by Karen Tucker
Right away, Luce went trotting off. She loved pulling one over on people more than just about anything, and soon I could hear her pacing back and forth by the couch, going on about how my throat was so swollen up with infection I definitely couldn’t talk to people, much less customers. I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. There was no one in the world like Luce.
“You’re all set,” she called out. “Marshall says he hopes you feel better.”
“Sure he does,” I said, hobbling into the main room. “Hopefully I can walk okay tomorrow or else you’re going to have to get creative.”
“You really don’t want to use my insurance? All you need’s my social. We could take the Mazda and drive out to an urgent care where they don’t know us.”
By some trick of fate, Luce was still on her stepdad’s Blue Cross policy even though they hadn’t spoken since the previous summer. I hadn’t had insurance since my parents got laid off back when I was in high school, and like all the others, our current restaurant made sure no one got enough hours to qualify for their plan. Although the local walk-in clinic had helped me out in the past, Luce and I had been banned from the premises for trying to jimmy a cabinet.
“Better not,” I said, lowering myself onto the sofa. “They’d catch on sooner or later and then we’d be on the hook for fraud and who knows what else.”
Luce flopped down on the BarcaLounger. “Dude, we’re seriously turning into a couple old ladies. We never have any fun anymore. Come on, maybe they’ll give you some legit pain meds. We’ll split them.”
When I looked at her in surprise, she started laughing like it was the funniest thing ever. “I’m just fucking with you,” she said.
We sat there for a while not talking, watching a Law & Order episode we’d seen a dozen times over. You know the one. Where the woman’s been shot in the head, but if the doctors remove the bullet, she could croak right there on the table. The whole time I kept waiting for Luce to either conk out or else excuse herself to the bathroom so she could sniff in private, but when she just sat there gazing at the TV like she was actually following the story, it occurred to me that maybe I’d misjudged her. Some friend I was. I got out the menthol ointment she’d given me and squinted at the label and then I snuck another look at her: feet kicked up in the recliner, one hand resting on the mound of her belly, the other fanning herself with a Bed Bath & Beyond flyer. I thought of her crack about us turning into a couple of old ladies. Maybe it was true.
It wasn’t until the next episode started up in that way they fold right into each other that I turned to see Luce hunched over the coffee table. For a split second I thought I was dreaming. She was using the Bed Bath & Beyond flyer to cut a line of dope! A jolt of electricity streaked through me like I’d been plugged into a socket.
She smiled at me. “Junk mail. Get it?”
“Luce.” I didn’t know what to say. When she sniffed up the powder, my intestines cramped so bad it was like I was going cold turkey. “Please. I mean it.”
“You’re right, I’m being an asshole.” She held out the flyer. “Have a bump.”
The TV went to commercial and a series of glossy middle-aged people started giving testimonials for a product I couldn’t make any sense of. My knee ached like someone was driving nails straight through the bone. I tried to reason with Luce, saying she shouldn’t be snorting anything, not with her asthma. “And where’s your inhaler?”
“Inhaler, inhaler,” she said. “I know. Why don’t you try minding your own business?”
I looked around but I didn’t see her purse anywhere. “Go get it, will you? In case something happens.”
Instead of answering, she raised her upper lip and bared her teeth at me. Even that quick glimpse of her dogtooth incisor made my heart jump around a little. When she started chopping another line, it stopped and held itself perfectly still. “Luce. Don’t. I’m not kidding.”
With an icy smile, she leaned over the powder.
“Fine. I’m calling Greenie then.” I got my phone off the coffee table where she’d left it. Quick as a flash she lunged in my direction and next thing I knew Luce was sitting on top of me, trying to pry it out of my fingers. “My knee,” I said, gasping.
“You call her, I’ll fucking hate you forever.”
“You’re hurting me!”
“Promise you won’t call Greenie.”
A knock came at the door.
