Etta nuzzles against me, offering comfort and showing me love. It makes the shame over the mess Eddie and I made, and the innocents we hurt, sicken me deeper.
“Eddie’s band was on the verge of hitting it big when their addictions took over so strongly that they sold their equipment to pay for speed. He had just gotten out of a twelve-step program and was sharing his excitement over building new dreams when we were walking down a rural road. A car came out of nowhere and swiped him, tossing him into the air and smacking him onto the shoulder. The driver only slowed for a moment, and then went on as if nothing happened.”
My forehead tightens, and I close my eyes in hopes of shutting out the vision of the past. “Eddie was not only covered in blood, he wasn’t breathing. His pulse was faint, so I gave him CPR, even though each press brought up blood. It was probably hopeless from the start, yet I couldn’t abandon him. Every breath I gave filled my mouth with gore and made me feel powerless. Being powerless while someone you love suffers is the most soul-scraping thing that can happen. You pray to switch places. You act in desperation. You swear that you will surrender everything good you have just for them to take another breath.”
The bile burns its way up my throat, and it’s gulped back down. My hands press into my temples, trying to push out the hurt. I’ve never been able to fight the desperation I feel when it comes to that moment. “Do you have any idea what it is like to watch someone you love suffer while they teeter on the verge of death? To be on your knees, praying and doing everything you can to help them, while knowing it is futile? When do you stop praying for salvation and start praying for mercy? When do you just hold the person in your arms and tell them you love them and wish them happiness in whatever the next step holds?”
Tears flow down my cheeks and onto my hands that Lizetta now holds. Etta’s whimper of compassion and Lizetta’s eyes that radiate love into mine offer comfort, but the dizziness builds. Sobs break my words as I plea for answers, because someone has got to have them. “How do you forgive God for letting your brother lie there, suffering, and knowing he is dying? It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t save him. Still, the shaking in my soul whenever I think of Eddie won’t end. All I could do was keep pumping on his chest and praying—afraid to admit that it was useless. Then I felt his ribs give, and …”
My breath shudders. After years of denial, it’s time to face the unthinkable. “No one has ever said it, but I probably broke his ribs, sending bone into Eddie’s lungs and ending his chances for revival.” She reaches out and draws me close. “Dear God, Lizetta, I know that he seemed dead anyway, but what if he could have lived? Were his ribs already broken from the fall or did I push too hard? Were the pulses and breaths I gave keeping him going? What if I could have kept them up a little longer? I can’t help but question all of that.”
Her grip on me tightens, and she rocks me gently. “Jensen, it is not your fault.” She pulls back and looks me dead in the eyes. Finally someone is giving me what I have needed for years. “You were doing exactly what you were supposed to do. Every second of it. You have to accept that.” She pulls me back into an embrace, and I catch the gleam of love in Etta’s eyes that makes me lose it all over again. She is a pillar of hope in my life.
Still, “I just can’t escape the thought that I—”
Lizetta draws my eyes into her’s again. “Jensen, if that is what happened, what you did was give him mercy. Practically every day I have to show mercy to animals that aren’t nearly as sick. That is done out of compassion for their pain and the desire to give them the highest quality of life possible. Know that in your efforts to save him, you gave Eddie the precious gift of love.”
Tingles blanket my skin, bringing about peace to my soul. At last, redemption is upon me. Her words paint my soul with a comfort that no drug could ever match. “I am so grateful for you and Etta. This sounds crazy, but I swear that right after he died, I heard Eddie’s voice saying to let the universe be my guide. I tried to understand, but I couldn’t get it until I saw Etta on the side of the road. I thought I was living my nightmare all over again, but an angel in scrubs appeared and gave me hope.”
“I looked such a mess that day,” she chokes out.
