Stand By Your Man

by Susan Fox

Dave eyed her skeptically. “You’re not matchmaking?”

  Was she? Two lonely souls who didn’t believe they’d ever have another chance at love? Now that she’d found Jamal, she wanted everyone she cared about to be happy. With her and Jamal, things had moved fast. Not as fast as with her mom and dad, but really fast. It was partly due to the strength of their attraction but also because they were both ready to move to the next stage in their lives, even if Jamal hadn’t initially recognized it.

  If Dave and Sally ever fell for each other, it would happen with baby steps. Pressure from outside wouldn’t help. “I’m not matchmaking. She could use some help and you could find a tactful way of getting it for her. And I think the two of you might enjoy each other’s company.” And then she changed the subject.

  When Jamal climbed off his bike and walked to her front door, his expression was grim and each step looked forced, as if he’d rather be anywhere other than there.

  Karen’s heart clunked in her chest. Oh God, what had gone wrong? Had he found out that he couldn’t get the job in Williams Lake? Or had he changed his mind about her? About them? About that basketball hoop?

  She squared her shoulders and firmed her jaw as she stepped back from the door so he could enter. Needing to know, and know now, she said, “Are you breaking up with me?”

  His lips pressed tight together, his Adam’s apple rippled, but he didn’t answer.

  He was, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. What had she done? What had gone wrong? And why, why had she let herself hope, let herself care?

  When he did speak, his voice wasn’t rich molasses this time; it sounded rusty and painful. “More likely you’re going to break up with me.”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?” On legs that had gone rubbery, she led the way into the living room and sat down, not on the couch but in one of the two chairs.

  He paced over to the window. Facing it rather than her, he said, “I’m an alcoholic.”

  Slowly, those words sank in. Oh shit. Karen’s lungs burned and she realized she’d forgotten to breathe. She sucked in air, shallow breaths through her mouth. Finally able to speak, though it was to his back rather than to his face, she said accusingly, “You said you had alcohol intolerance.”

  “Yeah.” He turned slowly but didn’t come toward her. “I’ve been sober for two years. I’m not gonna drink again.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?” If that was true, why had he lied to her?

  “Yeah, you are.” He dragged a hand through his hair with fingers that shook. “I have a really good reason for staying sober.” He swallowed. Swallowed again.

  Her? Did he mean their relationship was the good reason? “What reason?” she asked, wanting to trust him but feeling betrayed

  Slowly, with obvious pain, he said, “The drinking got out of hand. When I was undercover a couple of years ago, I screwed up.”

  Her mouth opened. But he was a good cop. He wouldn’t drink on the job. Would he?

  “Jake took a bullet because of it.” He swallowed again and stared at her, his usual larger-than-life vibe vanquished.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  “After that, I got sober. And I’ll stay sober.”

  Heart racing so fast she could barely breathe, she managed to say, “I’m supposed to trust you? After you lied to me?”

  “I didn’t exactly lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

  A quick surge of anger brought her to her feet. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You deceived me. It was a lie by omission. And now you won’t even acknowledge it. Alcoholics are deceptive, Jamal. You say you’re sober, yet you’re still being deceptive.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “Do what? Drink? Lie? Deceive me?” He wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be. She took a breath and tried to think. Maybe he was strong enough to become sober and stay sober, which earned her respect, but she needed a man she could trust. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  He rolled his shoulders in an awkward shrug. “I hate that part of myself. Hate how I let alcohol get the best of me, how I endangered Jake’s life. I didn’t want you to know about that part of me.”

  Okay, she could kind of understand all of that, but . . . “What were you thinking? Did you never intend to tell me?”

  “Uh . . .”

  He hadn’t. “Why did you change your mind?”

  “Jake. He made me see that you can’t base a relationship on a—” He broke off.

  “Lie,” she finished.

  This time, he didn’t protest that he hadn’t really lied.

