God, if it were that simple.
But as strong as my convictions can be in one moment, they remain susceptible in the next. Each time my guard drops, they appear, singing promises of relief. Drink and all will be forgiven.
Last night, after Charlie and I left the meeting, thoughts of Jennifer’s death chased me all the way back to Prince Street. I was in her car again, bruised and bleeding, trying to undo my seat belt and then Jennifer’s. She was unconscious, but alive, when I pulled her from the wreckage onto the damp grass. We were twenty feet from the car when I saw the first flames rising out of the engine. Terrified, I ran to the road, hoping to flag down a car.
In the shadow of this memory, my sobriety lay before me, brittle as a dry leaf. Closing my eyes, I imagined the cool wine rolling over my dry tongue. Easing tension, unfurling knots, it promised bliss.
But of course, it lied. I remembered this hard-learned lesson about falling off the wagon the first time I tried and failed to get sober. On the heels of one glass of wine came another and another until I lost track. And bliss turned to guilt and to more self-loathing.
I didn’t drink last night, but when I woke, Jennifer’s presence, along with the cravings, was near.
“So are you a wine drinker?”
I opened my eyes to find an attractive blonde holding a cigarette to her lips and reaching for a lighter. “Excuse me?”
“I’m a beer drinker, and on special days I reach for the tequila. Those are the wild and dangerous days.” She grinned and held out her hand. “You look like a wine girl. Hi, I’m Janet Morgan.”
“I’m Lisa and this is Charlie.”
Janet tossed an apprehensive glance at the dog and made no move to pet him. “You’re new to the meetings here. You recently move to Alexandria?”
“I’m visiting.” I sat a little straighter, trying to relax the tension banding my shoulders. I needed to open up and talk about what haunted me. Instead, I smiled.
Janet took a long pull on her cigarette. “I’m here for the duration. Both my kids are in Alexandria and I’m sticking around, even if it kills me.”
“Is this place so terrible?”
“It’s not the place.” She stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette as smoke trickled out of her mouth. “It’s me. I’m not happy anywhere, as it turns out. I’m always ready to jump to the next lily pad in the pond. Only this time, I’ve run out of pads. End of the line for me.”
“How long have you been working the steps?”
“Five whole weeks. Jesus, it doesn’t sound like a lot of time but it feels like a lifetime. I’ve never seen the minutes move so slowly.”
“That, I do understand.”
Janet held my gaze for an extra beat, sizing me up. “So you come regularly to these meetings or is this kind of an emergency check-in?”
Mentally, I released the grip on my words. Talk about them. Get them in the open and destroy them. “Today’s a bad day. A lot of memories. It’s always a tough time for me. I like to visit a meeting on this day no matter where I am.”
Today was Jennifer McDonald’s birthday. She would have been thirty-four if not for the car crash. Every summer since her death, I made a point to be as far away from Alexandria as possible, but this year I was at ground zero. “I’m going to the cemetery to pay respects,” I said.
The meeting leader began and we all introduced ourselves. There was a familiarity to the meetings that I’d encountered, no matter if I were in California, Kansas, Florida, or Virginia.
The meeting leader wore her thick gray hair back in a ponytail. Her dress was made of denim and hung loosely around her round body. Clogs, athletic socks. I refused to look at her legs to see if she shaved. TMI as far as I was concerned.
Despite her grandmotherly appearance, her attention was sharp as she moved around the room and listened closely, asking pointed questions. Grandma had a bite.
After introductions, most didn’t have much to say. Newcomers spoke of struggles the old-timers knew all too well. There was comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone.
Fortunately, it was promising to be a quick meeting. I felt a little more grounded and was ready to soldier on.
The leader zeroed in on me. “So, Lisa, what brings you here today?”
“Checking in,” I said as lightly as I could. Since I was originally from Alexandria, I wondered if someone in the room might recognize me. “New city, new circumstances, and I always expect some new kind of trigger that could catch me off guard.”
