by Karen Tucker
The only response was the door clicking shut.
I was positive I’d set the dead bolt, but after everything that had happened it wasn’t like I could trust myself exactly. The thud of footsteps made their way closer. They hesitated outside my bedroom before continuing down the hallway. My chest pumping gallons, I glanced around for some sort of weapon but everything in Luce’s room was packed except her bedding. When her door swung open, I made a grab for her pillow and stupidly held it over my stomach.
It was Luce, wearing earbuds. Her face was blotched and raw as if she’d just finished crying and her breath came in unsteady wheezes. Clearly she’d remembered about Wilky’s OD. She hit pause on her phone and looked me over. “What are you doing in here?”
I said I wasn’t doing anything, just fixing up her bed so she’d be comfortable. “Okay, so what happened? What did the doctor say?”
“Who gives a shit,” she said.
She went to her closet, which had nothing left but a few plastic hangers, and gazed inside with a puzzled expression. All she had on was her T-shirt and sweats from the night before and a pair of disposable hospital slippers. I asked if she wanted to borrow some of my clothes until we unpacked her boxes. Without answering she swung around and headed back into the main room. I caught up with her in time to see her grab her parka off the sofa.
“Where are you going?” I said. “You just got here.”
“If I’m going to make the 1:30, I have to leave right this second.” She zipped up her coat. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
I reminded her she’d just gotten out of the hospital and she was supposed to be resting. “And how’d you get here anyway? No way you walked it. Not in paper booties.”
She frowned at her feet as if trying to remember. “Teena.” She went to the pile of shoes by the front window, sat on the floor, and began switching the booties for sneakers.
Once again I got that same seasick feeling, like the ground was bucking and heaving beneath me. As discreetly as possible, I reached out and steadied myself on the wall.
Teena was our former dgirl and a serious grade-A hustler. The kind of person who would have talked the Virgin Mary into using if she thought it would make her a few dollars, and a real celebrity in certain Anklewood circles. You can’t help admiring high-level talent like that. When Luce and I got clean, we had to cut her out of our lives completely.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “How’s old Teena doing?”
Luce stood up and put on her sunglasses, a huge plasticky green pair that gave her an alien appearance. “She didn’t give me anything, if that’s what you’re asking. She just happened to be the first person that texted back. Look, I’m going to lose my shit if I don’t make this meeting. You coming or what?”
“I already said I was,” I said.
We headed toward the church at the base of the mountain. Every so often Luce would pull a tissue from her coat and dab up under her giant sunglasses, but the rest of the time she kept her head down, her hands in her pockets. I tried a few different lines of conversation, but she either gave me brisk one-word responses or ignored me completely and at last I fell silent.
Luce and I had been attending twelve-step meetings in the basement of the United Methodist church since the previous February. We were a few short weeks away from getting our one-year tags. We already had the yellow nine-month ones of course, but the year ones were something special. They were glow-in-the-dark for starters, which even the most hard-hearted among us thought was pretty nifty, but it went beyond that. I don’t know, maybe not using for 365 days in a row doesn’t sound like much of an achievement to most people, but it wasn’t so long ago that the idea of putting any real clean time together had been unimaginable to me and Luce. We’d even picked out the outfits we were going to wear when we accepted our tags and grocery store sheet cake. Hers was a vintage Metallica T-shirt she bought off eBay, which she planned to pair with an electric-pink skirt she’d made from a bolt of velvet she found on the sale table at Sew Happy Fabrics. Mine was just a stupid flowered shift dress my mom had left in her closet way back when. It wasn’t very flattering and it sure wasn’t stylish, but I guess it reminded me of her or something. Like in some small way she would be there with me.
We got to the church, went downstairs, and pushed through the double doors and into the fluorescent light of the basement. Folks were still milling around the ancient percolator in the corner, loading up their little Styrofoam cups of coffee with sugar and powdered creamer. There was the familiar buzz of conversation, punctured every so often by a squawk of laughter, and soon our sponsor, a bosomy old-timer named Greenie, caught sight of us. She lumbered over from the circle of folding chairs and gave us each a crushing hug.
“Called the second I heard but it kept going to voice mail. I still can’t hardly believe it.” She took a step back, looked us over. “How you girls holding up?”
Luce gave a weird little shrug and adjusted her sunglasses.
“All right I guess,” I said. “It came out of nowhere.”
Greenie nodded. “Just yesterday he was right here in this room. Exchanging numbers with everyone, saying he’d be back up to visit come springtime.”
Luce lowered her head, got out her tissue.
Greenie ran her eyes over me again. I got the sense she wanted to ask me something, but she must have thought better of it what with Luce standing right there beside us. “Let’s talk after,” she said, holding my gaze. She gave Luce’s shoulder a regretful squeeze and headed back toward the circle, where she made a big production out of easing herself into the saggy yellow armchair she always sat in at meetings: her signal that it was time to get started.
