Higher Power

by Dilloway, PT

  “I don’t tell the ladies at the church, because—” She paused to light up another cigarette. “He’s married to this woman back in Costa Rica. They’ve been having trouble finalizing the divorce. Please don’t tell anyone. Not even Pastor Robbins.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Thanks. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea after tonight.”

  “I understand.” The car came to a stop, but this time she didn’t get out to help him with the door. He unfastened his seatbelt and found the door handle. After getting out, he stopped on the curb to wave at her car, wondering why she was still sitting there. Even after he went inside, the Gremlin didn’t move.

  “Who’s that?” Jerry asked him.

  “Someone from church. She gave me a ride.”

  “Maybe she stalled or something,” Jerry said.

  “I don’t know.” He headed for the stairs, leaving Kelly to handle her own problems. Once in his room, he unwrapped the book and popped it into the tape player. As he listened through the night, he began to understand what he needed to do.

  Chapter 21

  Sarah turned off the light in her office and for a moment sat in the darkness. Sam Melville had not bothered calling her for an explanation; when she called the hotel, she was told he’d already checked out.

  She reached into the drawer for the bottle of bourbon. In the darkness, she missed the glass, spilling alcohol on a pile of papers she had yet to look through. “Shit!” She mopped up the spill with her jacket sleeve and then shook bourbon from the pages. She reached for the desk lamp and examined the pages; the ink had run in spots and no doubt tomorrow the paper would turn brown and crinkled, but they were still legible.

  After laying out the papers across her desk to dry, she carefully poured the remainder of the bottle into the glass, resulting in only a tablespoon. She would have to stop by the liquor store on the corner at lunch since they were closed now and wouldn’t reopen until noon. Or she could head over to one of the twenty-four hour places in Fishtown.

  She turned off the light again and left the office. Before leaving the aquarium, she checked every tank, whispering goodnight. At Koo’s habitat she paused and put her head against the glass to watch the whale swim gracefully through the water.

  “Are you all right Ms. Gladstone?” the night watchman said.

  She opened her eyes, wondering how long she’d been napping. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Maybe I should call a taxi for you.”

  “No no, I’m all right. Just working late.”

  “If you say so ma’am.” The watchman gave her one last concerned look before waddling away, whistling a tune Sarah couldn’t remember.

  She straightened and tried to walk out of the aquarium with a sense of purpose. Once she settled into the Explorer’s leather seats, she put her head against the SUV’s steering wheel. Maybe she should lie down in the backseat for a little nap. No, she couldn’t blow off Alicia again. They hadn’t exercised together in a week and already Sarah felt her pants getting tight around the middle.

  She tried to shake away the sleep and started the engine. She decided to pick up a coffee or Diet Coke at the shop in Fishtown along with the bourbon. She needed something with caffeine, although then she would have trouble getting to sleep. This thought made her laugh; she never used to worry about such things back in college. She was getting old.

  On the way to the liquor store it began to rain. At first only scattered drops she didn’t even need the windshield wipers for, but the rain kept increasing until her wipers were on the highest setting and still she couldn’t see. “At least now I don’t have to worry about exercising.”

  As the Explorer skidded down a hill, her stomach rose and her grip slackened on the wheel as though she were riding a roller coaster. She squinted through the darkness and rain to make out a landmark, but recognized nothing. Then she saw the sign for a party store. The SUV jumped a curb before coming to a stop in a gravel lot rapidly turning to mud.

  Sarah dashed into the store with her jacket tied around her head like a kerchief. The woman behind the counter looked up from a book and asked, “Is it raining?” Sarah only nodded before heading to the back of the store.

  She examined the racks of glass bottles filled with liquids of almost every color. After the hassle in getting here, she wanted something stronger than bourbon. She decided on a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and then snatched a bottle of scotch too. The woman at the counter had returned to her book, so Sarah unscrewed the cap from the bottle of Jack and took a belt. The alcohol burned through her system, steadying her nerves.

  She twisted the cap back on, doubting the clerk would even notice. From the cooler she took a plastic bottle of Diet Coke and drank half. Then she went to the counter, where the clerk processed the order without looking up from her book. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” the woman said without enthusiasm. Sarah mumbled a response and took the brown bag outside, where the rain was beginning to lessen.

  Before trying to start the car, she took another hit of whiskey followed by the rest of the Diet Coke. Then she turned the key, but nothing happened. She tried the key again; the engine wheezed and then died. “Oh shit.” She reached in her purse for her cell phone and the card for her insurance company. The phone’s display lit up for a moment to flash a warning that the battery needed recharged.

  She threw the cell phone into her purse. Why did this have to happen now? She was wet and tired and in five hours she had to be back at work. “It’s not fair.”

  When she heard a tap on her window, she screamed, expecting to find a gun barrel in her face. Instead, she found a handsome man in a denim jacket and white T-shirt smiling and motioning for her to roll down the window. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “My car won’t start,” she said. “I tried to use my phone, but the battery went dead.”

  “They have a way of doing that. If you pop the hood, I can take a look.”