If you’ve ever fought with someone you love more than anyone else on the planet, then I don’t have to explain how you can feel like full-on murdering that person one second and then a second later be willing to throw yourself on top of a bomb for them. No doubt Greenie was checking up on us after we missed the 1:30. Showing up loaded to yesterday’s meeting wasn’t the smartest move ever. If she saw Luce was still using, she’d say this wasn’t a slip but a full-blown relapse, which would lead to required twice-daily group meetings, one-on-one sessions, copying entire chapters of the Basic Text by hand, not to mention counseling at Journeys if Greenie was madder than usual. There was even a chance she’d ship Luce off to some state-funded rehab. No way was I letting that happen. What would I ever do without Luce?
The knock came again. “Come on, ladies. Open up. It’s freezing.”
Nogales?
I yelled for him to hold on a sec. “I just got out of the shower!”
“Dude never fucking gives up,” Luce said. She rolled off the couch, leaned over the coffee table, and sniffed up the line she’d cut. “I know you two used to be cool and all, but this is turning into harassment.”
Even though she was still a good ten minutes away from peaking, her skin already had the telltale flush of someone with junk in their system. Her pupils looked like tiny black poppy seeds. Sure Nogales had let her off the day before, but his goodwill wasn’t endless.
In a low voice I told Luce to go to her room. “He sees you like this, he could report you for violating probation.”
She gave me a mocking salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”
“And leave the rest here.” I held my hand out.
Luce inhaled. A soft ugly rasping. “I don’t have any left, I swear it.”
“I’ll give it back I promise, but I don’t want you doing the rest of it alone in your room.”
She gave me a hateful look as expected, but at last she reached into her pocket and pulled out what remained of a bun. I could still feel the heat from her skin when she pressed it into my fingers. “There, bitch, you happy?”
“I love you too,” I said.
After scooting her off to her room with her inhaler, I limped into the bathroom, wrapped a towel around my head, put on my robe, and tucked the dope in the chest pocket. I fought my way back into the main room and hid the empty glassine bags under the pile of mail. When I finally opened the door, Nogales didn’t look happy.
“We need to chat,” he said.
I let him inside, telling him not to track any crap in. If I’d been nice about it, he would have been suspicious. Even so, his eyes went straight to the coffee table as if he knew exactly what had gone down. “Bed Bath & Beyond, huh? You planning a little shopping excursion?”
“I have to get ready for work,” I said. “Can we have this chat tomorrow?”
He checked his watch. “It’s just now three. You don’t have to be there for another hour.”
“Good memory. Thing is, they sprayed for bugs last night and Marshall asked if I’d do him a favor and come in early to wipe the poison off the chairs and tables.”
“Look at you. Doing favors.” Nogales went to the kitchen and poked his head in. “Where’s Luce?”
I said she was taking a nap, that Wilky’s memorial had knocked the wind out of her.
He nodded. “She wasn’t doing great yesterday, that’s for sure. That meeting help any?”
“You know Greenie. Keeping us all on the straight and narrow.”
Nogales held my gaze. “Hope so.”
At last he got around
to telling me that Lonny had called the sheriff’s office about his stupid Mazda. It took some doing, but Nogales had convinced him not to press charges. “Had to promise him a get-out-of-jail-free card next time he’s pulled over.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Funny, me and Luce never got one of those. Way I remember it, we got locked up in about six seconds. First-time offenders.”
“Come on,” he said, flushing. “You want me to say it again? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He meant it too, you could see it.
“Sure you are,” I said.
While he went outside and radioed for a tow truck, my thoughts kept ricocheting between Luce holed up in her bedroom and the dope burning a square in my pocket. Even though I knew she’d hate me, I had to get rid of it before Nogales came back and figured out what was happening. I’m not saying he was some kind of psychic, but with me he always had an oddly accurate sixth sense. Back when we were together, it felt like part of whatever private connection we shared between us, and once I got used to him knowing what I was thinking, it was kind of nice having someone around who understood me. Comforting, almost. Now that we were broken up, it wasn’t such a comfort anymore.
