I see the light from Audrey’s bedroom seeping through the bottom of the door. I tap lightly and open it a crack.
“I think I’ll take you up on the sleepover after all. I’d like to stay with you for a while, if you don’t mind.”
Audrey screeches excitedly and jumps up off the floor to wrap me in a hug. “I’m so glad, Celia. I knew you didn’t want to be in that house all by yourself.”
“You’re right,” I agree, hoping I sound convincing. “I’m gonna hang out with Lucas for a few minutes, then I’ll be back.” Hopefully she’ll lose track of time, and I’ll be able to stay with Lucas until he falls asleep.
“Below My Feet” by Mumford & Sons
Present Day
I EYE THE trash build up on the side of the road and the shady characters with less-than-honorable intentions milling around as Celia drives us to her patient’s house. With every mile she drives, we are moving farther into the wrong side of town. At least her old Buick doesn’t garner us any unwanted attention.
“Um, Celia?”
“Hmmmm?” she answers, seemingly oblivious to the change in our surroundings.
“I don’t give a shit who you’re visiting, you shouldn’t be on this side of town by yourself. Ever.”
She gives me a lighthearted laugh and rolls her eyes. “My patient’s mental illness keeps him from holding down a job for any length of time. He has to make do with government disability. That doesn’t exactly buy a downtown penthouse apartment. He does the best he can … they all do.”
“Hey, I’m not knocking the dude. I’m saying, when you need to come here, you call me first, yeah?”
I keep my eyes trained on her until I see a little nod, telling me she gets where I’m coming from. She turns into Sanders Trailer Park and slows down to maneuver around the monstrous potholes. Old Man Sanders, the guy who runs this place, gives the term slumlord its name. The conditions of his trailers are deplorable, and I’ve heard he treats his tenants like dirt.
Celia comes to a stop in front of a dilapidated camper and turns off the ignition. I’d bet my ass it’s a FEMA cast-off with toxic formaldehyde levels. That’s how Old Man Sanders rolls … sorry sack of shit.
She shifts her body to face me and places a hand on my arm. “Now, I haven’t spoken with Mr. Craig directly. He doesn’t have a phone for me to reach him. I’ve only spoken with his mother, who called me because she’s worried about him. I think it’s best if you stay outside while I speak with him. I don’t want him to be frightened.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say, ready and willing to argue.
She huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Of course it won’t. God forbid we do things my way. I’m only the counselor.”
I reach out to her and run my thumb along her jaw. “Sweetheart, I’ll play this any way you like, as long as it starts off with me being within arms’ reach of you. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting outside with no idea what’s happening. I’m here to keep you safe.”
If the melty smile I get from Celia is any indication, I’ll guess she hasn’t felt protected in a very long time. That knowledge pisses me right the fuck off, but I beat that back to deal with the matter at hand.
“All right, Cain,” she whispers. She opens the door and steps out of the car, and I follow suit.
She gingerly steps over empty cans and wads of trash to reach the front door. After knocking, she peers into the tiny diamond window.
“Mr. Craig, it’s Celia from New Horizons. I’d like to come inside and visit with you, if that’s okay.”
I hear a faint shuffling coming from inside the camper. “Now’s not a good time Miss Celia. Go away!” says the frightened, muffled voice from behind the door.
“Your mother called me. She’s very worried about you, and so am I,” Celia pleads.
The door cracks only an inch, and a bewildered eye peeks through the opening.
“Who’s that?” Mr. Craig asks, and I’m sure he’s referring to me.
“I’m Cain, Mr. Craig, and I work at New Horizons with Celia,” I say, racking my brain for the words that will get us through the door. Fuck it, I’ll just be honest. “I don’t like Celia driving in this part of town alone, so I’m keeping her company today.”
Before I can finish my sentence, he opens the door and steps out onto the tiny porch. “I tell Miss Celia the same thing, but she never listens. It’s not safe here for a young woman all alone.”
I grin at Celia, victory written plainly across my face. “Ha!”
Celia shakes her head and walks up the steps and into the trailer. Mr. Craig waves me forward also, and I smile in return. I have to duck my head to fit through the door, and once I’m inside, it’s not much better. These campers weren’t made to accommodate tall people. As far as I’m concerned, they weren’t made to accommodate anyone.
Before I cross the threshold, the putrid smell of rotting food and stagnant body odor knocks the wind out of me. Now, I’m a fisherman. I’m a hunter. I’ve smelled some pretty awful shit in my day, but this is a whole new level of atrocious. It takes every ounce of effort in my body to keep a straight face, but I will myself to pretend there’s nothing wrong.
Celia smiles at Mr. Craig, and the girl deserves an Oscar, because I’m fighting back tears, and she looks like she’s smelling a bouquet of roses.
“Is it all right with you if we talk about my concerns in front of Cain, Mr. Craig? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or break your trust in any way,” Celia asks politely, hands clasped in front of her.
His eyes dart to mine, then shoot to the floor. He nods his agreement, but it’s obvious he’s ashamed. His salt and pepper hair is greasy in a way that indicates he hasn’t showered in days, maybe weeks. The underarms of his soiled shirt have sweat stains that have since dried at least a few times over.
