The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

  Outside, cicadas hummed in the night air, and Davis walked beside Cooper without talking. A miracle in itself. A year ago, Cooper would’ve never imagined the obnoxious guy who’d tagged along with Angelo to Re-Claimed would become such a good friend.

  Headlights flashed as cars exited the parking lot, one by one. At the Jeep, they stopped, and Cooper gave Davis a little punch on the shoulder. “Thanks for the support, man. You’re going to make a great therapist.” He shrugged. “Already are, actually.”

  “Learned from the best.” Davis tossed a punch back toward Cooper. “Wanna stop in with me at Re-Claimed and have a cup of decaf or hot water or something equally tantalizing?”

  “I guess, since you’ll probably just keep pestering me if I don’t.”

  “Pestering you?” Davis’s chin jutted forward. “I only asked once, and you hit like a girl, by the way.”

  “Didn’t want to make you cry.” Cooper chuckled. “I’ll follow you.”

  “Always a stalker, aren’t you?” Davis gave a thumbs up and headed over to the white van belonging to Re-Claimed.

  The house was quiet when they arrived. Everyone had probably hit the sack. Between the carwash and the landscaping business the other guys worked for, they put in some long days to earn their keep. Kevin and Gabby set up a savings account for each one, so when they left, there would be enough for apartment deposits or car down payments when they needed them.

  Quietly, Davis led the way to the kitchen and started a pot of decaf. “I’m going to run upstairs and grab my Bible.”

  “Always a good plan.” Cooper shot him a smile and pocketed his keys. He stared at the dripping liquid that smelled so much better than it tasted. He’d paint tomorrow. Tonight, he’d read God’s Word, pray, and go on to bed. It was doubtful he’d sleep much, but he should try, rather than stay up all night spewing emotion onto a canvas.

  A minute later, Davis reappeared. An unusual dent carved hard between his brows. “Do you know any reason Angelo wouldn’t be here? I mean, I peeked in the living room, and he’s not there. It seems like everyone else has lights out.”

  The feeling of walking through cobwebs crept over Cooper. In that instant, he knew in his gut that Angelo had bailed. “Wake up Kevin. See if he wants us to look for him or let him go.”

  “Wow, that’s jacked up.” Davis’s posture wilted. “He was so close to finishing.”

  “Yep, and he’s still on the court-watch drug testing schedule for one more week. Kevin and his dad stuck their neck out getting him this chance.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Kevin stood in the doorway, tired eyes studying them. “What’s wrong?”

  “Angelo’s not in our room.” Davis’s voice was flat. “Bed’s still made, but I’m praying you know a great reason he’s not there.”

  Kevin drew a heavy sigh. “Better change the focus of your prayers, because he said he was going to bed right after you left. You two can go looking if you feel called to it, but I’ll have to report him missing since he’s on probation.”

  “Man, I had no idea he was struggling.” Davis put his hand on his head. “I wouldn’t have left him tonight.”

  Davis’s desperation jabbed at Cooper’s heart. It never got any easier when one of the clients—one of their friends—had a slipup...or worse. “Don’t let it shake your faith. This happens. We can go look for him. We can pray. But ultimately, when people crash and burn, they’re in God’s hands. He knows exactly where Angelo is right now.”

  Davis scoffed. “I wish God would tell me, because I feel like beating the mess outta that dude. Let’s go.”

  “We’ll take the Jeep.” Cooper pulled his keys back out of his pocket. This had already been a long, hard night, but now it felt like he was steering a sinking ship. Driving around his former drug-buying stomping grounds with another guy in recovery was the last thing he should be doing, but maybe they’d find Angelo before things got worse.

  Chapter 19

  THE HEAVY POUNDING of a car radio’s bass bumped through the open windows of Cooper’s Jeep. He and Davis had made their way around St. Simons, checking bars and houses where Angelo might’ve gone—from wealthy suppliers dressed in polos and khaki shorts and living in beach houses to disheveled dealers in trailer parks and abandoned lots. Without a vehicle, they’d hoped Angelo hadn’t traveled far, but someone could’ve picked him up.