My hands cup her cheeks so I can capture her gaze. New tears form because more than ever I see what a gift she was. “You looked like a savior whose only concern wasn’t her own. You were the beacon of light that showed me I would be okay. I was so afraid that seeing Etta would send me begging for a needle and a spoon, but instead you both brought me deeper into salvation.” I squeeze her hands again to emphasize my plea. “You ground me. For months I have stayed on track because I had this dream that there was something better for me, something that could make me feel rooted. That dream is you.”
Lizetta’s tears mirror my own. Her eyes are so puffy and red that I worry for her all over again. When she grips my hand, both fear and anticipation fill me over her upcoming words. “Time and again, my father hurt me. When you first said that you were fighting an addiction, my mind went to the time he smacked Jimmy across the face so hard that blood sprayed. After that, every time Mom and Dad fought, Jimmy and I cowered together. I’ll also never shake Mom’s expression while trying to hide why the cops had come to the door on the day Dad died.
“My dad was a shameless bastard whose womanizing gave Mom Gonorrhea. Thank God she cut him off for good then and there, because eventually a hooker, a fling, or a needle infected him with HIV. The killing blow to our hearts came when Dad’s last day was spent in a motel room, dying alone with a needle in his arm. For years I have carried those images of my father, a man who couldn’t be bothered to shake a habit—not for his wife and certainly not for his kids. I grew to love Paul because he showed my family that we were worthy of happiness. Now you have basically told me that you got clean for yourself, but are willing to fight even harder for my sake. Do you have any idea how that sounds to a little girl who was hurt by her father, only to go to school each day and be ridiculed about her body? You too, Jensen, are a savior.”
I am truly at a loss for words, awestruck by the beauty this woman brings into my life. I’ve prayed to find salvation and forgiveness, but never have I dared dream to be seen in a light similar to how I see this angel.
Fear ruled me when I began this conversation. Now our hearts entwine through shared tears. How I wish it could stop here, at a moment of perfection. I curl her in my arms, still not knowing what I could possibly say in response to her poetry except for the simplest of words, “Thank you for seeing me as I long to be.”
She pulls back, and her eyes go straight into mine. Her hand lends a gentle caress through my hair as she tells me in no uncertain terms, “No, not as you long to be. I see you as you really are.” Just when I thought things could not possibly go any better, this phenomenal woman proves me wrong. “With that being said, I need to know if there is anything else you should tell me, be it big or small. I need to know and trust all of you.”
She’s so sweet that my heart falls for her all over again. I so badly want to say that all is in the open. We’ve both had enough, and we are at the perfect place to end this conversation. However, she’s asked to know everything, and Paul has already warned me that if I add on more at another time, she will wonder if the bad news ever stops. It’s either tell her about Laura now or risk losing her trust later.
Why won’t Laura go away? I left all my other problems behind, yet she is the ghost who haunts me. “I’ve walked away from it all. I met you on my ninety-first day of sobriety, and I swear I will never go back to my former life but …
“You are such a sweet and wonderful person that I don’t want the one thing that carries over to hurt you, but you need to know.” I take her hands and am sure to look her square in the eyes. “I’m not like your father. Yes, there have been times when I wasn’t exactly a one-woman man, but I swear I left that behind with the drugs. However, there is a girl who I keep pushing away. She’s had a hard time accepting th
at my new life doesn’t involve her. Please believe that I want nothing to do with her. She's a walking time bomb that's half ex-pseudo girlfriend and half groupie whore that letting back into my life, in any capacity, would be the stupidest thing I could do.”
Lizetta gives a demure nod. “So, what does this girl have to do with you now?”
She sounds so broken that I want to swoop her up and fly her off to all the good she deserves. I raise her chin, bringing me into her view. I’m as insistent as can be. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except that she won’t go away.”
But that is not entirely true, and my remorse builds just thinking of how I left someone I care about behind with all the other junkies. There is no disguising the guilt in my voice. “My compassionate side tells me I should help her, because I’m the only one she’s ever trusted with what’s at the heart of her issues, but I won’t subject myself to that environment anymore. She won’t take the guidance I have offered, because all she wants is for things to go back to the way they were. If she shows up again, she’ll do it in a way that will make you question my fidelity, so I need to be certain that you know my heart is only with you.”
