Sami was still screaming when Steve thundered up the stairs and burst into the bathroom, sending her into further hysterics as the door flew open. He wrapped his arms around her as she beat her fists against him, trying to pull away, nearly falling with her in the shower. He gathered her against him, wet and naked.
Sobbing, she went limp in his arms. He reached over and shut off the water, and they both sank to the tile floor, Steve not caring his clothes were now soaked.
He pulled towels down and wrapped them around her shivering body. After she quieted, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
She clung to him, refusing to let go. He pulled her closer, not sure what happened, but knowing she was in no condition to tell him.
What had happened? She looked like she’d been fending off an attack. He’d left the bathroom after they spoke and went down to his study. He’d wanted to see if any therapists in the area had available appointments. He’d worked his way through several numbers in the phonebook when he heard Sami scream.
The sound had turned his blood cold. He’d been sure he’d find someone attacking her, but she’d been alone, cowering in the corner of the shower, pulling even further away when he approached her.
What the hell is going on? He felt like he was losing his mind. Coming here was supposed to help things, get him away from Ohio.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere, he thought it would be easier to stay sober.
That he’d finally be able to quit lying to her.
He realized Sami had fallen asleep. He carefully changed position so his arm wouldn’t go numb. Early in their marriage, he would have jumped at the chance to have her in bed like this. She was a beautiful woman.
This wasn’t her fault, and he didn’t blame her one bit for her anger. He felt he deserved every bit of it.
First he had the writer’s block, born of worry about producing yet another blockbuster novel for his publisher to fulfill his contract. When he wasn’t worried about that, he struggled to control his hair-trigger temper. Sometimes he felt like he wanted to deliberately lash out and hurt her, drive her away.
He knew he couldn’t keep this up, especially the lying to her.
He watched her. Even in sleep, worry creased her brow. He loved her with all his heart, but he felt helpless to stop hurting her.
How has she put up with me for so long? He knew she was faithful. It felt like something inside him goaded him to make the accusation, enjoying her righteous indignation.
That wasn’t like him. It’s not how he wanted to be.
She was right—he needed help. More than she knew.
Eventually, when she fell deeply asleep, he carefully extricated himself and pulled a light blanket over her. He shivered in his wet clothes. Peeling them off, he dropped them in the hamper before putting on a clean T-shirt and shorts.
He looked in the bathroom. What had terrified her? Sami wasn’t a woman who usually frightened easily. The look on her face when he burst through the door had been sheer terror.
She’d been alone, with only one way downstairs, and the bathroom window was too small for a large child to fit through, much less an adult.
He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep. After a while, he went downstairs, leaving the bedroom door open so he’d hear when she awoke. A few phone calls later, he had an appointment for the next morning with a therapist in Brooksville. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to see someone in this small town, but he needed help immediately.
When he heard her stir, he returned to their bedroom. She sat up in bed, looking around, disoriented.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What happened?” She didn’t even sound like herself. She sounded dazed.
“I don’t know. I was downstairs and heard you scream. I found you in the shower. You were terrified.”
The color drained from her face. “There was someone in the shower with me!”
“What?”
She looked pale. Her hands trembled. “I was in the shower and I heard the curtain move. I—I thought it was you. He put his arms around me and said—” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “‘Don’t worry. Everything will change. It’ll be over soon.’ His breath smelled like booze.”
Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “Sami, you were alone in the bathroom when I found you.”
* * * *
Alone? She swore someone was in the shower with her. Someone spoke to her. She shook her head. “I know it sounds crazy, but it happened, I swear.” She remembered seeing Steve—fully dressed—burst through the bathroom door. He didn’t have time to dry off and get dressed and back to the bathroom.
She knew she didn’t imagine it.
“Sami—”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I know you’re not. We’re both under a lot of stress. You probably fell asleep standing under the water and imagined it. You’re exhausted, you’ve been asleep for over an hour. You got up early, and didn’t get much sleep last night, thanks to me.”
Could that be it? A glance at the clock confirmed it.
“I know I smelled the alcohol on his breath. His hands felt so rough.” She turned Steve’s palms over and found them as smooth as ever. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
He nodded. “That makes two of us.” He held her hand in his.
“I smelled booze. I didn’t imagine that.”
“Sami, we don’t have liquor in the house.”
She chewed her lip. He continued. “I called around. I found someone who can get me in tomorrow morning. A therapist.” He looked down. “I need help.”
Her fingers tightened around his, and when he looked up, she saw tears in his eyes.
“Thank you,” Sami said. She leaned over and kissed him.
* * * *
He didn’t tell her he also found out about the next AA meeting. He’d go before the counseling appointment.