I was standing over the garbage disposal when I heard the front door open. I whisked the bags back into my robe quick as possible.
“Truck’s on its way,” Nogales called out. A split second later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. “What are you doing in here? Thought you had to get ready.”
“You know me. Coffee first.” I pulled a couple of mugs out of the dry rack. “Want some? I was just about to make it.”
“Sounds great,” he said.
But as we stood there looking at each other, his face grew twitchy—not much, you would’ve had to look hard to see it—and I knew Nogales was having one of his mind-reading episodes. Although he covered it up quick, there was no denying he’d realized something was up, even if he didn’t understand what exactly.
“Actually.” He cleared his throat. “I better take a rain check. You know how busy Mondays get down at the station.”
“You sure?” I smiled as best I could. “Won’t take but a second.”
Nogales was already heading to the front door. “Say hi to Luce, will you? I’ll catch you two later.”
And he was gone.
Almost an hour had passed since the tow truck pulled the cheese-mobile out of our driveway. Luce was back in the BarcaLounger watching yet another Law & Order. I was stretched out on the sofa with a fresh baggie of ice balanced on my knee. The air stunk of menthol ointment and a second round of ibuprofen was making its way through my system. So far none of it had knocked the pain down any, but maybe something would kick in by the time they got to the courtroom section.
The good news was Luce hadn’t asked for her dope back. I wasn’t sure why—no way she’d forgotten I had it—but at least she wasn’t acting all fiendy. I told myself I did the right thing by not rinsing it down the disposal. That was Luce’s job. We’d talk it out and then we’d go into the kitchen together. I’d hand it over and watch as she emptied it into the drain and pushed the button. Greenie always said you couldn’t make anyone get clean unless they were willing. Until then, it waited in my chest pocket, warm and steady. There was something calming about it.
When my phone buzzed out of nowhere, I flinched, causing my ice pack to fall onto the floor next to the sofa. A call from an unfamiliar local number. Before I could answer, whoever it was hung up. Right away I knew it was Nogales, hitting me up from a buddy’s phone to trick me into answering. I turned to Luce, planning to make some crack about needy dudes, only to find the recliner was empty. She was by the door, pulling her boots on.
“Mail came,” she said. “Be back in a second.”
I looked at her. “You expecting something?”
“Been getting a few condolence cards. It’s not like I want to read them, but I also don’t want them sitting out there all by their lonesome.” She zipped up her new fur-trimmed parka and spun around like a model. “Not bad, right?”
“You look great,” I said.
On TV, Jack McCoy was heckling a witness and the Advil was doing as much good as a children’s chewable. I checked my pocket, making sure Luce hadn’t somehow lifted the bags when I wasn’t paying attention. But they were there, loyal as ever. I glanced out the window. Luce was at the mailbox, flipping through envelopes. A painful fist formed in my stomach. Some people look extra sad when they don’t know they’re being watched.
When my phone buzzed again. I expected to see the same number as before but instead it was the restaurant. Without thinking, I answered.
“Where are you?” said Marshall. “I got Fran doing your opening sidework and she isn’t too happy about it. You almost here or what?”
“I’m sick, remember? Luce called you.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and in she came. She took off her boots and went sock-wise into the bathroom.
“I haven’t talked to her in days,” Marshall said. “And hey, I know you girls are going through some stuff, but this no-show crap won’t fly. I don’t care how short-staffed we are, either you’re here in ten minutes or you can take the rest of the week off right along with it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am sick, I promise. Or actually the truth is I twisted my knee yesterday and it hurts to walk. You don’t remember talking to Luce? I heard her call you.”
“See you in a week,” he said, hanging up.