Grandma folded her arms over her ample bosom. “What kind of triggers catch you off guard, Lisa?”
“A new bar. New people who don’t know I’m an alcoholic. There’s always a trigger.”
“Have you been to Alexandria before?”
Bracing, I didn’t look away. “I was born and raised here, but haven’t been back in a long time.”
“What brings you back?”
Not what drove me away but what brought me back. “My aunt is in assisted living. Her house needs to be sold. I need to handle all the arrangements. A bit overwhelming.”
“That kind of job comes with a lot of stress.”
“It does.” Absently, I rubbed Charlie’s head.
“And what are you doing to cope?”
She wasn’t so much digging into my life as she was trying to get me to share coping strategies for everyone else. I understood that. “Sitting here, right now.”
“What about your aunt’s place?” Pale eyes darkened. “Free of booze?”
“I’ve searched the cabinets and tossed the usual suspects.” It had been a cursory search that lasted less than fifteen minutes. Normally, a new place received the entire once-over, but not this time. This time I’d been sloppy and quick.
She shook her head slowly, picking up the meaning between the words. “Sounds like you didn’t put your heart and soul into it.”
“What makes you say that?”
A sly smile twisted the edges of her lips, and for a moment, I didn’t see an old woman but a young hellion who had mastered every trick in the book. “A half-ass search means we’re either complacent or we’re thinking there might be a little hooch somewhere. Might be thinking if a rainy day comes it will come in handy.”
I sat a little straighter and announced, “I’ve been sober twelve years.”
“I was sober twenty-one and a half years. I woke up that morning in a great mood, had the world on a string. Next thing I know, I’m with friends from work and I’m belting back whiskey. It took me another two months and more Jack Daniels than I can remember before I hauled myself back to a meeting. Time away from the sauce is good, but it’s a poor guarantee for a drunk.”
For a moment I didn’t speak. Instead of spinning a lie that would set off this lady’s BS meter in a blink, I said, “Sixteen years ago my best friend and I were in a car accident. She died. I walked away with bruises. Today is her birthday and I’m sitting here screwing up the courage to visit her grave and pay respects. I owe her that much, but I’m being a chickenshit about it.”
The woman smiled as if she had finally gotten to the truth. “Paying respects or asking forgiveness?”
“Both.”
“What do you think your friend would say to you right now if she were here? Would she still want to be your best friend?”
“That’s irrelevant. My friend is dead.”
“Don’t dodge the question, Lisa. Your friend is standing right here. What does she say to you?”
The weighted stares in the room shifted onto me. If anyone had come into the room with a worry or concern, it was tabled until I answered the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.
“She hated self-pity.”
The group leader leaned toward me. “So she might be saying . . .” She left the question open.
Jennifer’s laughter suddenly rang in my ear
s, and for a moment I thought she was standing right behind me. “She’d tell me to ditch the pity party and do what needed to be done.”
“Then what’s holding you back?”
“Nothing,” I said. “As soon as this meeting is over I’m driving straight to St. Mary’s Cemetery.”
“Good. Would your friend expect you to stand by her grave and beat yourself up with old memories?”
“No.”
“Good. But in case you do, we also have another meeting tonight.”
Pride demanded I tell her I’d be fine. Don’t worry about me. I got this. Instead, all I said was, “Thanks.”
The meeting broke up and Janet came up to me as I moved toward the door. Fumbling for a cigarette in true chain-smoker fashion, she lit the tip of another about to burn down to its filter.
“You did a good job. Thanks for speaking up,” Janet said. “Nice to know I’m not the only one carrying barrels of guilt.”
“Here’s to good days.”
“Amen. See you soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
I didn’t linger, no longer willing to scratch at a wound that had never healed. With Charlie in the shotgun seat, I slid behind the wheel of the Buick.