  Now it was her turn to pace across the room as she worked this through. “You told the RCMP, right?” Deceiving her was bad enough; concealing something so crucial from his employer would be unconscionable.

  He shook his head. “Jake’s the only person who knows. Well, and Brooke knows I’m an alcoholic, because she figured it out.”

  “No, Jamal.” She shook her head, long hair flying every which way. “That’s not acceptable. The RCMP has progressive policies. You’re not going to be fired or demoted as long as you stay sober, go to your A.A. meetings, and—” Something in his face brought her to a stop. “You don’t go to meetings?”

  “I’ve gone to some. Lots in the beginning. But I don’t need to. Do you know those Twelve Steps? It’s all preachy stuff about God.”

  “If you’re not religious, you don’t have to take it literally.”

  He groaned. “Shit, Karen, alcoholics can stay sober without A.A.”

  “I know that.” She went to stand in front of him, staring up into his face. “But did you get sober without A.A.?”

  “Uh, well, no, but I could have. I was just in a bad place back then and—”

  Interrupting what sounded like rationalizing, she asked, “How about now? When you hold a beer, is it easy to put it down or do you feel a strong craving to drink?”

  His guilty expression told her the answer.

  “It’s only been two years, Jamal. Is it getting easier or is it still really hard? Do you have any kind of support? Your sponsor?”

  “I don’t need a sponsor.” He sounded angry now. “I don’t need anyone. I can do this on my own.”

  “Listen to yourself. Most recovering alcoholics realize they need help and are grateful for it. But not Jamal. Oh no, he still has to be the independent tough guy.” She raised her hands to cover her face. How could she have so misjudged him? How could she have trusted him? She almost never cried, but now tears threatened. Forcing them back, she struggled for control.

  When she found it, she lowered her hands and again gazed into his face. “You could be a man to admire. A man who conquered alcoholism and won that battle every day.”

  “I am that man,” he protested.

  “Today. But maybe you’re going to slip because you’re too arrogant to understand that you need help staying sober. If you don’t relate to A.A., then find some other kind of support group or person. Jamal, if you really are a man to admire, then stop hiding and be proud. Acknowledge who you are.”

  His mouth was a grim line.

  “Look at Brooke,” Karen said. “She’s a recovering alcoholic, she has bipolar disorder, and she did some awful things in her past. Things that hurt her son, that made him leave town, leave her, for ten whole years. Now, every day, she faces the community where she was once the town drunk. She shows other people that it’s possible to overcome your problems and redeem yourself.”

  Again, tears burned behind her eyes. She battled her emotions until she could speak without a quaver in her voice. “I respect and admire Brooke. As for you, Jamal . . .” She shook her head, sad and confused. “I don’t know what I think. What I feel. I don’t even know you.”

  His face was stony. His eyes closed for a long moment. When he opened them, they were as black and cold as death. “You once told me that people say you can be too judgmental. Maybe you ought to listen to them.”

&n
bsp; When he strode toward the door, her body ached with the desire to run after him. Her throat burned with the need to call out. But what could she say?

  She’d been well on her way to falling in love with the man she’d believed Jamal to be. But he wasn’t that man, and the dreams they’d shared would never come true.

  The only reason Karen answered the phone later that afternoon was because she was acting commander. It wasn’t the detachment, though. Thank God, because she’d have hated to go out on a call with her face red and swollen from crying.

  Brooke’s voice said cautiously, “Hi, Karen. How are you?”

  That tone told her something was up. “Why do you ask?” Her voice was hoarse and croaky.

  A sigh, then, “Jake had a fight with Jamal this week. I wondered if Jamal came to see you this weekend.”

  “Came this afternoon and left shortly thereafter,” she said bitterly.

  “Oh, Karen, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk?”

  That sounded awfully appealing. But . . . “Jake’s there, isn’t he?”

  “No. He had to work this weekend. Want to come over? Or I could come to you.”

  This impersonal half-duplex, the place where she and Jamal had broken up, versus Brooke’s cozy home? “I’ll be right over.”

