Spin

by Catherine McKenzie

  “Yeah, I know. So, you really think I’m ready to go home?”

  She nods. “We’ve made some good progress on identifying the roots of your addictive patterns of behavior. We had a real breakthrough with your family, and we’ve started working on your sobriety plan. So, yes, I think you’re ready. But it’s important that you feel ready, as well.”

  “And if I do?”

  “Then there’s just one more thing you have to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Confess.”

  I join Amber for a late lunch, setting down my bowl of clam chowder on the table. She’s eating a grilled cheese sandwich, taking small, even bites in a way that reminds me of Rory.

  “Where are the boys?”

  “Saying goodbye to Ted.”

  “Shit. I missed the singing?”

  She smiles. “You can sing for me tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I finished my program, and since I’ve been a model patient lately, my therapist said I could leave tomorrow if I wanted.”

  “Huh.” I swallow a spoonful of my creamy soup. “I’m leaving tomorrow too.”

  “That’s great,” she says with mild enthusiasm.

  “So, we’re both leaving tomorrow?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  I put down my spoon. “Then tell me something, why don’t we seem happier about it?”

  She gives me a bright smile. “’Cuz we’re stupid?”

  “I think we’re in shock.” I give myself a shake. “No more therapy, no more group, no more Saundra. This calls for a toast.”

  I raise my glass toward hers.

  She grins and follows suit. “What shall we toast to?”

  “Fortitude.”

  “Fortitude?”

  “Yeah. Strength and endurance in painful or difficult situations.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  We clink glasses, and I down the rest of my grape juice. Not quite my usual toasting fare, but one can’t be picky when celebrating one’s last day in rehab.

  I slap my glass down on the table upside down, like it’s a shot glass. “So, what do you want to do on your last afternoon?”

  She wipes away her milk mustache. “Skip group?”

  “Excellent idea. I just have one thing to do first.”

  I wait nervously for Henry near the front door. He and Connor are finishing up their goodbyes with The Banker. Typical guys, there’s not a tear in sight.

  As I watch Henry throw his head back and laugh I have a moment of doubt about what I’m about to ask. But he’s the only person in this place since Amy left who I feel comfortable enough with. And if another message gets sent at the same time, so much the better, right?

  When the last palm has been slapped, Henry and Connor walk in my direction. Henry’s wearing a rugby shirt over his cargo shorts. He looks about twenty-two.

  He flashes me a smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Hi, Connor.”

  Connor nods hello distractedly. “You seen Amber?”

  “I left her in the caf.”

  “Righto. Catch you later, man?”

  “Later. What’s up, Kate?”

  I nibble on the end of my thumb. “Um . . . well . . . I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Hey, that’s great.”

  “Yeah, it is. Amber’s leaving too.”

  “Really? I never would’ve thought that she’d leave before Connor could.”

  “Yeah, that surprised me a little too. But he’s got, what, eight, nine days left?”

  “Eight days, four hours.”

  “But who’s counting? Can we sit?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk to the library and sit in the armchairs where we had our first real conversation. It seems fitting, since after tonight, this will probably be our last conversation.

  Henry looks at me expectantly. I don’t know what he’s expecting, but I’m sure it’s not what I’m about to say.

  “Um . . . I wanted to ask you a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “But you don’t know what it is yet.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Well, you might consider it an imposition, and please feel free to say no . . .”

  “Just ask me, Kate.”

  “OK. Well, you know about the twelve steps, right?”

  He waves his hands at the books that surround us. “It would be hard not to.”

  “Right. So, one of the steps is that you have to admit, like, the ‘nature of our wrongs’ to another person, and well, usually, it’s to a priest or something, but I don’t believe in that so . . .”

  Oh. My. God. I sound like a Valley girl.

  Henry furrows his brow. “You want to confess your wrongs to me?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Isn’t that kind of personal?”

  “Well, that’s kind of why I wanted it to be you . . .” I pause. Here comes the hard part. “Because, um, I think it’s important to confess to someone you trust but who isn’t really a part of your life, so I can confess, and start to move on.”

  The unsaid words “without you” hang in the air between us.

  “I see.”

  “And I trust you . . .”

  His face is expressionless. “And I’m not really a part of your life . . .”

  His measured words hit me like individual punches to the chest. Bam, bam, bam, bam. But hey, I asked for this.

  “Will you do it?” I force myself to ask.

  He looks away. “Yeah, all right.”

  “Thanks. Are you free after the movie tonight?”

  “Won’t you be breaking curfew?”

  “I don’t think that really matters anymore.”

  He turns back to me and it’s like he’s looking at a stranger. “OK. This is your show.”

  I guess it is. But then, how come I don’t know how it ends?

  After Henry leaves, I spend the rest of the afternoon in the library working on the list of things I’m going to confess to him.

