A knock on the door woke him up.
“I assume you want me to set up in your old office,” Ray said.
“Uh, yeah.”
Corbin dropped his feet to the floor and started to say something about his first day working for Colonel Parker, but it didn’t fit the moment. He settled for a much more mundane question.
“How many boxes do you have?” he asked.
“Three more.”
They walked in silence to the parking lot. Ray stacked up two boxes together, and Corbin grabbed one. Inside they set the boxes on the floor beside the desk.
“Well, I know the first thing I’m going to do,” Ray said.
Corbin pointed to the empty computer stand. “Janelle already called the computer guy who takes care of us, and he’s going to deliver and set up a machine later today.”
“No. First I’m going to pray.”
“Oh.” Corbin stepped back toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“No. I want you to stay.”
“But—”
“You don’t have to join in, but I want you to hear what I have to say.”
On a different day, Corbin would have ignored Ray’s request and left anyway. But he was feeling vulnerable and didn’t want to add another offense to the ones he’d already piled on Ray’s plate.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Are we going to get down on our knees?”
It was Ray’s turn to act surprised. “I hadn’t considered that,” he said, “but I think it would be a good idea.”
There were two leather side chairs in front of the desk. Ray knelt in front of one, and Corbin lowered himself before the other. Corbin bowed his head, closed his eyes, and waited. Ray didn’t speak right away, and after a moment Corbin cracked open one eye to peek. Ray’s forehead was wrinkled, and he seemed to be deep in thought. Finally he began.
“God, the first thing I want to do is to dedicate myself and my time here to you. This isn’t where I wanted to work, but now that I’m here, help me to do a good job for our clients and to serve Dad to the best of my ability through your grace. Send us the people you want us to represent and show us the best way to help them.” He paused. “Regardless of what has happened between Dad and me in the past, I ask you to show us how to interact with each other in the future. Show us how to communicate in the right way, and let me be an encouragement to him. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Corbin had opened his eyes when Ray paused and watched his son’s face during the rest of the prayer. When Ray said, “Amen,” Corbin not only didn’t know what to pray; he didn’t know what to say. He slowly got up and extended his hand. Ray shook it, and Corbin left.
Janelle looked up from her computer when Corbin approached her desk.
“I’m going home,” he said. “I’m about to crash from lack of sleep, and that will give you and Ray a chance to go over things without me interfering.”
“Am I going to do all the work for both of you?” Janelle asked. “I realize Ray doesn’t have any cases of his own yet, but that’s going to change.”
Corbin nodded and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “You’re right,” he said. “And you should pray about it.”
Janelle’s mouth dropped open.
Roxy and Peter ended up eating Chinese food at her townhome instead of going out for a nice dinner. Peter delivered the food.
“Whatever we don’t eat can be divided for leftovers,” Peter said as Roxy organized the different dishes on the kitchen table.
“There won’t be any of the shrimp left,” Roxy said. “Is that as spicy as it looks?”
“It had two peppers beside the name on the menu,” Peter answered. “I’m going to fight you for that one.”
“Most of the fight has been drained out of me,” Roxy said with a sigh. “Just give me a taste.”
Peter grabbed her plate and piled on half of the dish.
“Wait, wait,” Roxy protested. “I want to partner the shrimp with fried rice and the chicken dish with baby corn.”
They went out to the patio to eat. It took a couple of trips to transfer the food and drinks. Both Roxy and Peter were experts with chopsticks, and for a few minutes there wasn’t any sound except the clicking of wood on wood.
“Did you hear anything else from your brother?” Peter asked after he swallowed a bite of chicken.
“We talked for a few minutes. He had to cut the conversation short because a guy showed up to install a new phone.”
While they ate, Roxy summarized the conversation.
“My dad deserves whatever happens to him,” she said, “but I feel sorry for Ray. Everything he’s been working for professionally came crashing down. I wanted to give him some advice, but there wasn’t anything to say. It was very frustrating.”
“Did he ask for advice?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why he called you? To ask your opinion?”
Roxy paused. “Not really. But Ray has always leaned on me even though I’m the little sister. It’s another odd aspect of our family dynamics. Part of it may stem from my mother having to assume so much responsibility because my dad was more focused on his next drink than on raising us.”
“Remember our conversation the other day at the French restaurant?” Peter began.
“The one where I ended up bawling like a baby who’d lost her pacifier?” Roxy put up a hand. “I’m not in the mood to revisit your attempt to psychoanalyze my relationship with my father.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”
“Yes, but I’m finished.”
She bit down on a red pepper that had sneaked into her mouth beneath a piece of shrimp. The pepper was so potent that it made her eyes water.
“A pepper is causing this,” she said quickly as she wiped her eyes with a napkin.
Peter didn’t respond.
“I’m serious,” Roxy said.
Peter poured more tea into her cup. She took a sip but the tea did nothing to lessen the pepper’s assault on her taste buds. Peter picked up a similar pepper with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it, then calmly swallowed it.