The weakness in Lizetta’s voice guts me. “But you are telling me this because you want to help her, or because you are afraid she will show up again?”
I cup her face in my hands, drying her tears with my thumbs, and being damn grateful that she is letting me. “Hey, it's okay to question if you can trust me.” She looks up with those big green eyes, and I hate who I once was more than ever. “I would wonder the same thing, but I am telling you about her because her suffering rips me up inside. Even though her problems are not my fault, I hold guilt that I don’t think I’ll ever get over. With or without you in my life, I can’t and won’t get involved with her.” Her eyes drop. I thought she would at least show a little relief. “Lizetta, please, tell me what you are thinking. What can I do to help you? Do you have questions for me? What about your father? Do you need to talk about him?”
This is overwhelming. I have so much to process about Jensen—being a former junkie, witnessing the gory death of his brother, an ex who won’t go away—whom he wants to help but can’t—and the burden of guilt for things that are not his fault. His past brings back flashes of my father, yet in all this tragedy I have found that he is someone who can help me overcome the pain of my past.
Obviously he cares about this woman, and I have to question how much he loves her. What is she like? Is she prettier than me? Nicer? What I do know is that for as opposite as our pasts are, Jensen and I have one very important thing in common. We are both deeply affected by the suffering of others.
Etta whimpers and lays her head across our laps. Although I know that a recovering addict can slip, animals know when to trust people, and I’ve proven with Paul that I can forgive a broken past. Moving past the years of pain brought on by my dad has never been easy. Due to that and Jensen’s news, everything inside me is sagging from the weight of my heart. I need to keep a little bit of guard up to protect myself. I want to help this wonderful man so he can continue to see that his sobriety is not in vain. I also want to help that poor girl, even though she sounds like someone I’d rather not meet.
I nudge Jensen to lie back on the sofa, and then curl next to him. As far as I am concerned, there is only one thing to add. “The complete and honest truth is that I would be a liar to say your past doesn’t frighten me, but I am also in awe over your efforts to save your brother and your desire to help a friend. I do wish you would cut yourself some slack and move past your guilt. But what is really going through my mind is your compassion. Through my compassion I have learned to see the beauty in myself. I pray that you find the same in you.”
With a kiss to my brow, he curls my head into his chest. I tack on another prayer, one that I won’t tell him, because I think he needs to feel I am unaffected by that part of his life. Still, I can’t help but worry.
Thank you, God, for Jensen’s miracles. Please bless the woman he cannot help by giving her one, too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, May 20
Bertha’s roar announces my unexpected arrival at Lizetta’s. I’m going to keep proving that I am not the excuse for a man that I used to be, which is why I'm here so early.
Paul stands in the barn, wiping grease from his hands on a red shop cloth. He takes a few steps out to greet me and extends his hand with a smile. “Jensen!” His hand smacks into mine, and his natural charm puts a smile on my face. “How is it going?”
He acts like he doesn’t remember our previous conversation about how I was going to tell Lizetta everything last night. From what I have come to know about him, Paul is probably letting me tell things in my own time.
I’m nervous over where things stand. Just because our last conversation ended on a good note doesn’t mean Lizetta was still okay once everything had time to set in. “Did Lizetta tell you about our conversation last night?”
He gives a firm nod to the concrete. “No, but she and Judy had a gab fest into all hours of the night, and she was pretty quiet this morning.”
My hands turn clammy. Talking it out is one thing, but quiet is not a good sign.
Before I can ask if I blew it, Paul sticks his hand out to stop me. “I got it covered. Everybody around here knows that people have problems. It's not the problem that's the issue; it's how it is handled.”
“But what about the stuff with her dad?”
