by Robyn Carr
She was roused in what seemed like seconds by a tapping on her window. Startled, she woke to see Sully tapping with his flashlight. It was still dark. Was he frowning? Beau, the yellow Lab, had his forelegs up on the door, panting excitedly. Beau seemed to be smiling. She opened the window a crack.
“Coffee’s on,” Sully said. He walked into the store.
The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.
—Sophocles
Chapter 3
SIERRA TOOK A brief detour through the bathroom, backpack over one shoulder. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair.
She wondered if Sully was angry. It was a campground, after all.
She wandered into the store. In the back was the kitchen and a short breakfast bar with just three stools. Sully stood behind the bar, which also served as the checkout point for purchases. He was staring into a steaming cup of coffee. Behind him at the back door Beau was inhaling his breakfast in great, greedy gulps, tail wagging.
Sierra climbed up on a stool a little sheepishly. Quiet.
Sully took a swallow of his coffee, then slowly turned toward the little kitchen. He brought her a cup of coffee, then pushed the cream and sugar toward her.
“You mad?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. “Ain’t worth a damn before my coffee.”
“Ah,” she said. So she left him to it. She stirred some cream and sugar into her cup and took a slow, luxurious sip. Excellent coffee, she thought. It would be slightly more excellent if the sun was at least up. Maybe if they became friends she could point out to him that he might like the morning better if he slept until the sun at least began to rise. As for herself, it was as she had predicted. She felt fresh and new. Apparently her demons decided to sleep in.
“How’s your neck?” Sully asked.
“My neck? It’s fine. Why?”
“You were sleeping like a pretzel. Wasn’t it a little cold?”
“Nah, I was toasty. I had my sweatshirt on and my sleeping bag is great. I wouldn’t have slept in the car if it was predicted to freeze.”
“You Joneses,” he said. “You really know how to make do.”
She laughed. “You were right about Mrs. Singleton’s hostel. It filled up with college girls who were oh-so-happy to be on a vacation. They were loud. And I scored a roommate—surprise, surprise. She was drunk and passed out on the bed. I used to be a lot more flexible.”
“That so?” he asked.
In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. She was going to be asking for a cabin if he proved tractable. And he was Cal’s father-in-law. “Well, specifically, I was usually the one who passed out. Sobriety is kind of...startling. And at times inconvenient.” She took another sip. “You know about me, right?”
“Know what about you?” he said, refilling his half-empty cup.
She told him her story, the abbreviated version. She was a recovering alcoholic, sober nine months. She’d been reunited with Cal while she was still in rehab, right before Cal and Maggie got married. She was in AA, the second A standing for anonymous. “But I figured Cal would have mentioned something about me,” she added.
“Not a lot,” Sully said.
She gave a short unamused laugh. “Someday I’m going to learn to play my cards close to my vest like that. Did you or didn’t you know?” she asked directly.
“He mentioned you were in the hospital and he wanted to visit you before he and Maggie married. I think he wanted to know if you inherited your father’s malady. The mental illness.”
“I wanted to know that, too. I didn’t.”
“I guess that’s lucky, eh?”
“It’s not too late,” she said.
“That so? And how old was your dad when he succumbed?” Sully asked.
“As close as we can figure out, he was in his early twenties. But he had some symptoms he and everyone around him tried to ignore. Like he was... Well, he was brilliant. I think under his schizophrenia he’s still brilliant. It’s just all twisted up.”
“Your brother seems pretty smart. Is it possible those two things aren’t really connected?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“The smart and the crazy?” Sully asked.
She just shrugged. She’d asked herself that a lot. Because it was horrible to be afraid of intelligence, especially one’s own intelligence.
“I got the feeling they aren’t the same thing—smart and crazy. There’s some autistic kids from a group home come around in the summer. Not a one of ’em could pass an IQ test of any kind and some of ’em are just downright brilliant. You know? Memories like steel traps, math skills you wouldn’t believe, musical talents that knock me over. They’re a hoot, you should know ’em.”
“Do you know them?” she asked.
“Some,” he said. “I get on with the autistic kids just fine. That’s probably because I ain’t all that smart to start with but I have a talent or two. Not like them, that’s for sure. We open the grounds up to some youth groups now and then. You just don’t know how trapped they feel till you see ’em on the trails or in the lake—they cut loose.” Then he grinned in a way that showed the pure joy in him.
And Sierra fell in love. Right then.
“Who told you you weren’t all that smart?” she asked him.
The smile stayed. “Girl, no one had to tell me. More coffee?”
“No, this is good enough. I don’t want to get the wiggles. Listen, about that cabin...”
“It’s all cleaned up and ready for you,” he said. “I knew you’d come around. Besides, I think this place helps.”
“Helps what?”
