by Geneva Lee
“What the hell does that mean?” I snap.
“Never mind.” He climbs behind the wheel and speeds off, leaving me to analyze his words. I stand on a broken bit of concrete and stare out toward the sliver of gray on the horizon. There’s no peace as I turn my mantra over in my mind. I can’t find solid ground and Jude is one storm I have to weather.
Chapter 11
Before
The word addict filtered into Grace’s head long before it leapt from her lips. She had never intended to police Faith but it became impossible to ignore her behavior. The transgressions were mild, at first. Faith wouldn’t creep back into their bedroom until long past dawn or she might forget to mention she swiped a twenty from Grace’s wallet. It was easy to forgive the little things. When Nana missed a mortgage payment because her bank account was overdrawn, she had no suspicion it was Faith. Grace suspected otherwise, and when Faith didn’t bother to come home for nearly a week, it was confirmed. Police were called. Reports were filed. It was the beginning of a long and fruitless relationship with the powers that be. They had no problem labeling Faith an addict.
Graduation came and went just like Faith. She didn’t bother to attend, not that there was a diploma anyway. When Grace came home from the after party she found her sister collapsed on the front porch, her cheek swollen to twice its size and the color of Grace’s graduation gown.
In the waiting room of the ER, Nana took Grace’s hand and sat in silence while a doctor rattled off her sister’s injuries and the various drugs in her bloodstream.
“What do we need to do?” Nana’s voice carried the weariness of determination. She’d managed to raise her daughter’s children and Grace knew nothing would keep her from seeing the job through to the end.
“She needs to be put in a hospital.” The doctor didn’t bother to deliver this news with empathy. Faith was simply another junkie taking up space a sick person needed.
It took a few seconds for them to realize he meant rehab. For the first time, it occurred to Grace to be ashamed to share her sister’s face.
Nana didn’t bother to waver. “Whatever it takes.”
“Your insurance won’t cover it,” he continued as he flipped through her chart, “but I can get her a bed. She really needs to go tonight.”
Neither of them asked how they were supposed to pay for it. Grace never discussed it with Nana. It was a given. Family came first. It came before tuition.
Later when Faith sat rosy-cheeked and plump in her hospital room and asked where they had found the money, they lied. Insurance, they said and she believed them. Lies were always easier to swallow.
A year later the tiny inheritance their parents had left them had been bled dry. This time Nana mortgaged the house, adding Grace as a homeowner in the process.
“In case anything happens to me,” she told her granddaughter. “There’s still plenty of equity in the house.”
Bit by bit Faith’s problem swallowed them until addict ceased to be a dirty word and just became their normal.
Faith was gone. One Saturday morning, she didn't return. Nana was frantic, calling the police stations. They listened at first, took her information, and a picture. Grace wondered if they would plaster it all around Seattle. If it would leak back to Ballard, so that people called to report when they saw Grace, mistakenly thinking they had done a good deed. It would be endless between the worrying and the praying.
But when the police delved farther, they backed off. First they promised to continue searching, even after they brought Faith’s rap sheet. Grace knew better. They weren't looking for her sister. As far as they were concerned, Faith would find them. They told her so behind her grandmother's back.
"Look, we'll probably pick her up in Pioneer Square or down near the waterfront." The female detective was kind, but she didn't bother to mince words. "Do you know if she was using again?"
"I think so," Grace admitted softly.
"This isn't your fault. She has to be the one to get help. You can’t force her to get clean.” She disappeared on that note. It was the last time the police came by with news regarding her sister. People love to say things like no news is good news, but they're the ones who don't want to admit that no news twists your insides until you’re seeing shadows. Grace's own reflection made her jump. She was a none-too-subtle reminder that Faith was gone both to herself and Nana.
Maybe that's why her grandmother's mind began to go. She lost herself searching for someone else. How many other mothers had suffered the same fate?