  I don’t really know why I’m even going through with this step, but I feel like, somewhere along the way, all of this went from being a big joke to being something important. Maybe it was the sessions with my parents, or maybe it’s the things Saundra’s been saying since I got here. It’s not that I think I really, truly, deeply have a drinking problem, but I can see why someone might think I do. And regardless, I need to make some changes in my life. Clearly.

  Besides, all this soul-searching is somehow easier than thinking about the blank expression on Henry’s face when the reason I was asking him to take my confession sunk in.

  Well, he’s better off without me. He’ll know that once he’s heard the worst about me. And since nothing’s ever happened between us . . . no harm, no foul, right?

  So, I’ll confess my sins, and he’ll walk away, and then I can just be the girl he went running with while he babysat Connor in rehab, and he can be one more guy I pushed away before things got messy.

  When dinnertime comes around, I fold up my notes and take my usual seat next to Amber in the cafeteria. Connor and Henry sit opposite us. We all seem a little out of sorts, like nobody wants to acknowledge that this is our last night together.

  Near the end of dinner, Amber says, “So, I’ve arranged a pickup tomorrow if you want a lift back to the city.”

  “You’re going to drive back?”

  “I don’t like to fly if I don’t have to.”

  “OK, sure, thanks. What time?”

  “Right after breakfast.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Henry stands abruptly and picks up his tray. “Should we watch the movie?”

  Connor eyes Amber across the table. “We’ll catch you later.”

  Amber’s gaze is locked on his. “Yeah, later.”

  Henry and I walk to the common room. Candice and Muriel are sitting together near the screen, whispering conspiratorially. I wave to Muriel. She looks affronted and wh
ispers something emphatically to Candice. A match made in rehab heaven.

  The lights dim, and in keeping with the perpetual romantic comedy theme, tonight’s movie is a BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Anne, the smart middle daughter of a foolish baronet, falls in love with a poor, handsome naval officer named Frederick. Her family is very much against the match, and they part. Eight years later, a now rich Frederick moves back to the neighborhood, still angry with Anne for ditching him all those years ago.

  As we watch the movie, I’m hyperaware that Henry is sitting next to me, and of what we’re going to do afterward. Maybe it’s just the melodrama unfolding on the screen, but it seems like a part of my life is ending, and I’m feeling every second of it.

  I shake these thoughts away and try to enjoy the movie, which is quite good and faithful to the book until . . .

  “No, no, no,” I mutter under my breath.

  On screen, Anne is running through the streets of Bath, trying to find Frederick after he confesses his constant love in a letter.

  I give a snort of disgust. “This so did not happen in the book.”

  “What? Women didn’t run after men in Austenian England?”

  “Of course they didn’t.”

  Anne finally catches up to Frederick and tells him that nothing will keep her from marrying him this time. They kiss (a sweaty, panting kiss in the middle of the street!), and it’s the end. As the lights go up, I rant to Henry about the need to modernize a story that was perfectly good just the way it was written.

  Henry gives me a teasing smile. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because the original was perfection.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You’ve never read it?”

  “Do I look like a girl?”

  “No, an English grad student.”

  “Touché.”

  We lapse into silence as we both remember what comes next.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  Henry puts his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His expression is the same inscrutable one from earlier. “Sure. Should we go to the library?”

  “No. Follow me.”

  We walk along the path we’ve run on so many times, finding our way by the light of the moon. The air is still warm from the day, and it’s a clear night. A thousand galaxies are half visible through the canopy of trees above.

  I’m looking for a particular place, a tall maple that dwarfs the sky, a tree that always astounds me whenever I run past it. I can see it up ahead, its leaves blowing gently in the breeze. We reach it and I drop to the ground, crossing my legs.

  Henry sits down in front of me. “So, what do I do?”

  Please, don’t hate me.

  “Nothing. Just listen.”

  I take out the paper I wrote on this afternoon. It doesn’t contain the whole truth, it can’t, but it’s mostly there. The worst of me is there.

  I take out my iTouch and turn it on so I can see the harsh words on the page. It glows brightly, making a cocoon of light around me. I can almost imagine I’m alone.

  I clear my throat. “This is my confession. I am a liar. I keep people at arm’s length. I use alcohol as a shield. I have betrayed my friends. I have betrayed people who aren’t my friends . . .”

  I read slowly until I get to the bottom of the page, giving each sentence its due. Then I turn it over and read everything I wrote on the back too.

  Henry listens. I can hear him breathing, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I get to the end. “I am a liar,” I repeat, reading the last thing I’ve written. The last and the first thing about me are the same.

  Do you get it, Henry? Do you get it?

  I use my left hand to clear the leaves from the patch of ground between us. I snap off the iTouch and reach into my pocket for the lighter I brought with me. I hold it to the edge of the paper, waiting for it to catch.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Henry says.

  “Shh.”

  The fire catches hold. I drop the paper onto the patch of cleared ground, watching the flames eat away at the lines I wrote. The charred bits break away and float up toward the trees.

  I watch until it’s all burned away. Until there’s nothing left.