He looked reluctant to answer. “I don’t know—helps what ails you. I see it happen all the time and people need all different things. Your brother, for example. I had no idea what he needed but he hung around, made himself useful now and again even before I needed a hand. And eventually he stole my daughter right out from under my nose. It worked for me, way back when I came home after the war. Course it took a while before I managed to get what I needed. I wasn’t that much older than you.”
“Oh? I’d love to hear about that,” she said.
“Well, I think it’s boring to everyone but me. I’ll tell you one or two things if you’ll eat a sticky bun.”
“Deal,” she said, smiling.
“Let me fetch one and put it in the microwave,” he said. “It’s better warm.”
He took a moment to do that. Then he took her cup away and refilled it anyway, bringing the coffee and pastry to her.
“My grandpa built this place. He left it to my dad. My dad planned to leave it to me. I didn’t have much interest in it, to be honest. I had bigger plans. But my dad needed me home, I could see that. My mother died while I was in Vietnam and the Red Cross got me home for that but it wasn’t till I was in my thirties that I found a wife and brought her back here. But she was a terrible wife and I was an even worse husband. In spite of that, we had Maggie. It took six years before my wife got fed up and left me.” He raised a thick, graying eyebrow. “Bored yet?”
She licked icing off her fingers and shook her head.
“She took Maggie. I’m the first to admit I was crap for a father. I sulked, yelled, wandered off without a word sometimes, argued over anything, didn’t know beans about school lessons or homework, had no patience, drank too much whenever I got irritated and I got irritated pretty often. I had a tone of voice, I’m told, that would scare bears off. I treated my dogs better than my family and it made no sense because I loved my family. Well...well, the truth is, I didn’t love Phoebe all that much after the first few months. But then, she didn’t love me much, either. We were wrong for each other from the start. I brood while she fusses. She needles and I
yell. Then I sat out here in the store and drank until she was asleep.
“But I loved Maggie and I wanted to do right by her. So I had to start my life over. I reckon you have some experience with that, eh?”
Sierra nodded and licked the sweet icing off her lips. “How’d you do it?”
“The hard way. I fished a lot, worked till I dropped, suffered in silence, forced myself to do things I had no use for like making a bed and washing clothes. It was one thing to keep up the grounds for the customers—even I wasn’t too stupid to know I needed money to eat. But taking care of myself? Cleaning my own surroundings? That took willpower. It was a pretty horrible process. But there were some things I had to do if I’d ever have my family back.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I wasn’t too keen on having Phoebe back. Jesus, that woman’s the biggest pain in the ass. But I thought maybe if there was a God she’d get hit by a bus or something and Maggie would come back. I was bound to be ready if that happened. I tried to read.” He laughed at himself. “I was never gonna be as smart as Maggie or even that damn Phoebe but I was determined not to be a complete dunce.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I hung up the beer mug. No fanfare, no meetings, no bugles or drumroll. Just retired the mug.”
She swallowed. “Are you a friend of Bill W.’s?”
“How’s that?” Sully asked.
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“Hell if I know,” he said. “It probably depends on who you ask. I didn’t have a thing to drink for years, then I had a beer on a hot day and old Frank, he said I was a damn fool to even think about it. When I was a younger man I drank too much now and then...more than now and then. I was certainly headed for trouble. It was only a matter of time and I knew it. Nowadays I have limits. What I learned—what I wanted to tell you about—I learned I didn’t have to go through all the agony I went through, and I’m not talking about liquor.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. What she wanted to ask was, “What does this have to do with me?”
“I didn’t have to do it all alone,” he said. “No matter who reached out to me, offered a hand, pulled up a chair to talk a spell, I froze ’em out and went my own way. It was every bit as terrible as I hoped it would be. I wanted to suffer, I guess.”
“But you and Maggie are together now...”
“It took a few years before I was in good enough shape to see her, to take care of her. She’s still pissed about that, by the way.” Then he laughed. “She’s a pistol. I guess she comes by it naturally. According to Maggie I didn’t fight for her. What she’d want with a father like me, I have no idea. But by the time Phoebe let her come to visit I’d laid most of my ghosts to rest.”
“How?” she wanted to know. “If you didn’t go to rehab or meetings or counseling or—”
“Did I say I never went to meetings or counseling?” Sully asked. “Maybe not the same ones you go to. There’s a group of Vietnam vets that look out for each other. That’s where I first met Frank and I ain’t got shed of him since! We try to do some nice things for the community, keep an eye out for our brothers. When I found out I was part of a group, things got better. Easier. Just so you know, little girl, you’re part of a group. You got people here.”
Sierra felt that raw scrape in her throat again and took another drink of her coffee to soothe it.
“And another thing—you got the land,” Sully said. “Now I’ll be the first to admit, I tend to take it for granted, but you get out there on the trail a little bit and you pray to whatever entity you want, whatever great being made these mountains and forests and I’m not kidding, answers come. I didn’t just make it up. All these lunatics that march through here all summer while they’re taking on as much of the CDT as they can manage will tell you the same. Your brother did that, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “He got out on the trail and had a little nature, then he was square. His head wasn’t a corkscrew anymore.”