At first it went gradually. Little things would slip her mind. She would leave her keys in the door or forget she wasn't wearing her glasses. She might go to the store for milk and come back with bread. Grace tried to write it off at first. Then it became big things.
A birthday. Where she lived. Her own name. She slipped away like sand with the outgoing tide—tiny fragments at a time—until her mind was smooth and new. Little bits would come back in with the waves, fragments of the life she had before. On those days she wouldn’t scream at Grace when she came home and threaten to call the police. On those days she remembered she was her granddaughter. And she remembered Faith. It never lasted long. The disease would take her away again by morning. Or maybe it was the pain she discovered each time she found herself in her own skin. On those days she would cry softly in her room. She would ask Grace what had happened during the week, and Grace would tell her nothing much, not bothering to mention it had actually been a month.
And then Grace would find herself alone again, caring for a woman who stared at her with paranoia most hours. She finally gave up and put her in a home out on the Kitsap Peninsula. A place she could afford and not much more than a ferry ride away. She visited every weekend at first. Nana would stare at her and then finally smile.
“Faith, you came to see me. Sit down, darling girl and tell me how school is.”
And Grace wouldn’t correct her. If she had forgotten her, at least she remembered Faith. She had forgotten the heartache, which was more than Grace could ever hope to do.
Chapter 12
You can’t reach someone who doesn’t want to be reached. Jude’s reaction at group reminded me of that. It’s one of the first truths any support group teaches you.
Cancer support group? A patient isn’t going to make it if they won’t try.
Gambling addiction? You can’t keep him away from a casino if he wants to be there. Sometimes you can’t even if he doesn’t.
Al-Anon? The one for friends and family of addicts? Stop trying! They batter you over the head with this fact.
Because trying to fix someone is a surefire way to break yourself. No, the real trick is to stay strong until the person realizes it’s up to themselves. It’s not something you want to believe if you care about an addict. When you love someone, you want to help them, take care of them, support them. That’s why co-dependency is so dangerous. I’ve seen it firsthand, which is why I couldn’t side blindly with Jude.
I understand the urge to drag someone in for help. Or away from the bottle. Or the needle. Or whatever form they’ve chosen for their destruction.
I also know it won’t change anything.
But my skepticism doesn’t make it any easier to stay away from Jude. I tell myself I can’t risk being involved with a man who doesn’t have a handle on the realities of addiction, because it may mean he doesn’t have a grip on his own sobriety. “Maybe we needed a little distance. Things were moving too fast.”
“You went on one date.” Amie doesn’t bother to look up from the carrots she’s chopping to prep for tonight’s dinner rush. “You’ll be ready for a second one by the time you’re fifty at this rate.”
“Do you think I want to ignore him?” In the past few days I’d refused his calls. He’d even taken to calling The World’s End to order carry-out, so now I couldn’t answer the phone here either. “I’m not certain I can handle Jude, but I feel trapped when I’m not with him. I feel like a prisoner.”
> “Then might I suggest you break out for a conjugal visit?”
More than a few of the line cooks are eavesdropping at this point.
I lower my voice, but it’s no use in the cramped kitchen. “Didn’t you just point out that we went on one date?”
“You also told me that you melted like a pat of butter when he kissed you,” she reminds me, gesticulating wildly with her knife. “That sounds like he’s worth the risk.”
I take a step back before I’m the victim of manslaughter. “It wasn’t just the kiss. Jude makes me feel so many emotions that I haven’t felt in years. Anger. Sadness. Giddiness.”
“You’ve closed yourself off to anything that might confuse you.” Wise Amie has come out to play. “You need to open yourself up to the possibility of love.”
“I’m certainly open to him.” I slump against the kitchen wall. “That’s the problem.”
“That is a promising start.” She winks at me. Abandoning the vegetables to her sous chef, she wipes her hands on her apron and tips her head toward the back office.
