Restoration 01 - Getting It Right

by A. M. Arthur

  He stalked into the guest bathroom and slammed the door, the exclamation point to his declaration. And proof that he wasn’t fine.

  “I think he’s on something, but he won’t tell me what he took,” Boxer said softly. “Louis is pissed that Ell’s been around my house so much, but I don’t like him alone right now.”

  “Good call. If you need a break, he can stay here tonight.”

  “That’s up to him.” Boxer knuckled his shoulder. “You got yourself straight on Nate now? What you need to say to him?”

  “I think so.” I have no idea, but maybe the words will come between now and whenever.

  “I need to apologize.”

  “Always a good place to start.”

  “Hey, Box?”

  “Yeah?”

  Looking into his friend’s dark blue eyes, James summoned up the courage he needed to ask, “Any ideas on where I can find an AA meeting?”

  Boxer, God bless him, only smiled and simply said, “Sure do.”

  Nate had a small moment of déjà vu as he walked down the hallway to James’s apartment on another early Saturday morning. His trek there two weeks ago had been the cause of a different sort of anxiety than what he felt today. That had been about apologizing and making things right with James, his best friend. Today it was about making sure last night’s fight hadn’t ruined what they were trying to build together.

  He pressed the bell and waited. A few minutes after nine, James might still be in bed sleeping off his beer, so he counted to thirty, then rang again.

  The door opened. Cold blasted through him at the sight of Elliott clutching the jamb, dressed in boxers and a T-shirt too big for him. James’s clothes. He gaped at the mirage, hoping it would go away.

  “Hey, honey. Good morning,” Elliott said cheerfully. “Come on in. I think Jay’s still asleep, but you can go jump on him if you want.”

  Nate couldn’t move. One fight and that was it. James had run right back to Elliott.

  “Nate? Anybody home?”

  Something heavy and dark settled deep in Nate’s gut. “Don’t wake him, it’s not

  important.” He didn’t like the edge in his voice, the anger. “See you, Ell.”

  Elliott didn’t call him back or protest his leaving. Probably too eager to crawl back into bed with James.

  Nate took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the physical action to stop the stinging in his eyes from turning into something worse.

  It’s your own fault. You called Elliott and told him you and Jay were having problems.

  He probably pounced on the chance to get Jay back.

  The unkind thoughts only fueled his frustration. He’d woken up early this morning after being up until nearly dawn—a cruel mix of work and not being able to sleep alone in his own home—hoping to clear the air with James. To ask James about his day and what he’d been so eager to talk to Nate about. To hug him, kiss him and drag him off to bed so he could show James how he felt.

  Maybe he couldn’t say it out loud but actions had always spoken louder for Nate.

  James’s actions are speaking loud and clear.

  Nate sat in his pickup for a few minutes, contemplating where to go next. Not home again, and not to the station. They were trying to keep their routines as normal as possible, despite the undercover op in progress. Only a handful of officers in both Investigations and Vice knew what was going on. The fewer who knew, the fewer who could let details slip.

  He started driving, unconcerned with his route until the city was behind him and he spotted signs for Route 1 South. His hometown had never felt so far away.

  His cell rang once about forty minutes into the trek back to Oak Orchard. He ignored the ringtone, the beep of a voice mail and the buzz of four subsequent text messages. He ignored everything about the scene he’d left behind and focused on the road.

  All of his stereotypes about musty church basements and shifty-eyed, nervous attendees evaporated the moment James walked into the meeting room at St. Michael’s church for the 4:00

  p.m. Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

  The room had familiar brown paneling and several watercolors of nature scenes on the walls. Posters of both the Serenity Prayer and Footsteps poem were tacked on one wall behind a podium. Rows of padded folding chairs faced the podium. A table of coffee, water and assorted pastries was set up in the rear.

  Most of the chairs were full, and a handful of attendees lingered in clusters on the periphery. The faces surprised him with their blandness. Men and woman, all ages and ethnicities. No one’s appearance screamed alcoholic or addict.

  Do you think yours does?

  A middle-aged woman with red hair broke away from a cluster of people and moved to stand behind the podium. She clapped her hands and the stragglers found chairs. James slid into an empty one in the back row, close to the exit.

  “Good evening, all,” the woman said.

  An automatic reply of “Good evening” rang out like a Greek chorus.

  “My name is Christa and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Christa,” went the chorus.

  James hunched into his seat.

  “I’ve been sober for three years, one month and four days.”

  He listened to Christa’s story with mild interest. He understood addictions far too well, both personally and professionally. Christa was classic—twice-divorced single mom who found comfort in vodka until it threatened her health and her relationships with her two teenage daughters. She spoke with confidence in her recovery, and she made James believe in her continued success.

  Until the next tragedy sends her racing back into the bottom of a bottle.

  Cynical, sure, but he’d dealt with enough drunks and addicts—mostly parents of his clients—to know the real chances of staying sober.

  “I see at least two new faces tonight,” Christa said when her personal testimony petered out. “You are more than welcome to share if you choose, but first we have an anniversary to celebrate. One of our members is receiving their five-year chip. Wally?”