“Sully,” she said, laughing, maybe inappropriately. “He was looking for a beautiful place to let his wife’s ashes go.”
“He musta found it because he snatched up my daughter the minute he got back.”
“You’re not unhappy about that, are you?” she asked.
“Hell no. Those two are giving me a grandchild! If you want the truth, the last man Maggie got herself involved with, I actually feared what it might be if they had a child together!”
“I can’t wait to hear that story,” she said.
“That one ain’t mine to tell,” he said.
“Something tells me you’d take pleasure in it,” she said, finishing the last of her sticky pastry and licking her fingers.
“The thing that irritated me the most about Maggie’s last fella, he didn’t seem to take any notice of how lucky he was that Maggie gave him the time of day. Arrogant fool. I bet he’s suffering now.”
Sierra grinned. “Despite what you say, I bet you were a wonderful father.”
“I’d like to meet your parents,” Sully said.
“My parents?” she asked. “Oh, Sully. Hasn’t Cal told you about Jed and Marissa? They raised us mostly in a converted school bus! On the road. Sometimes we picked vegetables to make ends meet. We hardly went to school. Jed has a serious screw loose. Last time I saw him he was wearing an aluminum foil beanie on his head. He was the first person to give me a joint!”
“Yet the lot of you came up good. I met your other brother and your sister at the wedding. How do you suppose the lot of you managed to be so normal? And smart?”
She shrugged. “Aside from Cal, maybe we’re not. Sedona is so controlling we can’t visit longer than two days and Dakota—no one knows Dakota. He’s been to war so many times, he’s gotta have some serious issues. Then there’s me...” She decided to take another drink of her coffee rather than expound.
“You’re a little hard on yourself,” he said. “That’s okay, I understand that. But put that on your list of things to work out—what you got in your childhood to prepare you for this life. And, what you might do to give yourself a break.”
* * *
Sierra wanted to sit at that lunch counter and visit with Sully all morning, but she had made commitments. She promised to call Beth, for one thing. She met Beth in recovery and asked her to be her sponsor. Beth had five years under her belt but that was about all they had in common. Beth was forty-five, had two teenage sons, Talk about a reason to drink!, a mean ex-husband, a large extended family and her parents were elderly but healthy and active. When Sierra finally decided to move to Colorado, she and Beth talked about staying in touch, at least for a while, but Sierra had promised to find a sponsor in her new home.
There was a meeting in Leadville at seven. It was being held in a rec center and when she arrived, she read the marquee at the front door for the room number. There was also a sleeve of pamphlets that listed all the classes and activities for the center. AA, yoga, Pilates, water aerobics and a variety of other things. There were groups and classes for all ages all day long but in the evenings there was a veritable smorgasbord of support—solo parenting, grief group, singles, nicotine anonymous, AA, Al-Anon and Alateen.
She could smell the coffee. One thing about AA, the setting was almost always familiar—the folding chairs, the podium, the big box of doughnuts next to the disposable coffee cups. She was a little early and there were only a few people milling around. One of them was that sourpuss from the bookstore, so she smiled at him again. His expression softened only slightly, but he approached her.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Moody.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“My name is Moody,” he said, clearly unamused.
Well, that would explain things. His mother named him Moody and he spent the rest of his life living down to it. She put out her hand
. “Sierra,” she said. “I’m new in town. Well, not this town. I live near Timberlake, which is how I saw you in the bookstore.”
“How long have you been around here?” he asked.
“Just a few days, but I found a job at that diner across from the bookstore. My brother and sister-in-law are nearby and I was ready for a change. I lived in Iowa.”
“Coffee?” he asked. “Doughnut?”
“I’m about coffee’d out already,” she said. “I’ll just sit down and wait till the meeting gets started.” A few more people were straggling in. “Have you been coming to this meeting long?”
“Long,” he said. “Anything I can tell you about it?”
She shrugged. “I’m pretty familiar with the program. I’m nine months sober,” she said.
“Good for you!” he said. His expression became more open, but he was stuck with that dour countenance. “I’m happy for you,” he added. “You’re young. Would you like to meet a few people?”
“Maybe after,” she said, noticing still more people entering the room. “Thanks, though. That’s nice of you.”
She had hoped this might be a small meeting, five or six people. By the time Moody was ready to begin, there were at least thirty. He had his agenda, typed in large print and slipped between protective plastic sleeves—even that seemed almost universal. They had a prayer, recited the steps, called out to newcomers. Sierra jumped up, just to get it out of the way. She still hated this part. “My name is Sierra,” she said.
“Hi, Sierra,” they said in unison.
“I just moved to the area, looking for a meeting, just meeting people.” She explained she was in recovery nine months and they clapped for her. There were a few comments—this meeting was a good one before work, they called themselves The Sunny Side Up.