A former supervisor at the mill, Greenie had run the 1:30 for as long as Luce and I had been attending. She’d also been in the game since before we were born, as she liked to remind us, and she was the only person I’d ever met who had a twenty-year medallion, which was no joke. As a result, she had the uncanny ability to sniff out bs when it came to addicts. It was a talent that had saved most everyone at our meeting at least once, me and Luce included, and if you were even starting to think about using, you could pretty much count on one of Greenie’s trademark visits—the kind that would whack some sense into you with all the subtlety of a tire iron. Naturally we loved her for it right up until the point we tried to put something over on her and then it was a gift we could have done without.
Greenie started things off with the Serenity Prayer, followed by a moment of silence for Wilky’s passing. “He was a regular in the rooms and like all of us he had his ups and downs, his struggles. I think we can probably also agree that he had one of the biggest hearts of about anyone who ever walked through these doors. You’re not alone if you’re having some thoughts you don’t want to be having. Just remember, one day at a time. Let go, let god.”
I glanced at Luce to see how she was doing. She was still wearing her sunglasses, and what little you could see of her face was so stiff and drained of color it looked like it had been molded out of candle wax.
There wasn’t a speaker scheduled, so a few volunteers took turns reading chapters 9 and 10 of the Basic Text aloud, passing the book back and forth between them. “Just for Today—Living the Program” and “More Will Be Revealed.” After that, people took turns sharing. Carmela talked about getting dumped by her ex after he caught her going bare with their dealer to get free product. Boz told about how an infected rig once gave him an abscess the size of a baseball and brought him this close to losing his arm. These war stories weren’t ever pretty, but if you could let go of the idea that they were supposed to lead you to some big epiphany, the experience could be strangely soothing. They’d walked through the burning forests of hell and not only had they lived to talk about it, they were mostly doing all right for themselves.
At last the drug-a-logues petered out and the room fell silent. Greenie turned to Luce. “Anyone else feel like sharing?”
Luce didn�
��t move, didn’t even seem to notice anyone had spoken. When I reached for her hand she flinched like she thought I meant to hurt her.
“All right then,” said Greenie. “Basket time.”
The final part of our meetings involved collecting donations for coffee supplies and acknowledging milestones. While the little wicker basket made its way around the circle, Greenie held up the box of key tags and gave it a shake. By and large this was a formality, since we all knew each other so well that we had everyone’s dates pretty much committed to memory, and if one of us had been due to celebrate a birthday, Greenie would have already had a cake set up next to the percolator. “I don’t guess anyone needs a new one of these babies?”
Luce gave a start like she’d been jolted back into the present. “Hi, I’m Luce and I’m an addict.”
“Hi Luce,” said everyone.
“I’ll take a Day 1.” Her voice caught a little, as if the words had hit a snag somewhere on their exit.
“Come on,” I said as quietly as possible. “That K they gave you doesn’t count and besides—”
“Yes it fucking does.” Even with her sunglasses on she was able to give me a look so icy it sent shivers all down my backbone.
The room held itself perfectly still.
At last Greenie pulled herself up out of her chair, made her way over, and handed Luce a Day 1. “Girl, it’s okay. You got this. Anyone can do it, you can.”
Luce didn’t say anything, just tucked the scrap of plastic into her coat pocket. She spent the final minutes of our meeting with her mouth set tight, her hands fisted up beside her. As soon as the group hug ended, she slung her purse over her shoulder and made straight for the double doors. When Greenie called her name, Luce sped up until she looked like one of those mall speed-walkers and by the time I made it outside, she was already at the end of the driveway, past the church mailbox.
I called out to her to hold up a second. She didn’t stop, though she did slow down enough so I could catch up if I hurried. But once I fell in beside her, she refused to talk to me, not even when I asked if she had her inhaler.
“I’m just worried is all,” I said. “Last night was scary.”
I can’t say for certain, but it sounded like she gave me a snort of disgust.
We were almost home when Luce finally broke her silence, saying she needed to ask me a question.
I told her of course, anything she wanted.
She stopped walking and turned to face me. “Were you and him selling again?”
“Jesus,” I said. “Are you serious?”
“Well why else would he have that crap? You know how much his recovery meant to him.” Her breath came in ragged little puffs that hung briefly in the air before dissolving. “No way he would have been messing around, not unless someone dragged him back into it.”
“Luce.” I tried to stay calm. “We weren’t selling, I promise. We only did that a couple times anyway. He slipped and that’s all there is to it.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Me and him were this close to getting free of this place. Starting over.”
I got out my phone and pushed it at her. “Check my texts. Check my purse, my pockets. Go through my room if you want. And you’re right, staying clean meant the world to Wilky. Only thing stronger than him was the disease.”
I let that work on her for a bit before continuing. “Listen, I know it’s hard to hear this, but moving in with someone is stressful. Starting over is stressful. Getting a new job, leaving home. I’m not saying it was the whole Florida thing that caused this, but we both know Wilky was in a vulnerable place. One slip, his tolerance is down, and it’s all over.”
She let out a choked little gasp.
For a good half minute we stood there until at last the wind rose up, urging us onward. We turned back to the road, started walking. Luce withdrew her soggy crumple of tissue from her coat. When I looked over, she was crying and you could tell from the way she pressed her hand to her chest that her lungs were on fire. Once again I hated myself.