She dressed and went downstairs. She still acted out of sorts, and he went out of his way to be gentle and attentive. She’d stood by him in the beginning when he first got sober. He promised her he’d never drink again, even though he knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep. For a year, at least, he had.
It had been over a year since his last AA meeting. He knew full well he should be going not once a week, but several times a week. It was difficult to work meetings into his schedule, especially once his reputation rose and it became harder to find a truly “anonymous” meeting.
And he had Sami convinced his recovery was on track.
He wasn’t craving a drink as much as he craved some sort of release. He thought it was due to the writer’s block, because he found writing gave him as much of a buzz as any booze. He’d had serious withdrawals for a while, barely putting two sentences together without having them sound like crap unless he took a drink. At least he was writing again. Maybe he could get out of this funk and get his recovery—and their marriage—back on track.
If it wasn’t too late.
* * * *
Thursday morning Steve parked in the distance and watched the building for a while. The meeting took place in the Fellowship Hall of the Methodist church in downtown Brooksville. Five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start, he went in and quietly found a seat toward the back.
The meeting started and the introductions began. When his turn came, he moved closer to the group. “My name is Steve, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Steve.”
He hesitated, then spoke for a few minutes, purging himself. His temper, his remarks that seemed like they came from someone else. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he confessed. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like I want to hurt her. Emotionally,” he quickly added, noting their concerned faces, “not physically. I feel like I want to make her cry sometimes, and I don’t know why. I’ve never been like this before.
“I was on antidepressants for a while, years ago when I first got sober. They helped with my drinking. T
he doc weaned me off them, and then my…job took off, and I guess since then I’ve been moving forward.”
When the meeting concluded, he talked to the group leader. “I have an appointment I need to get to with someone here in town, a psychologist.”
“Who?”
“William Raymond. Do you know him?”
Bill smiled and stuck out his hand. “Know him? You’re looking at him.”
* * * *
They stopped by a diner, got coffee to go, then retreated to his office two blocks away. When they were settled, Dr. Raymond took out a notepad. “Where do you want to start?”
“I guess I’m getting a pretty good bang for my buck today, huh? You heard a lot of the basics.”
“Why don’t you back up and fill me in on the details. I know you were somewhat reserved in the meeting because of your profession.” Steve looked surprised. “Oh yes”—Dr. Raymond nodded—“I have all your books.”
Steve took a deep breath. “I thought maybe I needed a change of scenery. I thought it would help me with my latest book…”
At the end of the hour, Dr. Raymond put his notepad down. “I don’t know if you need any medication right now. I think it’s more important for you to stay sober at this point.” Steve felt guilty not coming clean about his sobriety record, in the meeting or here with the doctor, but he didn’t want it getting out.
“I don’t want to be on meds if I don’t have to. They helped my mood, but they played hell with my writing.”
“We’re agreed then. I do want you to get a full medical checkup. How much do you exercise?”
Steve shrugged. “Does lifting a coffee mug count?”
“Not even close. Maybe take up walking, get out of the house a little each day. Sunshine and fresh air. Exercise will help. Give you a good excuse to spend time with your wife.”
Steve nodded. “She’d like that. I hope.”
“And cut down on the caffeine.” He smiled. “It can make you jittery and contribute to the nerves.” He wrote the name and number of a doctor on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Give him a call, his office is a couple of buildings away. Tell him I referred you. He’s a GP, and he’s good.”
Steve nodded. “Thank you.”
“We’ll go from there. After a few weeks we can revisit the medication question.” Dr. Raymond checked his appointment book. “I want you back on Monday. I can see you immediately after the meeting, at nine.”
“Meeting?”
“AA. We meet every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings. We meet Friday night at nine. I don’t always make the Friday meeting, but I usually make the morning ones.”
Steve nodded. “Okay.”
Dr. Raymond noted the appointment. “Good.”
Steve paused. “How long have you been sober?”
“I’ve been without a drink for over fifteen years. My wife met me at the door one night with her suitcase in one hand and the baby on her hip and told me she was leaving. I begged her to stay, and she did. I white-knuckled it for the first six months so I wouldn’t lose her, then I finally got with the program.”
“How are you now?”
“She still puts up with me, if that’s what you mean.” He smiled. “When was your last meeting, before this morning?”
“Way too long.”
He nodded. “Sometimes we forget we need to keep working the program. We think we can do it alone, but it’s like maintaining diabetes. You might not be bad enough to have to take insulin, but you sure can’t sit down and have a soda and cookies every day either. Maintenance.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“You need to decide what’s most important in your life and go from there, take it one day at a time.”
They shook hands. Steve’s mood lightened while driving home. He could do it this time. He felt hopeful. He was starting over.