“It has a kick,” he said. “And the afterburn is worse than the initial heat.”
“Tell me about it.” Roxy was now fanning her face with her hand. “I’m going to get a glass of milk from the fridge. Do you want one?”
“No, thanks.”
In the kitchen Roxy poured a glass of milk and took a quick sip. The impact of the dairy product was like magic to her throat. She finished the glass and returned to the patio.
“That cooled it right off,” she said, then stopped at the look on Peter’s face. “Are you okay?”
Peter put his hand to his mouth to stifle a belch and shook his head. “I’m not as macho as I thought. I guess I’d like some milk too.”
Roxy hurried to the kitchen and returned with another glass, which Peter received gratefully.
“Talking about my father is like swallowing one of those peppers,” she said. “That’s why I want to avoid it.”
“But every so often one is liable to sneak up on you. If that happens, what would be the milk to take away the hurt?”
“I’m focused on prevention.”
Roxy knew Peter had something on his mind and suspected what it might be.
“Do you think that if I believed the right way about God it would take away the pain in my life caused by my father?” she asked.
Peter was balancing another big bite on his chopsticks. He returned the food to his plate.
“I don’t know enough about God to make that claim. Would you like to meet with the pastor of Noah’s church and talk to him about it? You could consider him an expert witness. I’d be glad to set it up.”
“No!” Roxy answered more forcibly than she intended. “He’s a stranger.”
“And I’m not.” Peter reached out and touched Roxy on the hand. “One of the things I want the most is for you to trust me with what’
s really going on in your heart.”
Roxy stared at Peter and knew without another word being spoken that he loved her.
Corbin awoke from a three-hour nap. He wasn’t refreshed, but at least he felt fully human for the first time since he’d ordered the final double whiskey at The Office the previous evening. His arrival at the tavern seemed like a week ago, not less than twenty-four hours. Thinking about the bar caused something else to wake up—the craving for another drink.
He was lying on his back looking up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes. And a feeling he’d never experienced before rose up from deep inside.
“No!” he called out. “I don’t want it!”
Corbin let the surprising words linger in the air, then settle back onto his consciousness. He waited for the internal debate that would surely emerge. A statement like that could not go unchallenged. But nothing bubbled to the surface. Apparently competing voices were, for the moment, silent. He turned to his nightstand to check the time. The clock was resting on the Big Book he’d received at his first AA meeting. If he left in fifteen minutes, he could make it to the meeting at the Hopewell church.
Corbin got ready as quickly as if he’d overslept and had to rush to a calendar call. He’d showered when Ray brought him home, but he took another quick one. He shut his eyes and let the spray run off his face, then dried off and put on a casual shirt and blue jeans. The rapid-fire activity helped keep him away from the cabinet in the kitchen where the row of whiskey bottles waited for him. Corbin breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door of the duplex behind him and got into his truck.
Even though time was short, he made sure he didn’t exceed the speed limit on the way to the meeting. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. Corbin knew a routine traffic stop might lead to the administration of a Breathalyzer test or a trip to the hospital for another blood test.
There were several vehicles in the church parking lot when he arrived. Max’s car wasn’t one of them.
As he got out of his truck, Corbin was amazed at his attitude. He wanted to go inside. He wanted to sit in a chair in a circle of support. He wanted to be with people who, like him, struggled with a craving that too often got its way. He walked in as the group gathered in a circle to recite the serenity prayer.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
“We’re going to have a discussion meeting tonight,” said the leader, a young woman in her thirties.
“I have something.” Corbin raised his hand before she could continue.
“Usually we suggest a topic,” the woman replied evenly, “but if you have something you want to share now, go ahead.”
Corbin looked around the room. He’d faced many juries; he’d delivered many closing arguments. He’d appeared over twenty times in front of the Georgia Court of Appeals and six times at the Georgia Supreme Court. He’d argued three cases before the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals in a high-ceilinged, wood-paneled courtroom in Atlanta. But he’d never looked into the faces of a group of human beings and admitted a deep personal problem.
The eyes that looked back at him around the circle weren’t poised to judge, criticize, or condemn. They simply waited to hear what he had to say. Corbin took a deep breath.
“My name is Corbin, and I’m an alcoholic.”
THIRTY-ONE
Cindy was standing at the sink slicing tomatoes for a salad when Ray walked through the door from the garage. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, stepped over to him, and kissed him on the forehead.
“That’s the best part of the day so far,” Ray said. “Where’s Billy?”
“Eating supper with Freddie’s family. They’re cooking hot dogs and roasting marshmallows over their fire pit. I thought it would be nice for you to decompress without him here.”
While Ray talked, Cindy continued preparing supper.
He paused. “I wish I could see your face,” he said.
“Maybe it’s better you can’t,” she answered without turning around. “That way I can process our world getting turned upside down without having to hide what I’m feeling.”