Sweat dampened the back of my neck as I drove through the wrought-iron gate at the entrance of the cemetery. Shifting in my seat, I tightened my hands on the steering wheel and followed the road to the left, winding past the gray tombstones that dotted the rolling green landscape. Many of the plots were decorated with urns filled with flowers, making me feel guilty that I’d forgotten to bring flowers. I should have brought some. “Who comes to pay homage without flowers, Charlie? Jennifer loved sunflowers.” The dog rose, sensing we were close.
“Shit,” I muttered as I shifted my dark sunglasses to the top of my head to get the hair out of my eyes. Irritation snapped through my body.
Charlie wagged his tail and barked.
“Maybe I should leave and buy flowers. I could be back within half an hour with a bouquet.” Charlie barked, his gaze trained ahead.
The flowers offered the perfect escape. I could leave now, find a florist or a grocery store. I could delay this meeting and keep carrying the all-too-familiar weights of remorse and guilt.
“Wuss.” The word echoed in my head.
As tempted as I was to turn the car around and leave, I didn’t. I was the master of delay tactics. I could find perfectly legitimate excuses to put off what needed to be done. Don’t do today what you can put off until tomorrow. Or better, next month. Didn’t matter if it were sobriety, developing the box of neglected glass negatives from last winter, or apologizing to an old friend for my role in her death.
Pushing on the accelerator, I drove deeper into the cemetery until I found the section I knew belonged to the McDonald family. I parked by a neatly trimmed curb and shut off the car. The silence hummed around me as the clouds overhead grew heavier and darker with rain. Jesus, more rain? What the hell was it with this city lately?
I closed my eyes, savoring the silence, wondering if this is what Alexandria sounded like centuries ago.
“Get it over with already,” the voice whispered in my head. “It won’t be better tomorrow.”
Charlie barked. Nerves crawled up my spine, and I shook my head to clear it.
Refusing to delay another second, I leashed Charlie and we pushed out of the car. Charlie walked ahead to the moist green grass surrounding a large granite marker that read McDonald. Surrounding the primary stone were a dozen smaller headstones of various family members. Instead of walking to Jennifer’s spot, which I knew was in the back on the right, I searched for Jeffrey McDonald. His simple gravestone was in the center, beside his parents. To his left was the marker for Stuart McDonald, two years his junior, and likely his brother.
A thundercloud clapped overhead, drawing my full attention to the task at hand. The clouds had darkened as if on cue. Soon, I’d be deluged. Hell, the first time I stood here it was raining. That day, I barely took notice. I was seventeen and still battered and bruised from the accident. Painkillers dulled my throbbing head but had done little to ease my guilt and heartache.
I had not wanted to be at the funeral, but my mother insisted I join the mourners. “You have nothing to hide,” she said. “You were her best friend and people should see for themselves that you’re grieving for her. And if anyone asks you about the accident, I don’t want you to say a word. It’s between you, me, and our lawyer.”
Large dark sunglasses, unnecessary on that gloomy day, had hidden Mom’s eyes. Whatever she’d felt, she had buried it deep, as she did so many other bits of information from her life. Mother wanted—no, needed—the world to believe we lived a perfect life, so she became a master at hiding the unpleasant truths. A smooth veneer. And on that day, she didn’t want everyone to know her daughter was responsible for her best friend’s death. When Mom came to get me at the hospital after the accident, I told her the truth. She closed the door, locked it, and took my tear-streaked face in her hands and told me, “Never tell anyone. This secret is your punishment. It’s your burden to bear.”
“My punishment,” I whispered as I turned from Stuart’s grave toward Jennifer’s and crossed the neatly trimmed lawn past much older grave markers worn smooth by time.
Jennifer’s resting place was at the back of the McDonald section, tucked next to her parents’ graves. Bright yellow sunflowers rose out from a brass urn, their blossoms reaching toward the heavens like outstretched arms. Not a leaf or twig marred the neat grass of the three graves.