  Karen splashed cold water on her face until she looked semipresentable, yanked her hair into a ponytail, and made the fifteen-minute drive to her friend’s.

  Brooke greeted her with a warm hug, then sat her down on the porch on a slatted-wood couch with green-and-white-striped cushions. “Tea or beer?”

  “Tea, please.” In her state, alcohol would hit her too hard. And she did have to drive home eventually.

  When Brooke went inside, her marmalade cat came outside, jumped onto the couch, and made his way onto Karen’s lap. Stroking Sunny soothed her, as did the sound of Kenny Rogers singing “The Gambler” from somewhere inside the house. Brooke too was a CXNG fan.

  A few minutes later, her hostess came back with a tray. On it were a teapot, two mugs, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, obviously homemade. She handed a mug to Karen. “Peach-ginger. It’s soothing. Now tell me everything.” She curled up in a cushioned rattan chair and picked up her own mug. Her engagement ring, a vibrant opal surrounded by tiny diamonds, sparked fire as she moved her hand.

  How serene she looked. Brooke’s happiness was hard won, but still Karen felt a little envious. She sighed and dove straight in. “You know Jamal’s an alcoholic.”

  Brooke nodded. “He hadn’t told you, had he? I guessed that, and I . . . Well, it was bothering me, so I mentioned it to Jake on the phone. I gather he went roaring over and blasted Jamal. I didn’t mean to interfere, but—”

  “No.” Karen held up a hand. “You were looking out for me.” And so was Jake. They were people she really could trust. “Jamal told me today. Before that . . .” And now she started at the beginning. Once she got going, there was a sense of release in letting the words spill free: initial attraction, meals shared, dreams spun. As she spoke, she stroked Sunny, sipped tea, and nibbled a couple of cookies.

  Brooke nodded, commented occasionally, refilled their tea mugs, and reached out to touch Karen’s arm a couple of times.

  Karen finished with a summary of Jamal’s abbreviated visit today, leaving out only what he’d said about drinking on the job and Jake getting shot as a result. She guessed Jake would have kept Jamal’s secret.

  How good it felt to let down her hair and share her emotions. Or at least it felt good until Brooke said, “Jamal called you judgmental? Well, he was obviously angry, but I do think there’s a grain of truth in that.”

  “Seriously?” So much for having a friend who’d take her side.

  “Karen, a few minutes ago, you said you had thought Jamal was the perfect man. But those words don’t go together. He is a man, which means he’s human, which means he’s imperfect, just like the rest of us.”

  She huffed impatiently. “Of course no one’s perfect. But I don’t see how I could ever trust him again.”

  Brooke reflected, then said, “When Jamal deceived you, was it to hurt you or to protect himself?”

  “Huh?” And what difference did it make?

  The blonde put down her mug and leaned forward, her blue-green eyes peering intently at Karen. “You told me his background. This is a man who has always, since infancy, had to protect himself because no one else in his life was doing it.”

  “That’s true. But that doesn’t excuse what he did.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were Sunny’s purring and the music on the radio. Which, Karen now realized, was Tammy Wynette’s “Stand by Your Man,” a song that had been playing the night she and Jamal made dinner in her kitchen.

  Brooke must have been listening too, because she said, “Like the song says, Jamal is just a man. Not a superhero. He’s a man who has survived by being strong, tough, independent. In control. You don’t know what alcoholism is like, Karen. You can’t even imagine. You don’t have control; this horrible craving takes over and it makes you do terrible things. I’m sure Jamal hates that part of himself. He wants to wish it away, to not acknowledge it. He wants to believe he’s conquered it and can put it behind him.”

  “You can’t do that with alcoholism.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I thought of leaving Caribou Crossing when I realized I was an alcoholic and was diagnosed as bipolar.”

  “Why didn’t you? Wouldn’t it have been easier?”