“If she wants to talk to you about it, then be sure to listen; else you keep fixing you, and let Judy and me worry about that bastard. Lizzie knows from me and my friends that not every man who once had a problem is an ass.”
The weight of the world flies off my back. Lizetta has a serious lock on me. It’s a lock that makes my heart sing, and I hope she never releases it.
A creak and a slam come from the screen door. Jimmy jogs across the yard. The glow of his golden hair reminds me so much of Lizetta’s that my blood warms. I really need to make sure she knows that my heart is with her. How soon is too soon to tell someone how you feel? I’m in sad shape if I get misty just by looking at someone who shares the same hair color as my girlfriend. It’s just more proof that the love bug has bitten—hard.
“Hey, man.” Jimmy gives me a double pat on the back that he must have learned from Paul. “Today’s Saturday, right? Isn’t Lizetta at work?”
How do I brave it up? I guess the how of it really doesn’t matter because now that I’ve told Lizetta, it's time to suck it up with everybody else who should know. “Actually, I came to see my sponsor.” I give Paul a sly fox of a smile, and it’s returned three-fold.
“Sponsor?” Jimmy wags a finger between Paul and I. “You two know each other outside of Lizetta?”
Yeah, I kind of had a feeling Paul has played big brother before.
Paul cocks his eyebrows in a silent message that the talking is all mine. “No, I just filled Paul in with a little something about my past. Lizetta knows, too.”
Jimmy’s chest puffs, and he eyes Paul with the pride of being his son. After Lizetta sharing a little about her dad with me last night, I appreciate how Jimmy sees Paul more than ever. “Yeah, Paul’s good like that.”
I hit Paul with the rest of the news. It’s also my way of filling Jimmy in without having to hash up the details. “I hit that one hundred and twenty day mark a couple of weeks back.”
Paul shoots me with his finger and clicks his tongue. With all his long hair and scruff he reminds me of a seventies rock star. He drives home that thought when he grabs a pick off of his guitar and scribbles on it. He starts to flick it at me like a Morning Star but stops to walk it over and place it in my hand. The orange pic says “120” with a star next to it. “What's the star for?”
“You’re not supposed to get another chip until you hit six months, but last night you reached a different milestone. Congratulations.”
Jimmy shoots me a thumbs-up before grabbing a guitar. “Well, with an endo
rsement like that, I guess you're sticking around a while.”
My head rattles. Is he serious? “Wait. You just found out that I have a drug problem, and you're okay with me dating your sister?”
Jimmy straps on the guitar like I’ve just commented on the weather, not questioned his code of brotherhood. “If Paul and my sister can't scare you off, there's nothing I can possibly say that will. This family is big on trust. However, if you do anything you shouldn’t, especially if it in any way endangers my sister, I'll kick your ass.”
The hell? First, what’s with the calm-as-a-person-in-an-ad-for-an-aromatherapy-candle attitude? Second, I hardly think this wiry guy can take me down, and he has to know it. Paul reads my mind and tells me on the hush, “Careful, the kid’s a scrapper.” It's said dead seriously, but the wink that follows makes me question what the hell is going on all the more. That changes though as Paul locks his eyes into mine. “Seriously, kid, around here you're okay in everybody's book until you prove differently. Their dad played the same game you and I did. He’s in the ground, and they regret the time they spent giving him twenty chances more than they should have. I've shown them time and again that people can change, so they believe that now. They also know that sometimes, no matter how much a person claims they are trying, a person is just not willing to do what is necessary. When you see that, you've got to cut the loser or he’s going to bring you down. Lizetta knows the difference. Hopefully you do, too. It will get you further than you realize.”
Paul’s understanding puts a rock in my throat. He’s right, which is why I am here with them now and not reaching out to help Laura.
A familiar melody twists through the air as Jimmy starts playing “Here Comes the Sun.” He sounds so horrible that the badness probably vibrates into the earth and disturbs George Harrison’s corpse.
Something To Dream On Page 9