stellar with them yesterday.
“Mommy, when are we leaving?” Josh came into her room and hopped on her bed, his legs kicking out one at a time, because of course impossible to ever be completely still, unless he slept. Both boys were that way. All kids, really. Now that she stayed home with them, she saw their friends more often, and she noted that little boys tended to be in constant motion.
Chloe checked the clock next to her bed.
“In about an hour.”
“Do you like Luke?”
Chloe turned away from her wardrobe. The shirt she wore worked just fine. She would kill her mother if she tried in any way to involve the boys in “the plan.”
“I do. We’re friends like you and Stephen.”
“But Luke’s a boy and you’re a girl. When boys and girls get big, they get married and go on dates.”
Chloe laughed. “Usually the other way around.”
Intuitive Josh. She predicted this wasn’t coming from her mother, who loved the boys enough not to involve them in her crazy schemes if there was any chance on earth they’d be hurt.
“Sometimes. But sometimes it’s like you and Emma.”
Josh made a face. “I don’t play with girls anymore.”
“But you used to. Emma was your best friend. And in a few years, you’ll have more girls who are friends.”
“Will not!” Josh jumped down off the bed and raced off, the mere thought of a female friend enough to induce a nightmare frenzy.
****
Chloe, Luke, and the boys went to the game in Luke’s big truck. He’d washed it that morning, just for the occasion, which touched Chloe. The extended back seat was as roomy as a sedan. From the rear, both boys kept up a steady stream of conversation.
“Luke, do you have one of those riding lawnmowers?”
“I do.”
“Where is it?”
“At home. In my box trailer.”
“What’s a box trailer?”
“Like that.” Luke pointed to a trailer without windows hitched to a truck. It did look kind of like a box.
“Do you sleep in there?”
Chloe smiled. Nice for someone else to answer the questions for a change.
“Nope. I sleep in a bed in my house, just like you do.”
“Oh.”
They’d already been through the favorite player question. Josh liked the only Tiger chosen for the All-Stars so far. Tommy liked Don-O. Josh teased that Tommy hadn’t known any of the players’ names until Luke said he favored Don. Then all Tommy could say was Don-O, Don-O, Don-O.
Chloe, determined to show her boys that men and women could be just friends, to model behavior for them that would ensure they understood that Luke was not a substitute for their dad, resisted the joy that wanted to break through. Except she enjoyed his company as much as the boys did. She started to add up how long it had been since she’d had sex. So long ago, she couldn’t remember. All this free time might be messing with her mind. Thinking about sex had nothing to do with Luke. Although he was sexy.
On arrival at the ballpark, the boys wanted to try the batting cages before they even found their seats. They had time before the game started because the kids had been so antsy at home, Luke and Chloe had decided to leave early.
There was plenty to do at the stadium besides watch baseball. While Luke supervised the batting cages, Chloe went to find a bathroom. On her way she kept seeing people with these neon-colored frozen drinks. The skinny glass had to be at least six inches long. Some were blue, others were a combination of colors. Since Luke drove, she’d treat herself to one. She probably should have worn a short sleeved top, because the day was warmer than she’d expected, and an icy-cold girly drink would taste good.
She stood in a short line and noticed the carousel with tigers instead of horses. Cute. They had a lot of things here at the park for kids.
“Mom, can we ride on the baseball?” Josh and Tommy had found her in line.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a ride.”
“Can I have that cup after you’re done?”
She could already tell that Tommy would insist on drinking his milk out of the funny shaped glass for the entire summer.
As she sipped her cocktail, yummy but light on the alcohol, they walked around the stadium, checking out the souvenirs, buying a program and a beer for Luke, and foam Tiger paws for the boys.
Tommy and Josh, still too excited to eat or drink anything, begged to go on the baseball Ferris wheel, so the four of them got inside one of the giant baseballs and off they went. They could see the entire Detroit skyline, including the river and into Canada, from their perch.
“That’s Windsor,” Chloe told Luke. “Drinking age nineteen.”
“Sounds like Detroit kids celebrate turning nineteen over there,” Luke said.
“Yep.”
“Including you?”
“Yep.”
“Canada’s a whole ’nother country,” Josh said.
Eventually, they even watched the game. Both boys wanted to sit next to Luke, and when they claimed their seats, Chloe realized she’d been expecting him to sit next to her. Amid the cacophony of vendors calling “Peanuts! Popcorn! Ice Cream!” fans cheering a run batted in, and the boys peppering Luke with questions, a secret unfolded itself inside Chloe. She could really be serious about Luke. She could see a future with him, all of them as a family. Everything she wanted in the whole wide world was right here in the ball park. The Tigers’ victory swept the crowd into a roaring final wave, and soon they were on their way home.
“What a great day,” Luke said.
“The best day ever,” Tommy agreed.
“I love baseball,” Josh enthused.
And I am falling in love with Luke, Chloe thought, before she could stop the progress of emotion rising up in her.
