Bridget had set Adam at ease when they’d gone for a picnic at Sleeping Giant Park, Kyle in tow. They’d swum at Mary Louise Lake. Built a sandcastle for Kyle, who’d toddled and fell right over the darned thing. Adam chuckled. He’d eaten homemade sandwiches, drank chilled lemonade, and enjoyed a lemon meringue pie Bridget had bought at a bakery.
Would she do the same thing for Bible Boy? At least she hadn’t taken Kyle along for the dinner date. She was smart enough to keep his son separate from the all-important principal. Teachers made good money in Ontario. A hell of a lot more than what he earned cooking up specials at Benny’s Restaurant.
“Did you even hear me?” Logan stepped over the low chain fence in front of the church’s lawn.
“What?”
“When are we gonna work on the twelve steps?” Logan shook back his hair and stopped. He stared at the brick building through hollowed eyes. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Now what had crawled up the kid’s ass?
“What’s the point? She’s dead.” What color Logan had on his pale skin drained away.
Nothing was tougher than someone as young as the punk to sober up. “Let’s go. Getting drunk isn’t gonna bring her back.”
“Neither is staying sober.” Logan hung his head.
“C’mon. You asked me to sponsor you. I’m ordering you into the meeting.”
“Why?” Logan sniffed. “You’re not even listening.”
No, Adam hadn’t been. He’d been too busy feeling sorry for himself, caught in self-pity, dangerous ground for a recovering alcoholic.
“I’m listening now. C’mon.” He’d failed too many people. He wouldn’t fail Logan. Adam slipped his arm around the kid. He patted Logan’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Adam guided them into the church. He’d passed his first big test. So had Logan. They could do this. Agreeing to join the kid in a drunken binge wouldn’t accomplish anything for either of them. Right now, they only had each other.
* * * *
Although Bridget had eaten at the Bistro for years, on Stephen’s arm she gazed at the familiar restaurant through new eyes. Like the stone fireplace she’d never taken an interest in before, probably because the magnificent piece complemented the raised panel wainscoting stained to a rich brown. Each decorative wasn’t meant to draw a person’s eye but to create a rich, warm ambience, like the off-white walls. The same for the golden lighting cast from the chandeliers, and the dark wood tables and matching cushioned chairs.
The maître d’ led them up three stairs to the second dining area overlooking Lake Superior.
Once they were seated and the waiter had provided their menus, Bridget gripped hers. Adam shouldn’t invade her thoughts, but he did. He’d be at a twelve-step meeting right now.
“Would you like any wine?” Stephen asked.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll pass. I enjoy an occasional glass now and then. An iced tea might be better.”
“Not at all. I’ll enjoy an iced tea, too. Maybe you could also recommend some entrees.”
A light air of joy filled Bridget’s chest. “We dine here quite a bit. Sunday. Always Sundays. Birthdays. Anniversaries.”
“Your family strikes me as rather close.” Stephen lifted his water and sipped.
“We are. Even though my parents returned to the reserve when I was sixteen, and Jude and I stayed here to finish our schooling, we remained close with them and our younger brother, Emery.”
The maître d’ seated a table of four adjacent from them.
“Jude mentioned staying at a relative’s place.” Stephen leaned in.
“We did. My mom’s older sister and her husband.” Bridget raised her voice a smidgen, since the foursome at the next table talked rather loud. “Aunt Patti. She and Uncle Robert bought a condo in Port Arthur after their kids and Jude and I finished university. They attend a different parish. My cousins, they’re three, live across Canada.”
“Oh? Do they ever go to this reserve? Jude mentioned it’s called Ottertail Lake.”
“No. My cousins aren’t aboriginal. They’re Irish Catholic like Mom’s side of the family.” Her peripheral vision caught the waiter dashing to the other table.
“I should have guessed. Bridget is a fine Irish Catholic name.”
“Saint Bridget...” She giggled. “But please don’t liken me to a saint. My parents wouldn’t agree. So I’m not sure why they named us after saints.”
