She picked a spot to park not far from where her mother had been buried. It was a sunny day, which was an excuse for Anna to put on a bonnet. As a little girl, she’d liked to wear her Easter bonnet on any occasion she could. Decoration Day had always been one of them. The old gardening basket she now toted had been used by her mother for many years. Together, they’d made a point of tending to unkempt graves. Anna had never imagined that one day she’d be tending to her mother’s.
She placed one of her bouquets at the base of her mother’s gravestone. The stone had her mother’s name, and dates of birth and death. The inscription was simple: beloved Wife and motHer.
Look over me, God, Anna prayed, so that one day I can live a life that earns just such an epitaph.
She ran her hands across the lettering, dismayed to see that her fingers began to slightly tremble. The condition was affecting both of her hands. She was tired of the withdrawal manifesting itself in so many ways.
Anna emptied the contents of her gardening basket onto the ground. She took the kneeling pad, spread it out on the grass, and with the pruning shears, cleared grass and weeds from around the headstone.
While she worked, she chattered companionably. “Daddy gives you his best, Momma,” she said. “But you know how he is. Nothing scares him more than shedding tears. That’s why he’s not here. The truth is, he misses you something terrible. And so do I, Momma. I’m in a bad place. I’d give anything if you were here to help me.”
She took a cloth to the headstone, buffing it clean. Then she spent a few minutes of reflection before getting to her feet. If her mother were alive, she would be using her time to tend to the graves of others, so Anna tried to do as she would have done. She continued down the line of graves, spending a little time with each.
This part of the cemetery was for the newer arrivals. Many of the names were familiar to her, but even those that weren’t got some sprucing up. What seemed wrong to Anna was the disproportionate number of young people buried in this section of the cemetery. Sometime in the future, Anna thought, a visitor might wonder if a war had occurred during this time and claimed all these young lives.
In a way, she supposed, it had.
Anna didn’t spend as much time at the graveyard as she would have liked. She couldn’t ignore the growing demands of her body. She finished her tidying and placed her third bouquet at Blake’s grave. The homecoming king, she thought, being attended to by the homecoming queen.
“We’re quite the royals, Blake,” she whispered.
As Anna turned to leave, she noticed a handful of people spread out around the cemetery; one or two were tidying, as she had done. Decoration Day hadn’t been completely forgotten.
vvv After a brief stop at the store, Anna made it home from the cemetery and announced, “Daddy, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to go lie down.”
Instead of expressing sympathy for her, he said, “Your boss called and left a message.”
Anna wasn’t up to dealing with Clint Smith. For the rest of the day—for the rest of the week—there was only one thing on her agenda. It was time to go cold turkey. The thought scared her, but seeing all those gravesites had cemented her resolve.
Already, Anna knew that the symptoms she’d been experiencing were a cakewalk in comparison to what was coming. She’d experienced the muscle aches, anxiety, sleeplessness, and running nose. Now her body was actively rebelling with abdominal cramps, nausea, and goose bumps. Soon enough, Anna knew, uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting would lay her low. According to accounts of recovering addicts, you had to all but die to get better.
She went to her room and emptied her shopping bag of the items she’d bought. She had prepared as well as she could for what was coming. She had a bucket and bedpan handy; and her nightstand looked like a pharmacy—with antihistamines, electrolyte solutions, antidiarrheal medication, and ibuprofen. Anna had read up on what to expect, but there were some things that were difficult to plan for. As Mike Tyson once said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
She took an Advil and washed it down with Gatorade. The pain reliever wasn’t the pill her system craved, and her body told her so. Would she be able to keep fighting when things got worse?
The doorbell rang. Anna suspected it was one of her father’s drinking companions and ignored its summons. What she couldn’t ignore was when her father started yelling her name.
“Anna, Anna, you got yourself a visitor!”
Hadn’t she made it clear that she was sick? That was no lie either. But it wouldn’t do to yell that to her father. By the sound of it, he’d left her visitor standing at the door.
She tried getting up, but dizziness won the first round. With her second try, she got to her feet. Her aching joints made her shuffle along like some old woman. She wondered who her caller was. She only had two friends in town, Tammy and Carol, and neither was in the habit of stopping by unannounced.
Clint Smith was not a face she expected to see, and she couldn’t help but recoil both in surprise and fear. He’d never come to her house before and looked as uneasy as Anna felt.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Anna,” he said, “especially when you’re not feeling well.”
“That’s okay,” she managed to say; still, she made a point of leaving a healthy distance between them. Just the thought of his Jekyll/ Hyde transformation scared her even now.
What was reassuring, though, was seeing Ruth and two of the grown-up Smith children sitting in their car parked out on the street. The family waved at her, and Anna waved back. Then she turned to the artist, clearly wondering what was going on.
He met her eyes, and she was surprised to see him trying to blink back tears. He cleared his throat and then cleared it again.
“I came here to apologize to you, Anna,” he said. “I had a whole speech ready for you this morning, but then you didn’t come to the studio. I’ve forgotten just about everything I meant to say except for how sorry I am. I couldn’t leave without telling you that.”