“Are you sleeping?” she asks.
“It’s too loud in here … and I’m not very tired,” he whispers.
“I see … your mother says you won’t answer the door when she comes by to clean,” Celia looks around the trailer, giving the first indication that she notices the state of his home.
“It’s not safe for her here.” Mr. Craig won’t meet Celia’s gaze, keeping his eyes trained to the matted carpet.
“Are you taking your medications?” Although the question should sound accusatory, there’s not even a hint of judgment in her tone. After minutes pass with no response from Mr. Craig, Celia continues, “I’m not fussing, I just need to know what’s going on, so I can help you. If something happened to your medications, or if you weren’t able to take them for some reason, it’s all right. I just need you to be honest with me.”
“They’re trying to trick me,” he whispers. “My pills are blue, but the pharmacy sent white pills. I don’t take white pills.”
“Would you mind showing me the bottle?” Celia asks.
He reaches over to open the kitchen cabinet and hands her a medication bottle. She reads the label and places them on the counter.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Mr. Craig. This is the correct medication.” She holds up her hand when he starts to shake his head. “I know it looks different, but it’s the same medication and dosage. The pharmacy must have switched manufacturers, and they didn’t remember to tell you.”
“How do you know? Someone switched the pills, and they’re poisonous. I know it. I’m not taking them,” he says, fear laced throughout every word.
“You don’t have to take them. I’m not here to force you to do anything. But if something like this happens again, I hope you’ll come to me. We can look up the pills on the Internet—even call the drug company, to be sure. I don’t ever want you to take anything that would harm you, because I care about you very much. But I’m concerned because I think the voices are loud again. Am I right?” she asks, and his eyes fill with water.
“I hate this disease,” he whispers, a sob breaking through. “I hate what it’s done to me … to my family.”
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m so sorry.” Celia places a gentle hand on his back as his tears fall.
Dusk settles in as we drive out of the hospital parking lot. I’m exhausted, and I imagine Celia is worse off than me. She didn’t even hesitate when I took the car keys out of her hand to drive.
“I can’t believe we had to drive three hours to find a bed for him. That’s ridiculous,” I say as I turn onto the highway, shaking my head in disbelief.
“There are never enough rooms available for psychiatric patients. It’s not uncommon for a patient to sit in the ER for days waiting for a bed. It’s discouraging, to say the least, but it comes with the territory.” Celia sighs and rests her head on the window.
“I hate to say it, but we may need to stop by the fire department to get a good hose down. A scrub brush to the nose may be in order, too.”
The stench has permeated the entire car, our clothes, and dare I say, even our skin. Although Mr. Craig is safely admitted to the hospital, his aroma lingers.
“I know being in this car with him was a whole new level of unpleasant. I’m really sorry, but thank you for being so understanding—for treating him like a human being.” She turns her head and smiles faintly.
“He is a human being.”
“Exactly, but so many people see the symptoms of the disease, and not the kind and gentle man underneath. When I see my patients at their worst, I try to remember them at their best. They shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed of their struggle. They’re still in the fight, after all. The only shame is in giving up.”
I watch Celia as she peers out the window. I’m in complete wonder of this woman—all the oddities and intricacies that make her who she is. She sees people for all they could be, instead of the broken bits they show everyone else. She possesses unimaginable strength under the façade of sass and spunk. There’s nothing weak about my Tink—not one fucking thing.
“You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, Celia,” I say, hoping she feels the naked honesty of my words. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, peppering her knuckles with kisses.
She shifts away from the window and places her head on my shoulder, clasping her arms around my bicep. “That means more to me than you will ever know.”
I tip my head to hers, resting in her comfort. “I’m having dinner with my family. It would mean a lot to me if you would join me.”
She looks up with a smile at my invitation. I can’t believe I ever hesitated to let her into my life. I want her seeping into every nook and cranny of me.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Cannery River” by Green River Ordinance
Present Day
“DO YOU THINK I look all right? Am I dressed okay for dinner with your family?” Celia asks as she turns for me on her front porch. Her yellow skirt billows around her knees as she twirls. She clasps the top button of her white sweater and looks up at me for approval. I eye her from head to toe, taking my time before answering. I can’t help it; she’s so damn cute when she squirms.
“You look beautiful. Well, except for one thing.”
“What?” She looks down at her body and smooths her dress nervously, searching for what’s out of place.
“I think you have a little something right here.” I bend down and bury my face in the crook of her neck. My hands wrap around her tiny waist, and I pull her into me. She giggles as I lightly run my lips over her delicate neck, up to her ear. “You steal my breath.”
“Oh,” she whispers, and I feel her body relax as she falls into me.
Yes, Tink, fall into me.
I swat her ass playfully, and her body jolts at the contact. When her surprised eyes meet mine, I can’t help but grin. “I especially like your glitter dust, although I think you’d sparkle without it.”
“Why thank you,” she says, with a tiny curtsy and a flip of her skirt.
“And the little girl shoes are hot.”
“They’re called Mary Janes.” She rolls her eyes as she swings her purse over her shoulder.