“I think your parents made a smart decision. Jude’s a great guy.” Stephen folded his hands on the white tablecloth. “He mentioned your other brother, Emery, was studying to become a priest up until almost a month ago.”
“He was. Emery’s a very spiritual man.” Bridget sat back in the comfortable chair.
“Here we are.” Stephen grinned at the waiter striding to their table. He cupped his chin in his palm, eyes feathering Bridget. “Perhaps I’ll let you recommend my entree for me.”
“I’d be glad to.” She twisted the napkin around her fingers.
Stephen kept grinning, his fingers skimming the glass of water like a man traced a woman’s skin.
Chapter Fifteen: Desperate for You
Adam set the coffee cup on the end table beside him. He should have drunk a pop instead. The sun shone in this room during the day, and come evening, the stuffy meeting room morphed into a furnace. Having listened to a man share his story, Logan was next to speak.
Logan did what he always did. Coughed into his fist. Wiped his nose. Cleared his throat. Rubbed his running shoes against the floor. He sat forward. “I didn’t get wasted. Didn’t get high. I really wanted to, but I didn’t.”
Everyone clapped.
“I... I came here.” Logan sniffed. He folded and unfolded his arms. “I... I told my sponsor I don’t see the point in staying clean, y’know? My girlfriend’s dead. Our baby’s dead. What’s the point? I got no fam. Living in a stupid halfway house. Dumb-ass job asking a bunch of jerks if they wanna super-size their orders.”
“You got this program and you got us,” an old-timer sitting in the wooden rocking chair said, waving his finger. “You keep coming back. Keep going to meetings.”
“Guess so.” Logan glared at the coffee table. “That’s it. Pass.”
Adam kept his hand put before he cuffed the side of Logan’s head. “I’m Adam and I’m an alcoholic.”
Everyone murmured their hellos.
“When I was eighteen, I kept asking myself the same thing—why bother? Maybe I should’ve bothered? If I would’ve, I’d be living a different life.” He stared straight ahead at the one-quarter-filled coffee pot on the counter leading into the small kitchen.
“I’m thirty-eight and starting over. Gotta accept responsibility that I put myself here. Nobody forced booze down my throat. Nobody forced me to commit crimes.” He moved his tongue back and forth along the roof of his closed mouth.
“I’ve been reading lots. Making good use of the time sitting alone in my room at the halfway house.” He curled and uncurled his toes. “Ninety percent of crimes are committed when someone’s drunk. And yeah, I did a lot of bad shit when I was sober, too. Thing is, my drinking and drugging led me to dark places. If I didn’t drink the way I did, if I didn’t use blow the way I did, I wouldn’t have gotten involved in a street gang.
“Easy money. Easy life. Easy women. I wasn’t willing to work for anything. I felt after the way I grew up, I deserved free shit. Life owed me something.” He kept squeezing his toes. “Life doesn’t work that way. Some of us have it tougher than others. It’s still no excuse for doing what I did just ‘cause life handed me a raw deal growing up.
“We make ourselves believe our life is normal. But if it was normal, why do we want what we see as normal around us?” His hands remained on his thighs, heat from his palms dampening his jeans slightly. “So I knew better. Knew what I was doing was wrong. When my son was born, and I looked into his eyes, held him, I vowed I wasn’t gonna live
that way anymore, and I wasn’t gonna put him through the same bullshit.”
His stomach tightened. “I screwed up. I won’t say I relapsed almost four years ago. I chose to start drinking again. One drink wasn’t enough. Fourteen was too much. And I landed back in prison, a place I swore I’d never go back to.”
Again, he clamped his lips closed and ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. “I got a second chance. Life ain’t going my way. Nope, not at all. Hell, it sucks. But I’m sober. I’m working. I got a place to bunk. I’m giving back by sponsoring someone. I’m doing my best to count my blessings, even when I’m getting a kick to the teeth right now.
“All I can do is leave everything in my higher power’s hands. Trust it’ll work out how it’s s’posed to work out.”