“Leave?” asked Anna. “Where are you going?”
“The other day my family gathered for an . . . intervention,” he said, looking sheepish. “They told me they loved me, said I had a problem, and encouraged me to go to rehab. I couldn’t argue with anything they said, especially after how I had acted with you. There is no excuse for what happened that day, except for me to say it almost felt like I was possessed by some—thing—some force—I couldn’t control.” He looked away for a moment. “Anyway, I’m told I could be away for a month or more, and that’s why I wanted to make sure you had this before I left.”
His hands weren’t as controlled as his voice. They were shaking as he handed her a manila envelope. Anna could feel her expression turning puzzled.
“It’s a month’s worth of pay,” he said. “All cash. And it’s also an inadequate apology.”
“I can’t take this, Mr. Smith—”
“You most certainly can. It’s the least I can do. And the next time you see me, Anna, the hope is that I’ll be my old self. No more of my phantasmagoria phase; I don’t want that kind of darkness in my life. I’m going to get back to my portraits of West Virginia. That’s who I am. I just hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me in the meantime.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. For a moment, she wanted to confide in him, to confess that she couldn’t judge him because she, too, was struggling with darkness. But she found she couldn’t say the words out loud. So she simply said, “I already have, Mr. Smith.” “That’s a relief,” he said.
“Good luck,” Anna said, “and God bless you.”
They shook hands, and then Clint made a slow retreat back to his waiting family. She felt a momentary pang of envy at his support system. Everything she’d read about going cold turkey had stressed that the best way to go about it was to have a caregiver helping with the process, not to mention medical supervision. In Anna’s circumstances, that wasn’t an option. She would have to go it
alone.
Later, how much later she had no idea, Anna heard her father calling to her in the bedroom to say she had a visitor. It took her a few moments to distinguish that she was awake and not having another fevered vision.
Déjà vu, she thought. Another visitor.
“I’m sick!” she yelled, or at least attempted to yell. Her croaking voice almost felt as if it wasn’t her own.
She grabbed the Gatorade bottle with a shaking hand and managed to get a few swallows down before she heard her father yell again.
What didn’t he understand about her being sick? But at least for the moment her stomach wasn’t trying to empty itself. Earlier she’d had to battle an hour or more of dry heaves. That had left her stomach feeling like it had been shredded.
Once more, she managed to get to her feet. She needed to make it clear to her father that she wasn’t feeling well enough to talk to anyone in person or on the phone. Still, it was unusual for her to have two visitors in a day. She hoped it wasn’t Shirley Wilson, the pastor’s wife. She had been threatening to call on Anna for some time.
On unsteady legs, Anna made it to the door. Leave it to her father to not invite the person inside to wait. Anna opened the door and immediately regretted it. Standing there, looking impossibly handsome, was Jake Rutledge.
“Surprise,” said Jake, “but the last time we talked, I did promise you that I’d stop by.”
Despite her misery, Anna could see how nervous Jake looked. He was moving from side to side, and she knew it must have taken all his nerve to show up on her doorstep.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, “but your timing couldn’t be worse. I’m afraid I’m sick.”
“I hope I’m not the cause,” said Jake.
“Of course not,” said Anna.
“I won’t keep you,” he said, “but the reason I stopped by was to say thanks. I went to visit Blake’s grave today, and I saw that you’d left him another beautiful bouquet.”
“I was glad to do it,” she said.
“I brought you something that might make you feel better,” said Jake. He held up a paper bag. “We had talked about going out for coffee, and you told me you preferred tea, so I decided to bring you some. My mom used to always say that nothing settles the stomach like a cup of tea complete with honey.”
Charmed, Anna raised one hand to try and fix her hair but then gave up. I’m sure I look as bad as I feel, she thought. As Jake extended the bag her way, a rolling wave of nausea seized her gut, forcing her to raise her hand to her mouth to try and stave off retching.
She was tempted to blame her condition on some virus or stomach flu. But her conversation with Clint flashed through her mind, and she felt like a hypocrite. It wouldn’t do to pretend all was well. The time for lies was over. The deception had to stop, even at the cost of sending Jake running.
“You were sweet to bring tea, Jake. And more than anything I wish I could be pleasant and entertaining company, but it wouldn’t be right for me to deceive you with what would just be an act. As hard as it is for me to believe, over time I’ve somehow became dependent on the same poison that killed your brother. Today is the day I began trying to regain control of my life.”
Anna expected Jake’s expression to change from one of concern to one of revulsion. She thought her revelation would kill any potential chance of romance between them. But he surprised her by setting the bag down, then reaching for her hand.
He doesn’t even seem to notice how clammy it is, she thought.
“You’re here at home going cold turkey?” he asked.
No more deceitful behavior, she thought. That was all part of getting clean. “I’m trying to,” she said.
“Without anyone’s help?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Change of plans,” said Jake.