****
Later that night, after the boys had their bath and a snack before bed, after she’d read half a story before Tommy sagged and softly snored on her shoulder, after Josh closed his eyes and curled into his favorite sleeping position, she wandered into the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich and noticed Luke in the garage, trying to catch up, no doubt, on work he’d let slide today. She tried to talk herself out of the crazy idea that she’d fallen in love with him. How could she love him? She hardly knew him!
As soon as she opened the fridge, Luke came in from the garage. She admired how hard he worked.
“Want a sandwich?” she asked.
“Sure.” He reached for a beer from the back of the bottom shelf of the fridge while she had the door open.
“Mustard or mayo?”
“Can I have both?”
“Of course. You were great with the boys today. Thanks.” She tried to keep her voice as casual as possible when his fingers brushed hers as she handed him the beer he’d been reaching for.
“I love it. They made me feel a like a kid again.”
“Especially in that baseball-shaped Ferris wheel.”
He rolled his eyes. “You hid your boredom pretty well.” If he only knew. She slid bologna onto bread, then slapped the sandwiches together, finally setting them on the table with a flourish worthy of bologna on squishy white bread.
“I don’t really get bored when I’m with them. If they’re having fun, it’s enough for me. It’s what I want. It’s why I go camping and fishing and, now, to a baseball game.”
“You fish?”
She nodded. “I bait the hooks. And then unhook the poor guys and throw them back in.”
“You never cook your catch?”
“I draw the line at gutting and s
kinning.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Spence used to do that, but now, if the boys catch anything, which is not all that often, we throw it back.”
“That’s no fun.”
“It’s some fun. Maybe not to you, but they seem to like it okay.” Wow. She must be tired. He hadn’t called her no fun, just the way she fished. She mentally shook her head. She was an idiot.
They didn’t say anything as they finished their sandwiches. Hanging out with Luke, being “friends” was not easy. Especially when his hungry eyes said she was dessert. “I’m gonna hit the sack,” she said.
“Don’t get lonely,” he said.
It took every bit of her courage to keep walking, to not turn around and sit herself down on his lap and kiss him dizzy.
Chapter Seven
Bettina always loved having the boys over, and she felt bad about dropping them off at their mom’s in such a hurry again, but Spence had some kind of reaction to his new medication. She wanted to take him to the emergency room, but he refused to go in.
“I just need to sleep,” he slurred.
She was so tired, too, that she finally turned the car around and they headed home to bed. In the middle of the afternoon.
The next morning, Bettina’s first morning of maternity leave, did not go well. She’d slept maybe four or five fitful hours. Still so tired. But she dressed and combed her hair. One good thing about Spence being out of work, they could have coffee together. Except no caffeine for her for the duration of her pregnancy. Decaf tea, then. Maybe she’d speak to Spence about giving his sponsor a call. He claimed that he could handle a few beers. He had a moderation program. But Bettina had read his prescription bottles, and they all said not to mix with alcohol. Now that she was home, everything would go back to normal.
Spence didn’t hear her come into the room. His head full of greasy hair bent over the kitchen table snorting lines of something white with a tiny glass tube.
“What…” She couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come. And the fear she’d managed to hold back while at work hit her like a hurricane. Spence’s addiction was loads worse than she’d thought.
Spence’s eyes darted up. He pinched his nose and inhaled deeply. His gaze rocketed from the table to her and back again. “Oh hon,” he said, “it’s not what you think.” He got up and poured her a coffee and grabbed a beer from the fridge for himself.
She didn’t bother telling him she couldn’t have caffeine. Clearly he would not hear her. She glanced at the clock. 9 a.m. Probably even a little earlier. He popped the top on his bottle and drank from it, nothing amiss at all.
He sat, so she did too. Too sad to cry, and she didn’t think of herself as a weak woman. As a school principal, she had stood up to male teachers and parents, and a few female bullies as well. But when it came to Spence, her precious love, she had been weak. She felt it now, all energy draining from her. Her heart skidding and skipping. Would it just stop? No. Because she wouldn’t let it.
“Just the new meds.” Spence slurred the words. “Taking it out of the capsule and snorting it makes it work faster. But this is a pill, so I had to crush it between two spoons to stop the panic attack.”
Okay, clearly he was in denial. As had been she.
She couldn’t look at him. Instead she inventoried the things on their table. The tube. A few bottles of pills. Two spoons. The cup of untouched coffee Spence had set in front of her.
He didn’t put his beer on the table. He held it and took steady sips until he finished it off. His eyes were closed, and he had a stupid grin on his face. She wanted to slap it off.
Chloe moving the boys to Seattle. Spence had not taken that well. Things had gotten worse, not better, when he saw a doctor to deal with his depression over the boys moving.
Bettina’s sadness went deep under the skin. Soon they’d have their own child. They had planned it: he the stay-at-home dad, taking care of the baby and working on polishing his Realtor skills as the economy slowly began to rebound.