I told her I was sorry and the last thing I wanted was to upset her.
She shook her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you’re not selling. It’s just this whole thing has me completely fucked up. The thoughts going through my brain right now? Like back in the old days.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“Look,” she said. “Can you keep an eye on me for the next week or so? I’m not feeling too strong at the moment.”
I tried to tell her she was doing pretty great, considering. “One day at a time, remember?”
“Maybe.” Now it was Luce’s turn to get out her phone. “But you better hold on to this just in case. Put it somewhere I won’t find it. I’m scared I’ll text someone I shouldn’t.”
I hesitated. “I guess I could. If it’ll make you feel better.”
She put her phone in my hand and wrapped my fingers around it. “There’s only one thing in the world that could make me feel better.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
THE FIRST WAVE HIT RIGHT AS WE PULLED INTO the fairgrounds parking lot. Almost three months had passed since the Ronnie Ankle episode and at last Luce and I had our system down: suck off the coating, crush the raw pill between a couple of spoons, parachute the powder on an empty stomach. Instead of having to wait for a controlled release dragged out over twelve hours, we’d get the full dose roaring through us in fifteen minutes, tops. Within the year of course, all the anti-abuse folks would get Purdue to reformulate their product and inject an evil polymer matrix throughout the tablets, making them almost impossible to crush, even in a fancy electric spice grinder. Parachuting didn’t speed up anything and if you were foolish enough to try to chop them into little chunks and rail them, you’d end up with a nose full of glue. Sure, you’d be okay if you could get your hands on the old OC 80s, but it wasn’t long before dudes were trying to charge a hundred bucks per, which is total lunacy. On principle alone Luce and I refused to pay it, unless we were in dire straits.
But this was back before the world went spinning out of orbit and burned up around us. It was October in the Uwharrie Mountains, the most beautiful place in the world I’d wager, and everywhere you turned there was nothing but toasted golds and reds and soft fuzzy yellows. Luce and I floated out of her car all carefree and happy as if god herself had swept down from the sky and wrapped us in warm velvet blankets. The air was so clean and sweet that even Luce, whose lungs were scarred from a lifetime of improperly treated asthma, was gulping in oxygen like it was free. When a pink sun went rolling by, her face went slack with astonishment.
“Isn’t life amazing?” she said.
That year, Luce and I were all kinds of lucky. Although our jobs at the pool hall had gone belly-up when the place lost its liquor license in August, we turned around and got ourselves hired as legit food servers at a chain restaurant that had just opened the next county over. This place was the real deal. Paid training, an official employee handbook, shift meals, our own personal computer codes. If a customer so much as thought about putting his hands on you, you just told the manager on duty and right away they sent one of the male servers to take over your table. There was even a sexual harassment hotline that went straight to corporate in case there was any trouble in-house. While it was true that we only got part-time hours so the company wouldn’t have to spring for health insurance or, god forbid, sick leave, the money was decent if you knew how to hustle, and of course Luce and I did.
On occasion we’d pick up odd jobs for extra cash, which was how we found ourselves working the county fair that autumn. The woman who hired us, a middle-aged brunette named Pandora who kept squirting Afrin up her nose all through the interview, assured us the job was a no-brainer.
“You girls are going to have so much fun you probably ought to be paying me,” she said. “Just collect the tickets and give them to my partner at the five-thirty shift change. Name’s Paulo. Shaved head, lots of puka shell jewelry. Roun
d as a sphere. Acts tough but he’s mostly a nice guy unless you mess with his money. Oh and word to the wise. Don’t let him talk you into helping out with his side business.”
Luce’s eyes snapped into focus. “What kind of side business.”
Pandora eased a tissue from the box on her desk and discreetly dabbed at each nostril. “Some sort of import thing I think.”
She assigned us to the Buck-a-Dog booth. In exchange for one ticket, which cost a dollar at the front entrance, customers got to throw a little metal token at a bunch of plates that were balanced on the heads of giant plush beagles. If the token landed on a plate and didn’t go sliding off into oblivion, they’d win one of the matching dogs that hung from above. It wasn’t a completely impossible feat, said Pandora, and in fact it was good if a couple folks won in the morning because they would carry the dog around the fairgrounds all day, which was free advertising.
“But don’t let more than a few people win if you can help it. Every so often you’re going to want to wash the plates and tokens in this bath oil mixture I keep under the counter so everything stays nice and slippery. And make sure all the stuffed animals that hang overhead are as low as possible so the customers can’t get a good arc. I buy the dogs from a discount outfit in Myrtle Beach and you can tell by the way some of them stink they’re probably filled with nothing but garbage, but even so they cost real money. Paulo and I need to make some coin on this operation.”
“Word,” said Luce.
Pandora looked us over. “If you girls don’t let go of more than five dogs all day, I’ll give you each a quarter per ticket. Otherwise, it’s a dime. You think you can do that?”
Luce slid a look at me. I did some quick math in my head. If business was halfway decent, we could probably walk with a hundred bucks each, as long as we didn’t have too many winners. I gave Luce a nod of approval and she turned to Pandora.
“We got you,” she said.