16
MEMORIES OF MOON PIES
As difficult as it was to await Judge Perry’s decision on the attorney general’s motion, a hiatus from the case was just what Jake needed. Trying to get Anna Fowler back on her feet would require a commitment on his part. Even under these conditions, though, he found himself enjoying the time he spent with Anna. If possible, Jake was even more enamored of her now than he had been in high school. She had been courageous throughout her recovery. The girl he had admired had grown into a strong and beautiful woman.
Jake knocked on the front door of the Fowler home and waited. He knew better than to knock again or ring the bell. He neither wanted to awaken Anna if she was asleep nor get on Mr. Fowler’s bad side. Since his stroke, Gary Fowler moved slowly, if he attempted to move at all. He tolerated one summons to the door; a second directive got him hot and bothered.
Finally, Jake heard the sound of locks being unlocked. The door opened, and an unsmiling Mr. Fowler said, “You again?”
During Jake’s frequent visits over the last few days, he had gotten used to Anna’s gruff father. “Good morning, Mr. Fowler,” he said. “Would you like a coffee or a doughnut?”
134 “What I’d like,” Mr. Fowler said, “is a cold beer and a little peace and quiet.”
But he pushed open the screen door as a signal for Jake to enter, then turned around and began shuffling toward the living room where his easy chair awaited.
Jake walked down the hallway. He softly knocked on Anna’s door but didn’t hear an answer. Jake had spent the day before in court and hadn’t been able to be with Anna, although they’d talked for a few minutes last night. She’d told him everything was fine and pretended all was well, but she’d sounded on edge. Jake turned the knob and silently entered the room. Anna had her back turned to him and appeared to be sleeping. She was wearing a T-shirt; her perspiration was causing it to cling to her. The room wasn’t hot, but since going cold turkey, her body’s thermostat seemed to have a mind of its own, causing her to alternately boil and freeze.
As he did his best to quietly sit down on the one chair in the room, Anna turned around and opened one eye.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hay is for horses,” said Jake.
Her face scrunched up in thought, and she said, “True, but straw is cheaper, and grass is free; marry a farmer’s daughter and you can have all three.”
“I never heard that rhyme.”
“You probably didn’t say ‘Hey’ to your mother like I did,” Anna said. “That was her way of trying to break me of the habit.”
“I guess she didn’t succeed,” Jake said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
Anna seemed to think about that. “I feel fluish,” she said, “but I think less fluish than I did yesterday.”
“You want something to eat or drink? I brought coffee, tea, and doughnuts.”
Anna inhaled the aroma. “For now, I’m happy to sniff away, but I think I’ll wait a few minutes before deciding if my body is up for the challenge.”
Jake nodded and began to lower the bag of doughnuts and the coffee to the floor.
“Please don’t wait on me to eat or drink,” Anna said.
Her words were a relief to Jake. “Thanks. I could use my morning eye-opener. Last night I didn’t sleep a wink for worrying about the outcome of the hearing.”
He lifted the coffee to his lips and took a long sip. His satisfied sigh announced that the coffee had hit the spot.
“Yesterday I kept thinking about your case,” said Anna. “It was a good distraction from my own situation. When do you think you’ll know?”
“The judge asked both sides to supply him with some additional information within the week,” he said, “which we did. He said his decision would be prompt, so we’re hoping within the next ten days.” Jake thought about something and began shaking his head.
“What is it?” asked Anna.
“It’s nothing, really,” he said. “I guess I’m still pissed off that our state attorney general was acting like a shill for the opioid distributors. I know it’s naive of me, but you’d think if you entered into public service, you would want to h
elp others and not just yourself.”
“You think he’s dirty or just an incompetent boob?”
“It’s hard to know for sure,” Jake said, “but it’s clear that the opioid lobby might as well call his office their home away from home. The lawyer who represents the distributors, and who filed a motion to make my case go away, was actually advising the two state AGs in open court. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him whispering to them and passing notes. There should be a law against that.” “Maybe one day you’ll write that law,” Anna said.
“First, I’ll have to survive this case.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Then it’s a mutual admiration society,” he said. “I know what you’ve been going through to get that monkey off your back.”
If only he’d been there to help Blake, Jake thought, like he was trying to help Anna. Strange how there seemed to be this connection between his dead brother, Jake, and Anna. It was almost as if Blake were coordinating their coming together from the grave.
“Don’t congratulate me so fast,” she said. “I’m still feeling . . . unsteady.”
Jake nodded and said, “There’s a reason for that. Your neurons have adapted to the drugs, and they’re firing these electrical pulses. At the same time your receptors—those are the ends of your nerves—are craving an opiate high. That’s why a lot of physicians recommend replacement drug therapy instead of going cold turkey.”
“I didn’t want to substitute one drug for another. To me, that was like choosing the lesser of two evils.”
“I wouldn’t look at it that way,” Jake said. “It’s more like choosing something other than poison, and that’s never a bad choice. Opioids alter brain chemistry, which makes kicking the drugs hard. Even if it takes methadone to get off opioids, it’s still better than the alternative.”
“Intellectually I know you’re right,” said Anna, “but I hope it doesn’t have to come to that. Still, I keep trying to convince myself the worst is over, but it really doesn’t feel that way.”
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