  A familiar shape lumbered from the second row to the podium. James blinked hard, but Wallace Carey remained, casually dressed in jeans and a blue button-down.

  “Hello,” he said mildly. “My name is Wally, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  Holy shit, does Nate know?

  “I’ve been sober for five years and two days. I’d been a casual drinker for a long time, mostly due to the stress of my job. I can’t put a date on when it went from a few times a week to several drinks a night, every night, but I know it was about twelve years ago. One night my wife and two sons were in a bad car wreck, and my youngest boy died. He was only six months old.

  Losing someone you love is no excuse—it’s only a fact—and I know for a fact I fell deeper and deeper into the bottle after my baby boy died.

  “I’m ashamed of the man I became when I drank. I was mean. I did a lot of things I regret, including how much I hurt my wife and other boy. The two people in the world who still loved me. Seven years ago, my beautiful wife died of liver cancer. Five months from diagnosis to death, it was that fast. And I hated that she’d died afraid of me. I hated that my only boy looked at me like I was the devil himself, but I couldn’t stop drinking. I didn’t want to.”

  Carey glanced out over the crowd. His gaze stopped briefly on James. James inched down in his seat, embarrassed at being noticed by someone he actually knew. And also intrigued by the story about to be told.

  At last Carey took a deep breath and continued. “Two years after my wife died, I got into a horrible fight with my son. He’d just turned eighteen. He grew up so fast. I remember some of the circumstances, if not the specifics, but the end result was that I hit him. More than once. I told him I wouldn’t have him under my roof anymore. And the next day he was gone.

  “I haven’t had a drop since that night. I regret it every single day because in the last five years, I’ve not heard from my son. I don’t know where he lives now,
or if he’s safe or scared. I don’t know if he’s happy or in love, or if he’s even alive. I hear about young John Does on the news, and it terrifies me every time, because I wonder if that’s him.

  “He may not be part of my life, but he’s why I’m sober. Sobriety, for me, is about success. I failed my boy in so many ways, but I won’t fail him in this. If ever our paths do cross again, I want to be able to look him in the eye and say in all honesty that I’m a changed man.”

  Wally held up what looked like a shiny poker chip. “This means everything to me. Five years took a lot of work, but it’s worth it. Believe me.”

  Applause followed him back to his seat. James tracked him until the back of his head disappeared, surprised and concerned by the story that had been told with so much matter-of-factness and grace. He’d met Carey a handful of times over the years, and he never would have pegged the guy for a former drunk and child beater. And James knew the type. He handled the consequences of those types every day.

  Three others shared that night. James didn’t move from his chair. He tried to imagine standing up there and sharing his truth. He couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t know what his truth was. Not really. He drank when things got tough, which usually led to doing something stupid. Such as still being asleep when Elliott answered his door that morning, leaving him unable to explain to Nathan why Elliott was there.

  Whatever Nathan believed had happened, James had tried to dispel via voice mail and text. The only response he got from Nathan had been two hours earlier. A simple Visiting parents for weekend. Call you sometime.

  Call you sometime. Talk about a brush-off. Not that he totally blamed Nathan for taking off and getting some space. James had been kind of a dick the night before, even if some of the dickishness felt justified. But he’d never intended on driving Nathan away.

  Christa returned to the podium and led the crowd in the recitation of the Serenity Prayer.

  James knew it from his childhood, and he said it in his head rather than out loud. Christa invited everyone to stay for refreshments and fellowship. He nearly bolted for the door, but he didn’t want to be that guy. The coward who snuck in and out without acknowledging the other people who weren’t so different from him.

  He stood slowly and wove his way around other loitering bodies, making a slow exit, trying to be anonymous.

  Unsurprisingly, a burly body got in his way. “I thought I saw you back there,” Carey said quietly, but in a tone that said to stay put and chat.

  James managed a nonchalant shrug. “I didn’t figure on seeing someone I knew here.”

  “Especially me?”

  “You hadn’t crossed my mind at all.”

  Carey nodded. “Exactly. You see someone who seems like they’ve got it all together, but underneath everything, they’re a bleeding mess.”

  “Are you talking about yourself or me?”

  “About pretty much everyone in this room, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  James had no answer to that. “I’m sorry about your family, and your elder son.”

  “Me too. More than I can ever say. He’d have just turned twenty-three this week. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”

  “May I ask his name?”

  “Theo.” Carey’s expression softened. “Goddamn, but he looked like his mother. I think that’s why I took so much out on him those last two years without her. It wasn’t fair, and eventually my drinking and my temper drove him away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It is what it is, and I can’t change the past. He’s on my list of people to make amends to, if I ever see him again.”

  “And which of the twelve steps is that?”

  “Nine. I’d suggest starting at the beginning, though.”

  “And what’s the first step?”

  “Admitting that we’re powerless over alcohol and that our lives have become

  unmanageable.”

  Cold trickled down James’s spine. “My life isn’t unmanageable.”

  Carey shrugged. “That’s your call. But you had a reason for coming here.”