The baby kicked. As if telling Bettina to get in gear. Handle this problem. Spence tried to reach the fridge without getting out of his chair and fell to the floor. He laughed. Tempting to blame Spence’s relapse on Chloe, but the only person to blame was the guy doing the drugging. He did not have to say yes to Chloe. Bettina still wasn’t sure why he had. He hadn’t consulted her or talked it over with her. One day, it just happened. Spence’s soft snores lifted to her ears. At least he wasn’t dead.
She got out of her chair, which in her condition took a minute or two. Then she went into Spence’s “office” where he “worked.” He hadn’t bothered to hide his stash. She found it in the first drawer she opened.
He claimed to have a prescription for medical marijuana, but the pint jar came from her summer strawberry jam making. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d be making any jam this summer. She kept to her inventory. Two bags of loose pills, many pills, maybe fifty in each bag, with no prescription label attached. Six bottles, some for sleep, some for anxiety, one for ADHD. Also two more prescriptions, from two different doctors, filled at two different drugstores, for pain. What pain? She continued to search and came up with a roach clip topped with a dice for ease of handling, a pipe he liked to smoke his weed in, and rolling papers.
She knew about some of these drugs. She knew about one doctor. There were drugs he said had made him sick so he had to switch to another. However, the pill bottles told a different story. He still filled both prescriptions. For the first time, she knew why Chloe had left Spence. He’d been to rehab, gotten clean, and Chloe had left him anyway. It hadn’t made sense to Bettina until now. Now she understood that Spence might have had more than one rehab and relapse experience. She went back down to check on him. Still out cold. Now what?
The prescriptions had been from four different doctors and five different drug stores. They were all legal, as far as she knew. Wasn’t it illegal to go to lots of doctors to obtain lots of drugs? Why hadn’t she educated herself beyond the usual school in-service programs for faculty and staff held once every few years? She’d gone to these in-services. About her job, she listened. Just had not connected any of it to her personal life.
No one had mentioned crushing pills with spoons. Spoons were for cooking heroin. Glass pipes were for smoking crack. She checked the back of the spoons. No dark smudging. Okay. Right. He’d probably told her the truth about crushing the tablets with two spoons. Capsules made it that much easier. Should she call these doctors? And if she did, would Spence go to jail? Would her baby be born with daddy in prison?
Her anger slipped out from where she usually kept it tucked inside. She went back downstairs to the kitchen and kicked Spence’s bare foot. She told herself she was trying to rouse him. He snored louder, didn’t move. She filled her largest soup pot with cold water, and almost threw it on him, but then reconsidered. She’d be the one cleaning it up. She reached for her phone and pressed speed dial.
“Oh hon, I’m so sorry,” Chloe said after Bettina had told her the entire story.
“Thank you, but what should I do?”
Chloe didn’t say anything, but Bettina could hear her breathing on the line. “Is that an unfair question? Maybe, can I ask, what did you do?”
“I never turned him in. He went willingly.”
“How many times?”
“Just twice. Once before Josh was born. And then right before I left him. I said if he went to rehab I’d stay, but I lied.”
“So what set him off this time? Our baby? Your move?”
“Don’t.” Chloe kept her voice low. “It’s not us; it’s him. Nothing you can do or say or be will stop him if he chooses to get high, go off program. Is he attending meetings?”
“I’m not sure.” Bettina doubted he’d gone to the moderation group any time lately. Who goes on a modification plan and has a beer first thing in the morning? “He’s doing this moderation plan he found online. Where they have this elaborate set up: no drinking two days in a row, never
more than two drinks per day, never drink alone.”
“Was he abiding by the plan?” Disbelief clear in Chloe’s tone.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I just started maternity leave today!”
“Oh, Bettina. I’m really sorry. I put faith in rehab to take this time. I thought maybe you were the one who could turn him around.”
“But you just said. It’s not me. It’s not you. It’s not anything we do or don’t do. He decides to drink. And drug.”
They were silent a beat.
“He still out?”
Bettina kicked his foot, a little harder this time. He rolled over. Her foot so close to his face. She had to work hard to hold herself back from bashing his nose in with it. “Yeah.”
“Do you have his sponsor’s phone number?”
“No. They no longer have a relationship. Because Spence drinks.”
“Right.”
“Do you know if it’s illegal to drug shop? Because he has all those doctors?”
“No. I really don’t. Google it.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Bettina thought about calling 9-1-1. What would she say? Something like “My husband is unconscious.”
And they’d ask “Is he breathing?”
Then she’d have to admit he was snoring. Can someone who has overdosed snore?
When Bettina searched online for “medication from different doctors” she found an article about “pill shopping” and it fit close enough to Spence’s case. The person buying the pills got charged with a misdemeanor. Surely, if she turned him in, a judge would have mercy on a man with a wife about to give birth to their first child? But maybe not. She was so scared, she didn’t know what to do. She had nobody to ask without jeopardizing her husband’s freedom.
The next question Bettina asked herself, sitting with her fingers over the keyboard, is would six weeks be long enough? The answer was no. Spence had a bad relapse problem. So he’d likely miss the baby’s first weeks at home, too. Then she thought about leaving a six-week-old baby with an addict. Even an addict in recovery.
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