“You were right, though. If you hadn’t told me to demand a job from my father, I’d be sitting here with nothing to do. After he left I talked to Janelle. She’s worried she won’t be able to handle the secretarial load for both of us.”
“Janelle hasn’t put in a full day’s work in years. She doesn’t know what she can do.” Cindy opened the refrigerator and took out a glass container.
“What’s that?” Ray asked.
“Homemade dressing.” She held it up so Ray could see it. “Lemon dill. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it’s great.” He shifted in his chair. “I also did an inventory of dad’s open files. If you counted all the cases in the cabinets, you’d think his practice was booming.”
“I assume there’s a catch.”
“Yeah. Over half of them are finished and should be closed. And of the ones he has left, I didn’t find a single one that looked like a six-figure case. It’s a bunch of small stuff, the kind of claims no other lawyer in town would touch. It would have been sad if I’d done an inventory like this last week, but now that we’re both depending on revenue from the firm, it’s downright depressing. The people he’s representing need help, but that doesn’t necessarily translate into profit.”
“What about the case against Colfax?”
“It’s too early to put a value on it. It could end up being more of a drain than anything else. Janelle told me he’s agreed to fund the litigation himself. Regardless, it’s going to be hard for him to pay my salary until I can generate some business on my own.”
Cindy turned around and put both hands on her hips. “I know where you’re going with this, Ray, and I’m going to stop you right now. Don’t let him off the hook. That’s what people have done for years. Part of the reason you’re there is to make him honor a commitment for once in his life, even if it means he’s going to have to sacrifice to do it.”
“So I have to be selfish so he can learn not to be selfish?”
“Yes, and here’s another one for you. Just because something sounds right doesn’t mean it is right.”
Ray knew he wasn’t going to win the argument, so he dropped it. Financial reality would reveal itself.
Cindy’s salad was a work of culinary art, with dark red smoked salmon on top.
“That looks awesome,” Ray said. “Where did you get the salmon?”
“Beth Ann’s husband shipped back a cooler full from a company fishing trip to Alaska and smoked it yesterday. It’s sockeye.”
It was the best salmon Ray had ever put in his mouth, and they ate in silence for a few moments.
Then Cindy spoke. “I went to the doctor today,” she said.
“That’s right.” Ray tapped his fingers against his forehead. “I forgot. How are you and the baby?”
“Okay. Dr. Valance told me what I already knew—there’s a chance she may put me on bed rest.”
“I hope not. But if it happens, I should be able to take time off from work to help out.”
“You’ve got two high-risk people in your life,” Cindy said with a sigh. “I hate it that you might have to take care of me and your dad.”
“I’d much rather do the former than the latter.” Ray bit into a particularly succulent piece of salmon. “And I think taking care of people is what I’m going to be doing for a living.”
The air smelled cleaner when Corbin stepped out of his duplex the following morning. He’d had a good night’s sleep and felt physically recovered from his night at the jail. He straightened his tie and got in his truck. The DUI charge still hung over his head like a dark cloud, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy moments of sunshine.
Driving to work, he relived the AA meeting from the previous evening. It had been exhilarating, scary, and sad. Being honest about h
is addiction after forty years of denial was like taking the cap off a carton of spoiled milk and pouring the stinking sludge down the drain. As soon as the words “My name is Corbin, and I’m an alcoholic” were out of his mouth, he knew he’d waited way too long to admit it. The subsequent venting of his recent problems and their effect on him brought a level of internal relief to a part of his soul that had lost hope of rescue. The reassurance his brief confession elicited from the other people in the group lifted Corbin up in a way he didn’t think possible. He wasn’t condemned; he was understood and affirmed for taking a first step toward recovery.
But fear followed closely on the heels of encouragement. He could fall in an instant. Another night of intoxication at The Office, a long lunch at Red’s, or drinking a fifth of whiskey while sitting in his living room remained a future possibility. The statements by the people in the AA circle that sobriety was a daily battle were true, but their words didn’t hold within themselves the power of change.
Before going to sleep, he’d felt especially sad for another reason—Kitty hadn’t lived to see him genuinely reach out for help. Corbin quickly squelched the emotion that welled up from deep within. Lying in bed in his duplex wasn’t the place to grieve over lost opportunities. There was only one place where that would be appropriate. And he wanted to have a better track record before making the short drive to her grave that he hoped would be the end of a long journey.
“Where are you now?” Roxy asked Ray when she answered his early morning phone call.
“Sitting in Dad’s old office. You know, the one he used when Colonel Parker was still alive.”
“Ouch. Dare I ask how you feel?”
“I wouldn’t have called if I wasn’t willing to answer that question.”
Roxy was surprised by the calm confidence in her brother’s voice as he told her about the events of the past two days. Partway through the conversation, she got up and closed the door of her office so she wouldn’t be interrupted or subject to an eavesdropper.
A House Divided Page 22