Chapter Fifteen
Steve stopped at the grocery store, determined to make it up to Sami. He bought Florida lobster tails, pasta, salad fixings, and a few other things he knew she’d love.
She wasn’t there when he arrived, but Jeff was gone from the pasture. Good, that gave him time to prepare.
It would be a great late lunch. He started cooking and timed it perfectly. She’d returned to the pasture when he was ready to drop the tails into the water.
He walked outside and she looked at him over Jeff’s shoulder as she unsaddled.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Good. I’m going back Monday. He wants me to get a complete physical.”
“It’s been a while. You’re overdue.” She acted cool, cautious.
He rubbed his right side. He felt a little discomfort, like gas. Must have been the fast-food breakfast he grabbed on the way to the meeting.
“Listen, Sami, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
The reservation in her eyes hurt, but he knew it was his fault. “Really?”
He nodded. “Hurry up, you’ve got time to take a shower before it’s ready.” She had her arms full of tack and couldn’t push Steve away when he grabbed her and kissed her.
At first she resisted, then she responded. He broke their embrace and smiled. “That’s just the appetizer.”
She smiled. With relief he noticed it reached her eyes. The desired effect.
“I’ll be right in,” she said.
* * * *
When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, her smile broadened. “Lobster? What’s the occasion?”
He put his arms around her. This time she returned his embrace. “You having the patience of a saint. We do have an anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks, you know.”
“I know.” She kissed him.
“I’m glad you stuck around with me long enough to celebrate it.”
“I love you. I just don’t understand what’s happened. And I’m not going to keep living the way we’ve been. I won’t. I told you that.”
He kissed her again. “That’s why I’m going to see Dr. Raymond on a regular basis.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m going to AA again.”
She leaned back and looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I want to make sure I don’t screw things up, that’s all. I’m hoping you’ll stick around for at least seven more years.” He grimaced and rubbed his right side. “Do we have any antacids?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I should have skipped the sausage biscuit sandwich this morning.”
Sami handed him a bottle from one of the kitchen cabinets. “Here, take this. I’ll get my shower.” She felt a little nervous about taking a shower after the prior day’s events. It must have been some sort of weird daydream. She’d been exhausted, worn out, and emotionally stressed.
Still, she left the bathroom door open while she showered and made sure the window was securely locked.
He is trying.
Steve had dinner plated and ready to serve when she reappeared.
He summarized his appointment with Dr. Raymond and again asked her forgiveness.
“Promise me you’ll keep working on this,” she said.
“Absolutely.”
She fell quiet for a moment. “I’m scared to get my hopes up, but life is too short to live the way we’ve been living over the past several months.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, Sami.”
* * * *
It was nearly four o’clock when they finished. After dinner, Steve shooed her out to the living room while he cleared the table. A few minutes later he came in, rubbing his side, but smiling. “Feel like curling up in front of the TV?”
She patted the couch next to her, and he sat, taking her into his arms. “Is your stomach okay?”
He nodded. “It feels a little better, probably gas.”
“How romantic.”
He laughed. “Sorry.”
He held her close, trying to remember when and why he’d lost
interest in romancing his wife. The writer’s block, the deadlines, the stress of speaking tours—
The drinking.
He was doing it again. Forcing himself to stop, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. She tilted her lips to his and he kissed her, slow and gentle at first, then with more force as he finally silenced his brain and let his heart and other organs take over.
His side throbbed, but he knew it would go away when the antacid kicked in. It had to be gas, because he’d had his appendix out in college.
He decided to ignore it. He stood, scooped her up in his arms despite her laughing protests, and slowly mounted the stairs one at a time. Halfway up the pain hit again, but he ignored it. Then the voice in his head, a low, raspy, drunken growl—
Teach you to poison me, you bitch!
He stopped, gasping for breath.
“Steve, what is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I thought I heard something—”
DAMN STUPID BITCH! the voice roared inside his head. He swore he tasted whiskey in the back of his throat. Sami made him put her down as he clutched the banister for support.
“Steve, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know—” The pain flared in his side, making him gasp, driving him to his knees. He wasn’t about to tell her he heard phantom voices, or tasted whiskey.
But the pain felt real.
Sami knelt beside him. “I’m calling 911.”
“No.” He caught her arm. “No, I’m okay. You drive me.”
She finally agreed. “Let me get you downstairs and I’ll get my clothes on.”
She maneuvered his arm around her neck and supported him down to the couch. She returned a moment later, dressed in jeans and a blouse. She retrieved her purse and keys and helped him out the front door and across the yard to the truck.
They had to stop twice as the pain hit. Again she begged him to let her call an ambulance.
“Get me into the truck. You can get me to the hospital faster than they can. They’d have to find their way out here first.”
Out of the Darkness Page 10