I follow her inside and she pours herself a glass of wine, I get a cup of coffee, and we sit down at the desk. I’ve just taken a sip when she hits me with this:
“Do you want to have sex with him?”
I choke on the coffee, spraying it like I’m on an over-the-top sitcom.
Amie frowns as she covers her glass. “It’s a simple question. Don’t die.”
“You’ve seen him.” I wipe the splattered coffee off my top, thankful I wore black today. “Of course, I want to have sex with him. What woman wouldn’t want to have sex with him?”
“Lesbians. Blind women. Hopefully married women.” She counts out the possibilities on her fingers.
“The minority,” I finish for her. There’s no denying Jude could have any woman he wants. It’s a waste of time to wonder what he sees in me. Attraction is funny like that, and although I’m a mom, I like to think I look pretty good—when I remember to brush my hair. The real issue is that my body wanted him before. It’s a sad state of affairs when a grown woman still puddles over a tattooed man with messy hair and soulful eyes. Although a large part of the initial attraction stemmed from the tightness of his t-shirt. I’ve wanted him since then. Since I’ve gotten to know him, I crave him. I need to know how his body will feel against mine.
“So you’re going to go to bed with him?”
I stammer for a response that doesn’t make me sound like a horny teenager. “Um, I guess…eventually.”
“Praise the lord!” She swipes her phone off the desk and begins to furiously type.
“What are you doing?” I try to sneak a glimpse at her phone.
“Subscribing to bridal magazines.” She begins to hum the wedding march for emphasis.
“Oh my God!” I grab the phone from her.
“What? I’m a planner.”
“Then plan this,” I call her attention back to the reason I confided in her in the first place. “We’re not even speaking to one another.”
“Listen.” Amie sets her phone down and grabs me by the shoulders. “You are a strong, confident, gorgeous woman who deserves to get fucked very hard by that sexy piece of man. You just march yourself over there and take him to bed.”
“I have a kid,” I remind her, “and pride.”
“Which is exactly why you’re going. No self-respecting woman would pass this opportunity by.”
“What if he doesn’t want to?” I’m searching for excuses now.
“You’re just being deliberately obtuse now.” She stands up and holds out her hands. “You did use that vibrator, right?”
“I’m not answering that.” But I allow her to haul me to my feet. I won’t admit that it freaks me out. “I have to pick up Max in an hour. That doesn’t really give me much time.”
“Your ambition is making me so proud.” She gives me a quick hug. “I’ve got Max. Please don’t come home until one of you needs medical attention.”
Yeah, that’s so not happening. “I’ll be home tonight.”
“Come home in the morning.”
I don’t bother to acknowledge her. Amie pushes me out the door, wishing me many a happy orgasm, loudly enough that the entire restaurant swivels in their chairs to stare at me. There’s nothing like feeling you have a whole town behind you, and something even more important in front of you.
By the time I reach Jude’s house, I lose my nerve. Sitting in my car, I stare up at his house and the evidence of the disparity between us. It’s amazing how all the little choices we make add up to such different lives. Jude and I share the same tragic flaws: addiction, over-dependence. Yet, he lives on the top of the hill and I live at its base.
Our worlds were never meant to collide.
The money, Max; neither of which should keep me from going to his door so why am I still sitting here?
A soft tap on the passenger window startles me. I turn slowly, still clutching my chest, to face Jude. He’s back from a run. Sweat glistens in his dark hair, and his shirt clings to his chest and the flat plane of his abdomen. He motions for me to roll the window down. When I shake my head no, he opens the door.
“I fixed it, remember?” he says.
That isn’t why I didn’t roll it down, but it reminds me of why I should have. Jude gives. He’s selfless with his time and attention. He didn’t shy away from helping me, just like he didn’t abandon Anne in that bar. Realizing this only cements my desire to jump him.
“So you’re speaking to me again?” he asks.
“I guess so.” If he only knew why I came in the first place. I wrap my hands tightly around the steering wheel, wondering if I can find the inner bad ass I used to be.