I knelt. As Charlie stood beside me, I traced her name with my fingertips. Jennifer Patience McDonald. Patience. I was always puzzled by her middle name. Such an odd name for a girl who had so very little of it.
My gaze fixated on the day of Jennifer’s birth—August seventeenth. And then to the day of her death—June fifteen. Just shy of eighteen years old. It should be me lying here.
A life of laughter and potential was forever reduced to two sets of dates that spanned way too little time. The pale gray granite stone designed to memorialize her life forever seemed lacking. It didn’t mention she had auburn hair, her contagious laugh or her mastery of the guitar. No mention of her singing; her love of her cat, Sparky; her crush on Jerry Trice. None of that was memorialized. It pained me to know that whoever visited her would never know those details. The stone ignored all that.
I rose and sat on a small gray bench set up in front of her marker and tried to tamp down my guilt. Charlie settled at my feet. “It’s been a while, Jennifer. I’m sorry for that. But I’ve kind of been on the run. Not from the law or anything. That might actually be a little romantic and fun. I’ve been running from you and this moment.”
AA had honed my ability to be honest. “I could sit here and tell you that I meant to visit. I could say life kept getting in the way, but that would be crap and you’d know it. You deserve better.”
A wind whispered through the trees and reminded me of her faint laughter.
“Frankly, Jennifer, you and Rae are the last on my list of atonements. I’ve made peace with all the people I hurt in the early years of my drinking. I wasn’t able to talk to Mom before she passed, but I’m sure she was glad to miss it. Even if she’d been alive, the conversation would have been one way. It was always lopsided with Mom.”
“I’d like to have seen that. You talking and your mother trying to change the subject to anything but the ugly truth.” Jennifer’s laughter rattled in my head as it did when she would toss me a sideways glare and raise a bottle of diet soda to her mouth. “Truth was Mommy Smyth’s kryptonite.”
The corner of my mouth ticked up. “Yeah, I know she was glad she checked out of this world before my honesty atonement tour.” An unexpected chuckle bubbled in my throat.
A cold breeze blew between the stones, and as I looked up, I saw Jennifer. Her thick hair
pulled into a ponytail, hands hitched on hips. I rose slowly. Rational thought dictated that I should be scared. Sane people don’t see dead people. Amelia said she saw Jennifer, but she was in a nursing home with dementia.
But the sight of Jennifer was oddly welcoming. Charlie barked at nothing as he wagged his tail.
“So, you said sorry to her and everyone else. Why did it take you so long to get to me? I’m your very best friend.” Jennifer lowered her hands from her hips, and she held my gaze. She did that when she was pissed.
“Because they were easy.” I leaned forward. “You were always the tough one. Always the one I failed most.” I tugged off my sunglasses and caught my stricken expression in the lenses.
“There was a time you could tell me anything. Why are you having so much trouble talking to me now? We were as close as sisters.”
I lifted my eyes to the grave marker and dropped my voice to a faint whisper. “Because . . . I killed you.”
Closing my eyes, I listened for her voice but found only a heavy silence.
The rustle of feet on grass snapped my attention back. Charlie wagged his tail as I turned to see Rae McDonald standing, her arms loaded with a fresh display of yellow sunflowers. She wore a simple white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and very sensible black heels. Her auburn hair was secured back in a round bun at the base of her neck and showcased round pearl earrings dotting her earlobes and the strand of June Cleaver pearls encircling her neck.
I was aware that I’d come here not only empty handed but dressed far too casually for such an emotional meeting. Couldn’t I have dug out a damn skirt? “Rae?”
Rae stood as still as a statue, her chest barely rising and falling with each breath. “Lisa. It’s been a long time.” Her expression softened a little as she studied the dog. “Charlie. I heard you had him. He looks good.”
Her cool voice transported me back to the days Jennifer and I would sit in the McDonalds’ kitchen and her mother talked to us about college and the future.
“Wow,” I said. “You look so much like your mother. For a second I thought I was staring at her.”
The View from Prince Street Page 8