I probably don’t have to tell you that by the time Luce emerged from the bathroom, she was well on her way to Nodsville. She socked her way back to the BarcaLounger, plopped down, and reclined her chair with a slow crank of the lever. When I told her I just got off the phone with Marshall, she laced her hands over her stomach and closed her eyes. “Yeah? How’s he doing.”
The whole thing came together as if Junky Jesus himself had delivered it in a sermon on the mount. I leaned forward. “You texted someone on my phone instead of calling Marshall. They put your shit in the mailbox, rang once as a signal. Let me guess, it was either Teena or Marcella. Or no.” I snapped my fingers. “Durl. Probably thinks he’s got a shot with you after what all happened.”
“Durl,” she said, dragging the name out. “Anyone deserves to get hustled, he does.”
“While I get a week’s suspension for no-call no-show. Is this really how you want to play it?”
“Listen, I’ll go to the 1:30 tomorrow, I promise, but can you please just let me enjoy myself for one fucking second?”
We sat there not speaking. It wasn’t long before Luce turned her face away and began to snore—a gentle buzz that usually cheered me up whenever I heard it—but now only made me even more angry. I turned off the TV, hoping that would get her attention, but she just let out a shiver and rolled over. At last I hauled myself up and tucked the afghan around her arms and shoulders.
Outside, the sun had turned an overripe sort of color, like a peach right before it goes wormy. From my spot on the couch, I watched it sink lower and lower until it vanished behind the mountain. I reached up and pulled the chain on the gooseneck lamp next to the coffee table. A cone of light formed in the air. Only then did I realize Luce had her eyes open. She was watching me with a funny expression—as if there was something she wanted to tell me.
“What,” I said.
She filled her lungs, let the air out slowly. “Look. People drift apart. It happens.”
“Drift?” I did my best to smile at her. “Sorry, but you’re too messed up to make any sense. Go back to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You’re this close to getting your one-year tag and I’m about to take my second Day 1 in a week. Let’s be real. We’re in complete different places.”
I told her how much time a person has doesn’t matter. “You know that.”
“Bullshit,” she said.
This next part Greenie doesn’t like so much when I
share it. The regulars don’t appear to be all that wild about it either and even the hot-off-the-press newbies tend to start squirming around in their chairs. But what they don’t realize is it’s one of the best, most wholesome parts of the story! Don’t get me wrong, Greenie always helped me a lot and I respect her, just like I respect anyone else who has the guts to sit circled up in these rooms. Old-timers like her know something about life on this planet that most of us never come close to understanding—so you’d think she’d recognize that what happened next had nothing to do with loss or pain or failure. It was from an entirely different universe.
I reached for the mail on the coffee table. Got one of those postcards that are always advertising ten-dollar oil changes. Took Luce’s stash out of my pocket, shook out a bag on the table, chopped it, sniffed up a rail. A warm fizz filled my veins and it wasn’t long before my knee felt better than ever. The rest of my troubles faded into the dim, one by one. Soon the only thing left was the mysterious grace of god rippling all through me, along with a faint sour drip at the back of my throat.
And Luce. Luce glowing in the yellow haze of lamplight. Her glorious dogtooth incisor. Her lungs taking air in and out. Already I could see us walking into tomorrow’s meeting, chins high, shoulder to shoulder. We’d pour ourselves cups of coffee and join the circle. Listen to stories. Maybe share a little. Reach in the box of key tags and take our Day 1s. Just the thought of it brought on a whole new rush of wonder and to celebrate I cut another line of powder. Luce and I were together again.
Part 2
FIRST THINGS FIRST: DON’T DO IT. MAYBE YOU think you have the willpower to be a tourist, to chip on weekends, on payday, when you’re stressed out because your mom phoned you up asking you to send her another MoneyGram so she can buy groceries or because your manager keeps following you around the restaurant saying you might not have such a crap schedule if you’d just go out for drinks with him once in a while—but guess what? That gray glob of fat riding around in your skull works like every other human brain on the planet. It won’t be long before that stuff owns you. Seriously, don’t start.