  “What now?” Henry asks.

  I try to meet his eyes, but it’s too dark to see.

  “Now, we forget that any of this ever happened.”

  Chapter 20

  Pavlovian Response to Bullshit

  The next morning, after Amber and I have been sung to in the cafeteria, I find Saundra in her office, doing paperwork. She looks up when I rap on her door.

  “I was just coming to say goodbye.”

  She smiles and puts down her pen. “I’m glad you did.”

  “And I wanted to say thank you, you know, for putting up with me, etc.”

  “It was my pleasure. Good luck, Katie.”

  “Thanks.” I hesitate. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know this is going to sound silly, but it’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while . . .”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Who’s that dog collar for?”

  Saundra’s laughter follows me down the hall to the lobby, where Amber’s waiting for me with Carol.

  As I sign my discharge papers I wonder whether Henry’s going to show up. But then, there he is, talking to Amber. He says something in a low voice that I can’t make out, and she shakes her head. He turns away from her looking aggravated but gives me a small smile when he catches me watching them.

  “You all set?” he says, walking toward me.

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around the park sometime . . .”

  “Sure.”

  He looks into my eyes, staring at me intently. We’re both waiting for the other to say something (Call me? Stay? I’ll miss you? Thank you?), but neither of us wants to be the first to speak.

  “Take care of yourself, Kate, Katie, whichever,” he finally says.

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  “You bet.”

  He gives me one last shoulder squeeze and walks away. I watch him go, but like with my sister, I don’t know what to say to bring him back to me, or even if that’s what I want.

  I brush my tears away quickly, and follow Amber outside. We climb into a huge black SUV while the driver puts our bags in the back.

  We don’t talk much on the long drive, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we get to the city, everything looks different from when I left a month ago; it’s like the movies, when a fast-motion camera speeds up the seasons. Then the trees were budding; now they’re in full bloom. People everywhere are wearing less clothing. Winter is a faint memory.

  “Hey, Katie,” Amber calls to me through the sunroof as I climb up my front steps.

  I turn. Only her head is visible above the roofline. Her long black hair swirls around her. A few pedestrians stop to look, trying to figure out who she is.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You know . . . for everything.”

  One of the pedestrians across the street figures it out. He pulls out his phone and begins snapping pictures.

  “Forget it. And you’re on Candid Camera,” I nod toward the dude snapping away.

  She spins around and gives him her patented smile. “You got your shot, lover?”

  The pedestrian looks flustered. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get a good price for it, OK? The Girl Next Door Returns from Rehab ought to be worth something.”

  He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. “OK.”

  She turns back to me, laughing. “I’ll call you later.”

  Her head disappears through the roof. The SUV slips into gear and disappears into traffic.

  Well, that’s that.

  I haul my suitcase up the front stairs of my b
uilding and into my apartment.

  “Joanne?” My voice bounces off the walls, and I can tell there’s no one home.

  I wheel my suitcase into my room, then head to the kitchen to see what’s in the fridge. It’s half empty, and what’s there is labeled “Joanne’s” in black indelible marker. God forbid she should break with that habit while I was away.

  I help myself to some of her leftover beef in Thai basil sauce, eating it cold from the carton. God that tastes good. Thirty days without Thai food—how did I ever survive?

  I polish off the container leaning over the sink in our tiny kitchen, looking out the small window at the brick-wall view. Maybe when I get the job at The Line I’ll finally be able to afford a better apartment sans roommate?

  I guess I should call Bob and let him know I’m back. Or maybe I’ll just send him an email. I’m sure he has bigger things to worry about than me. Yeah, I’ll send an email. That’ll be fine.

  Why don’t you want to call him?

  Are you still here?

  Where would I go?

  I thought I might’ve left you behind.

  No such luck.

  Shit.

  So, why don’t you want to call him?

  Because I’m tired, and I don’t feel like dealing with that right now.

  Dealing with what?

  You know.

  What?

  You know. Why I went to rehab. The article.

  You don’t want to write the article?

  Not at this moment, no.

  Why not?

  Oh, will you just leave me alone.

  I toss the empty food container into the garbage, making sure to bury it halfway down so Joanne won’t notice it. I head to the living room to sit on the worn couch and watch TV. I hold the remote lovingly in my hand. Ah, TV. I’ve missed you, my friend.

  I channel surf until I come to a rerun of Lost. It’s the first episode. Jack has just woken up on the beach, the sound of a whirring jet engine blocking out the screams of his fellow passengers. I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and lay it across my knees, snuggling down for a good escape to a desert island. It’d be nice to go there. You know, without the smoke monster, and wild boars, and those pesky Others.

  As I watch Jack race around the beach saving lives, I can feel my eyelids getting heavy. Instead of fighting it, I give in, letting myself float away, though the dialogue is still reaching some part of my brain. Kate is sewing Jack up, and she’s scared. Give yourself five seconds to be afraid, he says. And then you have to stop.