  “Nate thinks I have a drinking problem.”

  “Do you agree?”

  “I’m not sure.” Coming to a meeting had felt like the right thing to do last night. Now he was second-guessing himself. He wasn’t like these people. He could stop drinking on his own, damn it.

  “When was your last drink?”

  “Last night.” He couldn’t prevent the next slip of honesty. “I’ve had some kind of drink every night for the last few years. When things get really bad, I drink myself into a blackout. I almost hurt someone else during one a few months ago.”

  “Driving?”

  “No.” No way was he delving into details about his night with Ezra. Carey was the stereotypical WASP and as straight and boring as they came—drinking problem aside.

  Carey studied him a moment. “So you admit you have a problem.”

  “I suppose.”

  “When you go home tonight, are you going to drink?”

  He thought of the bourbon in his cabinet and the beer in his fridge. “Probably.”

  Carey took a business card out of his wallet and handed it to James. “You figure maybe you don’t want that drink tonight, but you aren’t sure you can say no, call me.”

  “So does this mean you’re my sponsor now?” James didn’t mean for all of the snide sarcasm his tone carried. I’m an asshole.

  It slid right off Carey. “You’re Nathan’s best friend. We’ve worked a lot of cases together, and he’s good people. He’s also got enough going on without dealing with you going through the DTs if you decide to dry out.”

  Dry out. The idea of going cold turkey terrified James. Detoxing was good in theory, but it was an entirely new animal when it was happening to your body.

  Nate deserves it. I deserve it.

  The final thought made James stammer out, “I, uh, may take you up on this.”

  “No expiration date. Call whenever, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  At three thirty Sunday morning, when James’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely hit the correct numbers on his phone, he called Wallace Carey for help.

  Chapter Twenty

  The best thing about Nate’s parents was they didn’t question his unexpected arrival Saturday afternoon. They fixed him a late lunch, filled him in on the family gossip and then they dragged him over to Nana’s house to see her newest horse. He didn’t ride the pretty mare, but he enjoyed watching his three younger cousins do the honors of trotting her around the corral.

  A late dinner at Nana’s had been a little uncomfortable with so much family around, but Nate endured because they loved him. And no one cared that he’d dropped in after only having been gone for two weeks.

  His world had changed, and his family accepted it without question.

  He spent most of his time thinking. James hadn’t called or texted him again once Nate broke down and sent back a message that yes, he was okay, and he was visiting his parents. The voice mail from James had insisted Elliott slept on the couch, and that they hadn’t had sex. Nate believed him, and he was grateful for the time he had to collect his thoughts.

  Nate went to church on Sunday morning with his parents, finding solace in the small gathering and in the grace of the female minister. He loved that they attended an open-minded church, and were taught love and joy, rather than condemnation and hate. It would make the inevitable conversation that much easier.

  He hadn’t said it out loud to the person who needed to hear it, but he was very much in love with James. Head over ass in love, and he couldn’t keep hiding it. It was hurting James, making him doubt their relationship. Saying it out loud made it real. It changed what they’d always had, which was a true friendship, into something more meaningful.

  It made them partners. James deserved that commitment. In many ways, he’d already made it to Nate.

  After lunch at the Oak Orchard Din
er, Nate spirited his mother and father away to the beach. He still renewed the State Parks membership tag on his truck every year, so they went to the beach at Cape Henlopen. Even in mid-September, the Sunday crowd was fairly thick, and they had to walk a ways to the Pointe before the vacationers thinned out.

  He watched the ocean for a few minutes, absorbing the familiar crash and spray of the waves. Inhaling the salty air. Enjoying the stickiness it left on his exposed skin. So peaceful and never-ending.

  “Sweetheart?” Mom asked. She flanked his left, Dad on his right, neither of them hiding their concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” Nate said. “I really am. It was great going back to work, and returning to my old life. This was something I needed to tell you both in person.”

  “You can tell us anything.” She clutched his hand.

  “I fell in love with someone. Actually, I started having feelings for them a long time ago, but I convinced myself I was wrong. I buried it deep down and forgot about it until recently.

  Something changed, and I told them the truth. We’re in love, Mom. Dad.”

  “Well, that’s unexpected,” Dad said. He seemed more surprised than anything else. “So why all the fuss with telling us?”

  Nate’s heart slammed into his ribs. The air in his lungs contracted. He forced a deep breath before he could say, “Because it’s James.”

  “What’s James?”

  “James and I are in love, and we’re in a relationship.”

  Dad frowned and tilted his head. Mom’s shock shifted quickly, turning into a matter-of-fact delight.

  “Well, now, I’d be lying if I said this was a complete and utter surprise,” Mom said.

  Nate blinked. “Really?”

  “You boys have always been so close, sweetheart. And sometimes he looked at you and he didn’t hide his feelings really well, not when he thought no one was looking.”

  “So this means you’re gay?” Dad asked, so perfectly befuddled Nate almost felt sorry for him.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe so. I’ve never been overtly attracted to other men. Only James. It’s only ever been James. If that makes me gay, then I’m gay.”