  People knew about Cooper and what he was trying to do and for the most part stayed out of his way. They knew he’d been in their shoes. Addicts usually didn’t set out to be in the circumstances they were shackled to, and many—if they were honest with themselves—held out a tiny sliver of hope that, one day, they’d be free of the substance and shame enslaving them.

  With no luck finding any sign of Angelo, Cooper changed course to the neighboring port city of Brunswick, a larger metropolitan area with more opportunities to use and more ways to get lost in the shuffle. And Davis knew of a guy Angelo used to sell for.

  What were the chances they’d actually find him? Guide us, Lord.

  The dark, low-lying roads of the downtrodden neighborhood dredged up haunted memories of another life. A life Cooper had spent in a haze, numb and disoriented, trying to pretend he was someone else.

  Anyone but the loser he’d always heard and believed he was.

  He slowed the vehicle to a crawl. Young men walked the streets, hoodies or baseball caps over their heads. Cars were parked in yards and on the sidewalks. A lookout rode by on a bike, one hand at his waist, probably packing a gun. Danger lurked here where hope had fled, driven out by evil.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Davis pointed out the front windshield.

  “Yep. He’ll be letting them know strangers are on the way.” Praise God, Cooper and Davis were no longer regulars here, but that put them in a precarious situation.

  “Too bad your Jeep isn’t bullet proof. You could at least get a hard-top next time though.” Davis knocked on the canvas roof. “And for all that’s right in the world, wash the interior down with some Febreze.”

  “Dude, I’ve done that twice.”

  “You know what they say about the third time.” He held up one hand. “Stop here. That’s the place.”

  Through the streetlight’s beams, the blue house looked familiar. The yard was groomed, split by a sidewalk leading to the porch.

  Next door stood a crumbling, faded yellow house tagged with graffiti. The broken-down chain-link fence no longer guarded it. A ripped screen had long given up covering the front porch, and weeds rose shoulder-high.

  “I’ve been here.” Cooper breathed the words in a whisper. “How are they still in business?”

  “One dealer gets arrested, another takes their place. And the cops have their hands full.”

  “The house next door is abandoned. No one with any sense wants to live there for long.” Cooper’s stomach churned as the fuzzy details became clearer. “I was so desperate one night that I bought, waded through the jungle of a yard, and stumbled inside that rat trap.” The memory of the euphoria sent a spike to his pulse, and a wicked yearning swept over him. “To use.”

  Please, God, no.

  “Uh-uh,” Davis grunted. “Don’t go there.”

  God knew, he was trying not to go there, but a spiritual tug of war raged in his spirit. “It’s an inexplicable dark grip that absolutely enslaves every atom of your being, squeezing the life out of you.”

  “Slavery and torture from the belly of hell.” Davis nodded. “But now you offer others a way out of those shackles and into the light.”

  “Father God, bind up the powers of darkness in this place, and deliver us from evil, in the powerful name of Jesus.” Cooper spoke the prayer into the dense cloud falling over him.

  With an exaggerated swagger, a young man, late teens at most, in a white T and covered with tattoos, made his way toward the Jeep. Probably a runner checking out why he and Davis were on their turf. “You lost?”

  “Looking for a guy named Angelo, a
friend of ours.”

  “You the police?” His gaze shifted down the street as if expecting a raid any second.

  “Nope. Just want to help Angelo.”

  “My memory needs some help.” The kid wanted money.

  “I got twenty, but I need to talk to the guy inside. See if his memory’s good.”

  “You’re asking a lot now.”

  “Okay, forty, when you get us in.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tell him Cooper. Or Coop. Looking for my friend Angelo.” He pulled two twenties from his shirt pocket so the kid could see, then pushed them back in. “What’s your name?”

  The kid hesitated, studying Cooper. “They call me Z. Wait here.” He sauntered toward the house.

  A minute later, he returned. “Park over there.” Z pointed to the buckled sidewalk in front of the abandoned house.

  “All right.” He pulled the Jeep into the spot, then cut the ignition. “This could be the worst idea I’ve ever had.” Cooper mumbled the words as he got out.