  Brooke shook her head. “My sponsor helped me see that it could be a kind of denial. Running away. Pretending that if I got a fresh start somewhere else, I’d be a different person. If I was going to get sober and stay sober, better to do it in a place where I’d be accountable.”

  “That sounds wise.”

  “I think Jamal has his own form of denial. And it does take time to learn the lessons.” A smile bloomed. “I’ve hit five years sober now.”

  “Brooke, that’s wonderful.” For a moment, Karen forgot her own misery. She raised her mug in a toast. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It hasn’t been an easy five years, but each year—each month, week, day—gets easier. Jamal’s only at two years. He still has some learning to do.”

  Karen nodded firmly. “He has to learn to acknowledge who he is, including the weak parts. And he has to realize that he needs support to stay sober.”

  “Yes. And the people who care about him need to respect his strength rather than judge him for his weakness.”

  Karen bit her lip. “I respect that he’s sober, but I don’t respect that he won’t admit he needs help.” Nor did she respect his refusal to tell the RCMP that he was an alcoholic.

  “So you want a man who’s as close to perfect as possible, who’s dealt with all his flaws and basically stopped learning and growing? A man who doesn’t need any help from you?”

  Her mouth opened but she couldn’t answer. Was that true?

  “Karen, you need to really examine your feelings. All these things you told me about Jamal, the physical attraction and great sex, these dreams you’re sharing with your ‘I see the future’ game, well . . .”

  Brooke frowned and pressed her lips together, worrying them against each other. “Is it all just new and exciting for both of you, spinning fairy tales? Each of you has a vision of the future, and wow, suddenly you meet someone who shares the vision, and it just happens you’re both cops so you understand the demands of each other’s work, and it also happens that the sex is amazing.”

  “I’m not quite following.”

  “Is it an endorphin high, like teenagers who think they’ve met that one Mr. or Ms. Right and they’re going to live happily ever after? That’s how I was with my ex, but it wasn’t real. I don’t think I ever truly loved Mo, and he didn’t love me. Being with Jake, that’s taught me what love really means.”

  “You’re asking if I love Jamal?” Karen swallowed. “I
thought I was heading in that direction, but he’s not the man I thought he was.” Sipping tea, she reflected on what Brooke had said. “My gosh, you’re right. I was like a teenager, assuming that my boyfriend was totally perfect.”

  “But you’re not a teenager, you’re a woman. And you have feelings for a man who has many fine qualities, but definitely isn’t perfect.”

  Slowly, Karen nodded.

  Brooke went on. “Jake stood by me before he even realized he loved me. He does that with the people he cares about. He does it with Jamal, even when it’s hard. It seems to me that Jake’s been the only person who ever stood by Jamal. Those two have something special. And so, I think, do you and Jamal.”

  “Maybe.” She used to believe that.

  “You need to figure out what it is, Karen. And then decide what you’re going to do about it.”

  “I guess.”

  “Life’s never straightforward. It’s how you handle the rough patches that shows you what you’re made of, deep inside.”

  Karen studied Brooke’s lovely face with the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth. This woman knew all about rough patches. “You’re right.”

  “The man came to you and he trusted you with his deep, dark, very painful secret.”

  “He should have trusted me from the beginning.” Even to her own ears, her tone lacked conviction.

  “Maybe he was afraid you needed him to be perfect.”

  “Oh . . .” Karen wrinkled her nose. In the past, when people had said she was judgmental, she’d told herself that it was good to have high standards. And it was, but not if it made her self-righteous. “When he did come to me,” she said slowly, “I got up on my high horse and reamed him out.”

  “You did.”

  “I owe him an apology for that.”

  Brooke nodded.

  “But I still have trouble with his notion that he can stay sober without any support.”

  “Discuss it with him. Perhaps he’ll let you support him. Or if he’s looking for someone to talk to, who’s been through what he’s going through, I’d be happy to.”

  “Oh, Brooke, that’s so kind of you.” Karen reached over to capture her hand. “I’m so glad we’ve become friends.”