“Come inside.” He doesn’t wait to see if I follow. Jude lumbers toward the house, stretching his tempting arms over his head and behind his back.
This is my chance to run. I turn off the engine instead and trail him to the front door.
The first time I stepped into his house I was awestruck. Today, I find myself speechless, but only because I’m searching for an excuse to be here that doesn’t dissolve every ounce of dignity I possess. I can almost hear Amie lecturing me now.
Jude wanders into the kitchen and pulls a water bottle from the Sub-Zero fridge. He holds one out to me, but I shake my head. I run my fingers over the smooth granite counter as he downs the whole bottle. He looks like a statue with his head tipped back and his body on display. The only proof he isn’t a chiseled piece of art is the swift slide of his throat as he swallows.
When he finishes, he tosses the bottle into a recycling bin and turns to me. “Are we actually speaking? Because you’re pretty quiet, Sunshine.”
“Yes,” I say too quickly. I mean, we are or we will be.
“You’ve avoided my calls.” He speaks casually, but his eyes are wounded.
My distance hurt him, but he needs to understand why it’s necessary at times. “I didn’t come over to get into this, but we can’t move forward if I pretend otherwise. I think it’s hard for some of us to accept optimism. We have to train ourselves to be realists.”
“... or cynics,” he offers.
“Maybe,” I admit. This is not going how I planned. “But personally, I’ve learned the hard way, that too much hope can blind someone to the facts.”
He steps closer. “Too little can be a lonely place.”
Are we talking about Anne or us? I don’t have the courage to ask. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m capable of having faith anymore.”
“Yes, you are.” He closes the gap between us. “You are faith.”
But I’m not. I never have been. My name is a lie. I’m no more capable of believing in my future than I am of forgetting my past. “I’m not,” I say. “I wish I could be.”
“Let me help you.” His hand cups my cheek and I nuzzle into his warm palm. “I’ll have faith in you until you can find it again.”
I’ve been taught that no one can fix you and I’ve guarded mys
elf from letting anyone try, but I can’t deny that I want Jude and everything he’s offering me. I want him to believe in me so that I can have the strength to believe in us.
“Will you let me in?” he asks.
I answer with my lips, crushing my mouth to his. It’s not the aching, hungry kiss I imagined as I drove here. It’s better. Jude’s hand slides from my face to knit through my hair and hold me tightly to him. We don’t fight to get closer, but rather our bodies shift as the kiss deepens until I mold against him. I fit there, my curves softening into his hardness. We’re made for each other. The fleeting thought can’t scare me in this moment because with him here, I have no doubt that this is right.
Jude pulls away, leaving us breathless. “Are you sure about this?”
I answer him with another kiss, murmuring yes against his mouth. He doesn’t need any more incentive as he lifts me off the ground and carries me through the house. I don’t know where we’re going and I don’t care.
When Jude deposits me on a bed, I realize I must be in his room. Light streams in from windows I can’t see because I only have eyes for him.
“I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me again, Sunshine,” he says as he begins to strip. He pulls the damp t-shirt off his body. A shyness comes over me, but I don’t turn away as he reveals himself. I wouldn’t want to.
This isn’t new. This isn’t my first time watching a man undress, but with Jude everything feels like it’s the first time. He’s even more perfect than I had pictured. The tattoo I had seen peeking from his sleeve swirls up over his shoulder and across his chest. I want to ask him what it means. I want to ask him everything about himself, but I bite my lip instead. My eyes lock on his as he pushes his pants to the floor. Jude drops onto the bed, crawling over me.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he says gruffly. His lips move to my neck as he grips the hem of my shirt and slowly works it up. He pulls away from me, but only to tug it off of my head. His hands slip behind my back and unsnap my bra, freeing my breasts. Within a few minutes I’m as bared to him as he is to me, but I don’t feel ashamed, or embarrassed, or nervous.