“Whatever they’re called, they make you look innocent and naughty at the same time. I see lots of spankings in your future, Tink.”
The fire in her eyes says, “Bring it on.”
We drive to my grandparents’ house with the constant chatter of the world according to Celia Lemaire. She talks about how she wishes Adam would introduce Sara to his children. She tells me how worried she is about Alex. She just knows something is bothering her, but can’t put her finger on it. She tells me all about her phone calls from Audrey and how much she’s enjoying being in Chicago for training. I’m starting to notice the only thing Celia won’t talk about is herself. I know very little about her past. When I prompt her, she only gives vague answers and then changes the subject. She’s become quite the mystery to me.
When we arrive, Mom and Granny are sipping sweet tea on the front porch rocking chairs. If I know them at all, it’s of the Long Island variety. Granny calls sunset “tea time,” which is another way of saying, “Pour your old grandmother a stiff drink.” And it’s deserved; she’s endured Sarge for the last fifty years.
Celia’s halfway up the front porch steps before I round the truck to open her door. Mom jumps up, arms outstretched, and they both let out a squeal. She envelops Celia in a bear hug, tipping side to side while she squeezes.
“Come here, girl. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How are you? How’s Eddie?” Mom peppers Celia with questions, and she answers them as quickly as she can, equally excited to see my mom again.
I catch up to them about the time they reach Granny’s rocking chair. I slide my arm around Celia’s waist and tuck her into my side. My possessive gesture earns a scowl from Mom.
“Good to see you, too, Mom. Yes, I’ve been quite well,” I say, feeling a bit dejected. Where’s my hug? Where’s my squeal?
My comments earn me a swat on the back of the head, followed by a hard tug of my arm. Once I reach lip level, Mom gives me a loud smacking kiss on my cheek, then she wipes away the remnants in classic Mom-style.
Granny stands and crooks her finger at me. I bend down so she can cradle my face in her delicate, wrinkled hands. Her eyes shine with such love and pride. Under her gaze, I feel tiny pricks of heat and moisture in my nose and behind my eyes. I sniff to beat it back, because I’m a man, damn it. I scoff in the face of teary-eyed bitches. Do you think Clint Eastwood cries when his grandma hugs him? Exactly.
“Granny, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” I say as I clear my throat and shake off the girly feelings.
“I see that,” Granny says with a smile as she turns her attention to Celia and grabs her hand. “My daughter speaks very highly of you, Miss Celia. I feel as if I already know you.”
Celia unwraps her arm from my waist and encloses Granny’s outstretched hand between both of hers. “Maybe you do,” she whispers back with a tiny smile.
Granny pulls Celia toward her and wraps her in a hug. I hear the familiar screech of a hearing aid, and Granny’s hand flies to her ear.
“I’m so sorry, dear. This hearing aid could wake the dead.”
“Don’t apologize. The sound doesn’t bother me at all,” Celia says. Now I know she’s just trying to be polite, because that noise is shrill enough to make you piss your pants.
“Where’s the old man?” I ask, almost hoping he’s out somewhere and won’t be able to make it. I know it’s wishful thinking, though, because he doesn’t get out much anymore. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but it’s hard to know what kind of mood he’ll be in lately.
“He’s resting,” Mom says, a frown tugging at her lips. “We had a rough day.”
“Oh, did we?” I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Why don’t we all have a seat and enjoy this sunset. It’s tea time, Cain,” Granny says with a slightly raised voice, effectively stopping the current conversation. “Grab glasses for you and Celia inside, will you? Dear, you must taste m
y sweet tea. I add just a smidge of peach and a slightly bigger smidge of vodka.”
“That sounds tasty.” Celia’s giggle filters through the foyer as I walk inside to get the glasses.
Granny’s table is covered with dishes, and I swear I’ve entered my personal nirvana. Crawfish fettuccine, homemade garlic bread, salad, and a chocolate cake the size of a small country stare back at me, and I rub my hands together in anticipation.
“Granny, from the bottom of my growling stomach, I thank you,” I say as I reach for the garlic bread to pass it around the table.
She leans over and swats my hand, and I pull it back with a scowl. “Boy, you know better than that. Lila, sweetheart, will you please say grace?”
“Of course, Momma,” she says, and we all join hands. I lace my fingers through Celia’s, and she gives me a quick squeeze. “Lord, we are humbled by your blessings. Thank you for my loving family, beautiful new friends, and—”
I hear the footsteps approaching before I see him. Sarge saunters into the dining room and lays his hand on the base of Mom’s neck.
“Lila, sweetheart, that’s a fine story you’re telling, but we’re all starving to death. Wrap it up, sweets,” he bellows with a laugh, not caring much if everyone else joins in.
Mom plasters a smile on her face, acting unfazed by the interruption. “And we thank you for this delicious food to nourish us. Please watch over us and those we love. In God’s name we pray.”
“Amen,” we all say in unison.
Sarge stands still behind Mom, his hands squeezing the back of her chair and eyes each of us, one by one. He stays on Celia for a moment before darting his eyes to me with a smirk.
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