  “Are you a mechanic?”

  “Sort of. My wife’s car was always breaking down.”

  “Oh, so you’re married?”

  His smile faded into a look of pain. “I was. She died six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” The smile returned. “How about popping that hood for me?”

  “Sure.” She fumbled around beneath the steering wheel until she found the lever to open the hood. While he examined the car, she examined her face in the mirror. She looked terrible, but did what she could to fix her wet hair.

  The rain had stopped completely when she emerged from the SUV to see how her Good Samaritan was doing. “Have you found what’s wrong?” she asked. He looked up and then wiped his hands onto his shirt, turning it a dingy gray.

  “When was the last time you took this to a mechanic for a tune-up or an oil change?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got some serious problems. You’ll need someone with better tools to take a look. Probably have to call a tow truck in the morning.” After the hood slammed with finality, Sarah wondered what to do now. Maybe she could use the phone in the store to call Alicia or her parents. No, then she would have to explain why she was at a liquor store in Fishtown after midnight. “Do you need a ride?” the stranger asked as if on cue.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “My vehicle’s a little smaller than yours, but you’re welcome to hop on.” He motioned to a black and chrome motorcycle leaning on its kickstand at the curb. Oh my God, Sarah thought. A handsome stranger on a motorcycle; this was just like a romance novel.

  “Thanks,” she said, unable to think of anything else. She stuffed the liquor store bag into her purse before locking the Explorer and following the stranger to the bike. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “My name’s Brett,” he said.

  “Sarah Gladstone.”

  “Sarah? That was my wife’s name.” He pressed a helmet int
o her hands. “You even have the same size head.”

  “What are the odds,” Sarah said, trying to make it sound like a joke to lighten the mood. Brett said nothing; he straddled the bike and motioned for her to sit behind.

  “Put your arms around my waist and hold on.” She did as he asked and then he put up the kickstand. The motorcycle’s engine revved once before they took off.

  Sarah hadn’t ridden a motorcycle in years. Dolby—she couldn’t remember if it was his first or last name—zipped her around the streets of Miami after last call. They were both dressed in only swimsuits, not even any helmets. Back then her hair went all the way down to her waist so she spent the entire ride trying in vain to keep it out of her face with one hand while holding onto Dolby with the other. At one point she thought they would crash when her hand strayed a little farther south than his waist. They made it to the beach, where Dolby left the bike in the sand before carrying her into the surf.

  This time she could see the scenery whipping past as Brett’s motorcycle zoomed along the empty streets of Gull Island. She screamed at the freedom she hadn’t felt since those golden college days.

  “Where do you live?” Brett asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

  “Let’s go to the beach,” she suggested.

  “Now?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Right.” Instead of heading up to Finley Bluff, Brett turned back towards downtown. She caught a glimpse of the aquarium for just an instant before they rocketed past. “This may get a little bumpy,” he said. He turned onto the docks and they sped past lines of silent fishing boats. The sparkling water had a bluish tint in the moonlight.

  She couldn’t believe she was riding on a motorcycle at three in the morning with a kind, handsome, available man after seeking out a liquor store in the pouring rain earlier to gulp down whiskey from the bottle. It didn’t seem possible for a night that had started so wrong to end so perfectly. She leaned against Brett, his warm body assuring her this was no dream.

  They stopped at the parking lot overlooking the beach. The sky was beginning to turn gray as dawn approached; she took Brett’s hand to lead him down to the shore so they could watch the sunrise together. They walked down the concrete steps to the beach, but when they reached the sand, she pulled him into a run. She squealed an instant before collapsing onto the sand with him next to her.

  “Thank you,” she said to him as they sat there in the spot where they’d fallen. “This is just what I needed.”

  He put an arm around her and pulled her close. As the sun began to rise, they watched the fishing boats pull out into the water, sounding their horns in greeting. Seagulls floated above in lazy circles, searching for food in the sun-dappled water.

  Sarah rested her head against Brett’s shoulder, rubbing her cheek against the rough denim of his jacket. The wind ruffled his long, dark hair and the sun fell across his face in such a way as to give him a glow. She couldn’t believe her luck to be discovered by such a wonderful man.

  Then she kissed him on the cheek. He stiffened with surprise for a moment, before turning so their lips met. “I love you,” he whispered.

  She reeled back as though slapped. “What? We just met.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You just remind me so much of her.”

  “Who?”

  “My wife.” He started to cry as she pulled away. “I’m so sorry. This just brings back so many memories. In the summer, we’d go up to our place in the Hamptons and watch the sunrise every morning, just like this. I guess I forgot—”

  She didn’t stay to hear the rest of his story. She started running back through the sand and up the steps. What a creep! she said to herself. He only helped her because she reminded him of his dead wife. He didn’t care about her at all, only the Sarah he’d taken to the Hamptons.

  She thought she heard him calling, but she wasn’t going to come back. After taking her purse from the handlebars of the motorcycle, she began walking back along the road towards the dock. There would be a phone there somewhere she could use.