  Chortling, Davis followed. “Nah, you’ve had a lot worse, and I’ve only known you a year.”

  “You sure you’re not cops?” Z led them up the porch, where the pungent aroma of marijuana hit full force.

  Cooper’s muscles coiled at the craving that washed through him. Take this from me, Lord.

  “I run a sober living house in St. Simons. Help people start over.” Cooper leveled a compassionate gaze on the young man. “I can give you the address.”

  The door cracked, and a muscled man stood half behind the door, half concealed. He looked over Cooper and then Davis. “Well, look at that.” He pulled the door the rest of the way and tucked a black nine millimeter in his belt. He shook one finger at Cooper, a gold and diamond pinky ring glittering in the overhead light. “Old Coop. I remember you from way back.” A sneer crossed the man’s face. “You look better than you used to.” He glanced at Davis. “He was one messed up freaky dude. And who are you, by the way?”

  “Davis. Served in the same unit with Angelo.”

  “Looking for someone named Angelo, huh? And y’all thought you’d just show up at Lewis’s house? Am I Google?” He spewed a few profanities. “What if I just show up at your house uninvited?”

  Cooper held up one hand. “Got an open door for anyone trying to get clean.”

  “You saying I’m dirty?”

  The situation was going nowhere fast. “We’re just looking for our friend. Worried about him.”

  “Maybe you really want to hang out. Get something to take the edge off.” He ran his large fingers across his chin, his flat beige eyes mocking. “I can see it in your face, you want to, old Coop.”

  A cold sweat broke out on Cooper’s forehead. Addiction’s fangs struck at him. It was as if the devil himself were in the room taunting him, luring him.

  Chapter 20

  “IN THE NAME OF JESUS, we are freed from this temptation. Get behind us, Satan. Amen.” Davis’s voice rang out loud and strong.

  “What?” Lewis’s head whipped toward Davis. “You’re trippin’.” He turned back to Cooper, eyes wide. “Is he for real?”

  “He’s been that way since God got a hold of him.” Cooper’s trance temporarily broken, he struggled to tamp down the urge to run for his life and another urge to laugh at the boldness. Only Davis—with God’s help—could put that kind of fear into this man.

  “We’re done here.” Lewis’s face darkened, and his fingers fell to his gun.

  “Have you seen Angelo?” Cooper pressed. They hadn’t come this far to give up now.

  “He ain’t here. And don’t come back, yo.” Lewis’s spine straightened, and his gaze narrowed. “I won’t be so hospitable.”

  SEARCHING FOR ANGELO had been a waste of gas and time. The only thing they’d confirmed was that there were places where drugs were still being sold. That was no surprise and not something he or Davis wanted or needed to dwell on.

  They’d come home unscathed, praise God, and had given Kevin the rundown, so he could alert his father. Mr. Barnes had been the sheriff for eight years. He was a fierce giant of a man with an equally fierce and giant heart for the lost. The talks and prayers he’d had at the jail with Cooper after the accident had convinced him that God still loved him. And Jesus’s sacrifice was powerful enough to cleanse any and all sins, no matter how many or how big. Those talks and prayers had led Cooper to Christ, and then to Kevin and Gabriella’s newly founded sober living houses.

  The men of Re-Claimed gathered around the coffee pot after breakfast, waiting for an update. Word had spread quickly about the previous night’s escapades. Cooper prayed this letdown didn’t ripple out and become a tidal wave of residents jumping ship.

  Kevin clanged a spoon on his ceramic cup to get their attention. “You all heard Angelo took off. The enemy will use his actions to shake our determination, to cause fear, to tempt us to lose our courage to stay the course. But courage is only fear that has said its prayers. And we are going to pray.”

  “Amen,” Davis interjected.

  “I’ve heard that the Bible says, ‘Do not fear,’ three hundred and sixty-six times.” Kevin shoved up one finger in an exaggerated wave. “That’s one for every day plus leap year. Grasp onto that. James 4:7 says, ‘Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’ We will not be beaten. God is a shield before us, behind us, above and below. He is your bulletproof vest. Prayer isn’t your Hail Mary pass at the last minute. Use that shield every day, all day.” He motioned toward Davis.