My ex-fiancée’s on a fucking date while I’m sitting in a recovery meeting baring my soul and feeling sorry for myself.
Adam set his hand on the back of Logan’s chair. “This may not be the happiest moment of my life, but it sure beats a prison cell. It sure beats a hangover. It sure beats waking up on the street. It sure beats bumming money for booze or cigarettes. That’s all I got to say.”
“Thanks, Adam,” the other people in the room said.
“You’re right,” Logan muttered.
“Help me close the meeting,” the chairperson called out.
Once they said the final prayer, Adam and Logan filed out of the meeting room.
“You’re right,” Logan said, this time his voice a pitch higher.
They started down the cement stairs.
“Right about what?”
“It beats being in jail or other shit like that.” Logan hopped the last step. “I wanna do this. I really wanna do this. I... I... what am I gonna do when you get your own pad?”
“Don’t think so far ahead. One day at a time. Remember?” Maybe the two of them could get a place. It’d do Logan good. The kid needed a father. Uncle. Big Brother. Something other than what he had now.
“You gonna let me visit you?” Logan opened the double door.
“Kid, you’re welcome to stop over whenever you wanna. Who knows? Maybe things’ll work out differently. Maybe if you stay clean, keep going to meetings, you’ll get outta that halfway house sooner than you think.”
Logan’s blue eyes brightened. “What’d you mean? Y’mean me and you?”
Why not? “We’ll see. See how you do. If I get a roommate, he’s gotta be committed to sobriety.”
“I am committed. I made it, didn’t I? I went tonight. I told them how I felt.”
“You did. Honesty’s what gets us through bullshit.” Adam lit a cigarette.
Eight-thirty. Bridget wouldn’t get home probably until around nine.
* * * *
Stephen cut into his steak. His manicured hands guided his knife and fork. Starched cuffs. Gold cuff links. A matching gold clip keeping his speckled blue tie from falling into his dinner. His smell wasn’t overpowering either. A light, spicy fragrance. He’d gelled back the waves of his golden hair.
As Bridget stared at him, decked out in devastatingly good looks, her heart didn’t soar. Not even a blip of her pulse.
“After working in Winnipeg, I decided it was time to come home to my original school district. I never imagined I’d be overseeing the high school I used to attend.” Stephen smiled at the waiter who refilled their water glasses.
“Your mother said she moved here to be closer to her sister. I think it’s wonderful. She mentioned your aunt has rheumatoid arthritis.”
“Very bad.” Stephen never broke his warm gaze while reaching for his newly filled water. “Unfortunately, our grandmother had a very bad case of it, too. The disease crippled her before she turned sixty. My aunt found herself in the same mess. When my uncle died, Mother made the decision to move here to help my aunt. She’s in too much pain to engage in social activities. So the senior center is the best place for her. They provide fantastic care. Mother still felt my aunt shouldn’t be alone. She bought a condo in the same area as the senior center.”
“Yes, your mom’s the new outreach worker for Saint Patrick’s. She coordinates the weekly Masses held at the senior center.” Bridget forced another bite of chicken parmesan between her teeth.
“Seems we share a lot in common.” Stephen’s pink lips shifted into a cozy smile. “I knew we would, since Jude and I shared many common entries during the workshop. You and I were raised the same way. We possess the same outlook on life. We have the same beliefs. We were even too devoted to our careers to think of... well... families of our own.”
“I do have a family. Kyle.” The waiter refilled the water glasses at the table of the boisterous foursome at the next table who hadn’t stopped laughing since their arrival.
“How did you go about sponsoring a foster child? Was it always a dream?” Stephen helped himself to some rice on his plate.
“I’ve always been concerned about the Indigenous children in care.” The chicken sat funny in Bridget’s stomach. “When his father contacted me to care for Kyle, I said yes.”
“His father’s...”
Bridget used her fork to move the chicken around on her plate. “His father was previously incarcerated. He asked me to care for Kyle during his incarceration.”
“I see. How long was he incarcerated for?”
“Three years.”