  When she heard the motorcycle’s engine approaching, she didn’t turn around. “Sarah, please, I’m sorry. Let me at least give you a ride back home.”

  “Stay away from me!” she said and then swung her purse in his direction.

  “Please, don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

  “I told you to stay away from me!” He winced as though she had struck him in the face with the purse before folding over the bike’s handlebars to cry some more. She stared at the pathetic, wimpy mess he was before continuing down the road.

  The motorcycle was still in the same place as she neared the docks. She found a cluster of wooden pallets and collapsed behind them. From her purse she took out both bottles of liquor. While tears flowed down her face, she took a hit of the Jack. Why couldn’t she find anyone who was interested in her?

  She sagged against the pallets while she emptied the bottle of whiskey. When she woke up later, the sun was directly overhead and both bottles were empty. Her head felt like a balloon tied to her shoulders by a thin string. Before wobbling off towards home, she threw the liquor bottles in the direction of the beach.

  Chapter 22

  The files lay spread out on the dining room table along with two pints of Haagen-Dazs and three bottles of Coke. Lindsey had already gone through the notes of Max’s sessions four times, but she reviewed them again anyway. Somewhere amongst all these papers must be the key to Max’s recovery.

  He was making slow progress. Pastor Robbins had nothing but rave reviews for Max’s ability to learn the hymns; she knew first-hand his playing was technically flawless. He even stayed for a spaghetti dinner the other night, leaving in one of the single women’s company. Midway House remained a sore spot. Mrs. Garnett reported Max’s behavior continued to be erratic. Some nights he acted friendly to the other patients, helping with dinner and joining in conversations. Other nights he went up to his room upon getting home and locked the door until disappearing early in the morning.

  She swallowed another spoonful of ice cream as she considered what to do about Max. Just like with Midway House, sometimes they seemed to be making progress and other times they went back to square one. He often seemed like two different people. One day he would come in, dressed in a crisp shirt and pants, with his hair wetted and combed like a little boy for Sunday school to bombard her endlessly with questions while other days he stumbled in looking and smelling like a beggar, saying no more than two or three words at a time. She often wondered if she should have him examined for schizophrenia.

  At Northwestern, Professor Lombardo had always told them, “When in doubt, start back at the beginning.” For Max, the beginning was the death of his parents. So far she had been unable to coerce anything out of him on the subject. In his sessions with Dr. Heathcoate, Max said his parents died in a fire, though the coroner ruled heart failure as the cause of death in both cases. If she was going to help him, she had to make him understand their deaths were not his fault. What chance did she have when she couldn’t convince herself that Dad’s accident wasn’t her fault?

  The phone rang in the kitchen. She picked up the receiver and heard Chad’s voice on the other end. “Hey Sis, what’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Doing a little work at home.”

  “Oh. Should I call back?”

  “No, of course not. What’s the problem?” She took the cordless phone out to the balcony to get a little fresh air while listening to Chad’s latest girl problems. She focused on the boats in the harbor as he described his latest conquest, some bimbo who read traffic reports in the morning.

  “I really like Beth, and she’s really great in—” His voice trailed off with embarrassment.

  “I’m sure she’s a great lay. So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, I still like Tiffany.”

  “Which one is she?”

  “S
he works at a jewelry store on Michigan Avenue. I told you about her, didn’t I?”

  “Probably. So you want Beth but you don’t want to lose Tiffany, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. What should I do?”

  She took a deep breath and considered switching her phone number. She didn’t have time for this shit now. “I think you need to ask yourself what’s more important. Do you feel there’s a deeper connection with Tiffany?”

  “I suppose so. We talk for hours about all sorts of things. But in bed, she’s like, you know, boring.”

  “Jesus, Chad.”

  “I’m sorry, Sis. I don’t know anyone else to talk to about this. What should I do?”

  “You’re only fucking Beth because you’re afraid to deal with Tiffany’s bedroom issues. Beth is not the answer to your problems. You need to talk with Tiffany. If you want, I can E-mail you a list of books you two might want to read.”

  “So what about Beth?”

  “Do what you men always do. Don’t return any of her phone calls and avoid her. If she corners you, give her some line about needing space.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “I think it’s a hundred twenty-seven by my count.” After she turned off the phone, Lindsey resisted the urge to smash the receiver before it rang again. Just once couldn’t they deal with their own problems? She had more important work to do.

  “Wait a minute—” She let out a little whoop she hoped wouldn’t wake up Mrs. Donnelly downstairs. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier?

  She went inside to look through her notes again. Sarah, that was the girlfriend’s name. If she could find this woman, maybe they could work together to convince Max to open up about his parents. He wouldn’t walk out on Sarah if he really cared about her. If he did, then she doubted there was any hope for him at all. After scooping out the melted remains of the ice cream, she organized her plan for their next session.

  When she woke up the next morning, she found papers stuck to her cheek by chocolate ice cream. She looked through her notebook of questions and then checked her watch. Oh shit, no time for a shower. She ripped off the paper and dabbed at her face with a washcloth. As long as she didn’t have Max touch her face again, it wouldn’t matter how awful she looked.