  Lifting his arms, Davis nodded. “Let’s circle up.”

  During the prayer, each man shared his heart and concerns. When they finished, Davis sent them to their rooms to retrieve their Bibles.

  With a groan, Davis refilled his coffee cup. “How about I get a little me-time, like shut in a closet eating Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?”

  Chuckling, Cooper reeled in his unsteady emotions. “You deserve a break, bro. Right after church.”

  The suddenness of his triggers still rattled Cooper. He’d slept on the couch here, just because he didn’t fully trust himself alone in the loft. A fact that frustrated him to no end. Going to worship was what he needed.

  Before the currents swept him out again.

  “GOOD MORNING, LADIES.” Gabby waltzed into the hospital room, a huge grin lighting her face. She wore a purple dress and black pumps. The nurses and techs had already come, gone, and were preparing release papers for Star. People were sure up early today.

  Though drained from lack of sleep, Rivers managed to conjure a smile. “Don’t you look nice? Where ya headed?”

  “I came to pick up Star and invite you to church.”

  It was Sunday? Rivers stared at the phone in her lap for confirmation.

  A moan came from Star. “I agreed to go to the sober living house, but you aren’t planning to drag me to church today, are you?”

  “Not today. I have someone who can stay with you at the house, but you should be well enough soon.” Gabby leaned over and caressed Star’s forehead.

  “Church isn’t really for me.” Star’s lips pinched.

  “You are a daughter of the King, reclaimed and dearly loved. You are exactly who the church is for, same as me.”

  “You’re too much.” Though Star shook her head, her countenance wasn’t nearly as harsh when she looked at Gabby as when her gaze turned to Rivers.

  “Got a lot of love in here.” Gabby patted a hand over her heart. “And I’m not selling it, I’m giving it away. Everything for my King.” She lifted a gym bag. “Got you some clothes to wear home.”

  “Home?” Star mumbled something under her breath and took the offering. “I need someone to get my stuff from where we were staying then. My IDs are in my backpack.”

  “My brother, Kevin, will handle that today.”

  Rivers stood, eager to escape the room where she was clearly not wanted. “I guess I’ll head out.”

  “I kn
ow you’re tired, but the late service at the Island Church starts at eleven, and that’s the one Re-Claimed residents attend.”

  She normally didn’t miss church in Memphis, but lying on a real bed for a while sounded especially enticing right now.

  “You have time for a nap, and I bet Coop could pick you up if you’re afraid you might get lost.”

  He must’ve told Gabby about the directional impairment. What else had he told his friends?

  Star observed the interchange with narrow eyes, as if judging every move Rivers made. Almost like a pair of siblings she’d counseled, each dying to find the other doing something wrong. What was with that? The girl really had it out for her.

  Rivers pinched the bridge of her nose and then wiped the sleepiness from her eyes. “If you send me the address, I’ll find it and meet you there.” The less she relied on Cooper, the better.

  BACK AT THE COTTAGE, Rivers threw herself onto the bed. She had two hours to rest, change, and find the church, but the journal she’d placed on the night stand captured her attention. Stella had occupied her thoughts and dreams all night. Rivers reached for the book.

  March 1959

  I’ve been home from the hospital for a week. I’m finally able to hold Brooklyn and Pearl. The pneumonia almost killed me, but I guess God thought my sweet girls still needed their momma. Betty has been taking care of all of us. At last, Frank came home. He’s sober. I don’t know how this miracle occurred, but I’m so thankful. The girls adore him, and he them. He’s a completely different person when he’s not drinking. If I had to almost die to get to this point, then it was worth it. I just pray things stay this way.

  The journal entries went on but were sparse. Having twins likely kept Stella busy, but she’d recounted their milestones—their first teeth, crawling, walking, their first words both being “Daddy.” She recorded a few bad storms blowing in on the Atlantic and some sunny days playing with the children. Normal days. It seemed she’d had a few good years.