The man at the next table had his arm draped on the back of the woman’s chair, while the other couple leaned in, laughing about something.
Bridget yanked her gaze from the foursome. “Once a week, Kyle visits his father under supervised care.”
“Children and Family Services are transitioning Kyle over to his father?”
“That’s the plan.” Bridget twirled the long noodles around her fork.
“Forgive me.” Stephen’s ice-blue-colored eyes swung to a clear, warm summer sky. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Bridget tapped her water glass. “It’s okay. We’re on a date. On dates, people get to know each other. That’s done by asking questions.”
“I don’t want my questions to make you uncomfortable. Okay?” Stephen’s manicured hand snaked across the table, and his fingers touched the tips of Bridget’s nails.
Tension crept along her shoulders.
“I didn’t mean to...” Stephen drew away his hand.
“It’s okay.” Bridget grabbed the knife while still holding the fork. A rash of heat warmed her hairline.
“I want you to know I’ve never taken advantage of... err, I mean I have the utmost respect for women.” Sincerity reflected in Stephen’s eyes.
The knots in Bridget’s stomach uncurled. She set aside her cutlery. “Of course you do. My brother...” She couldn’t help the smile forcing her lips upward. “My brother never forgets he’s the oldest or one day he’ll be the patriarch of our family.”
“He takes good care of you and Emery?” Stephen said, voice teasing.
“Hmm... more like meddling.” A light glow filled Bridget’s chest. She shifted in the chair to cross her legs and rest her elbow on the table to lean in.
“Something tells me you’re more than capable of taking good care of yourself.” Stephen rested his chin on his knuckles.
“It’s been a sore spot at times.” A chuckle bubbled in Bridget’s throat. “I guess I can be a little bit too independent.”
“I’m one of those men who admires strong women.” There was a hint of wolfishness in the closed-mouth smile Stephen cast by the arch of his brow and the scrunch of his eyes.
“Thank you.” And she meant it.
Eyes still twinkling, Stephen set his napkin on his empty plate. “Are you up for dessert?”
“Yes, I am.” Bridget’s stomach rumbled at the thought of cheesecake. “The desserts here are yummy. Call over the cart.”
“I admire a woman with a healthy appetite.” Stephen signaled the waiter.
The waiter scooted over. “All finished?”
“Yes. Can you plea
se bring over the dessert cart?”
“Right away.”
Stephen leaned in, tilting his head in a you-have-all-of-my-attention gesture. “What do you recommend?”
“They make the best cheesecake. I do think I should only have half a slice. As much as I enjoy eating, I also have to make sure I stay within my limits.”
“Then do you care to share a piece?”
“I’d like that.”
The waiter pushed over the dessert cart.
“Which delectable treat tantalizes your taste buds?” he asked
“The turtle cheesecake. It’s delicious.”
“Then the turtle it is,” Stephen said to the waiter.
Once they had their after-dinner dessert on a plate in front of them, Bridget cut into the cheesecake. Stephen followed, his warm gaze still trained on her. At the same time, they both slid the bite into their mouths. Fuzz peppered Bridget’s skin. The same kind of fuzz she experienced with Kyle, or her brothers, even a friend while sharing something together.
The Lord had brought a wonderful man into her life. Maybe God wanted her to feel comfortable instead of excited. Satisfied instead of feverish. Mellow instead of jumpy.
“I appreciate you bringing Kyle French fries. I know he does, too.” Bridget cut off another piece of cheesecake.
“I thought it was the least I could do. I sensed he wanted to come out for dinner.”
“He did. So much is up in the air, though.”
“I understand. I hope it works out to your satisfaction.”
“I guess it’s not about my satisfaction.” Glumness enveloped Bridget. “It’s about what’s best for him.”
Stephen pulled up in front of Bridget’s condominium building.
She clutched her purse, fingering the delicate leather fringes secured to the zipper of the outer compartment.
“That’s nice.” He motioned at the satchel.
“Thank you. I’m... a bit of a collector.” Bridget chuckled, proud that her laugh was genuine.
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