Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  I realize that’s counterproductive—that I can’t earn a sobriety chip and still consume alcohol—but I’d do anything for a swallow of warmth.

  My cravings are as strong as ever, and the only reason I stay sober is because every temptation has been removed from my life. There aren’t any hidden bottles under my bed and none in the closet or underneath the sink in the bathroom. I had hiding places all over the house, and if I were still in the real world, I’d have relapsed by now, downing a week’s worth of recycling in three days’ time.

  Trash day was Cash’s least favorite day of the week. He’d get so embarrassed when the empty bottles fell out of the bin and rolled down the sidewalk. If one went far enough, he’d have to chase it all the way to the neighbor’s yard.

  These days, I’m not sure how he feels about home. Every time I think about it, my imagination runs wild. I’ve pictured him having cozy dinners with Teddi, laughing as they enjoy a fancy casserole she made from scratch. I can’t cook for shit.

  Other times, I imagine them sharing a bowl of popcorn while they relax in front of the TV. It doesn’t matter what Cash and Teddi are doing. They are always at her house because he is too ashamed of what I did to ours, and they are happy.

  There is nothing to destroy in this room. I have a closet and some hangers, plastic ones, and a small desk where I write in the journal they assigned me. I have to earn TV time and any other luxuries I might be interested in. None of the activities appeal to me though. I don’t have the energy to play games or exercise. I even have a library full of books, but it is too hard to concentrate with a raging headache from throwing up so often.

  God, I miss the farmhouse.

  Cash takes a look around at the little bit of stuff I have in my possession. Once he’s finished, he sits on the edge of the bed. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he pats the space next to him.

  “Come sit, Meadow,” he says with a voice so soft, I barely recognize it.

  I got so used to him yelling at me about what a mess I was that I forgot what it was like to have an actual conversation.

  That’s my fault, not his. I’m the one who constantly pushes his buttons and destroys his house—our house. But living under that roof, I couldn’t help but feel like a guest. Nothing was familiar, and though Cash did what he could to make me comfortable, I was miserable.

  Sitting next to him now, I still feel the same way. Watching him play with the band around his ring finger does nothing to jolt my emotions. I’m actually a little surprised he still has it on. I figured, after I was hauled away, he would celebrate his freedom. Yet here he is, as loyal as ever.

  “They made me take mine off,” I tell him.

  He reaches for my hand and traces over the little indentation in my skin. “Do they treat you well?”

  Some days, this place feels like prison, and others, it’s not so bad. The couple of mornings I woke up without getting sick in the middle of the night, I had decent days. It’s easier to sit through long counseling sessions when you’re not dead tired. And, for the most part, the therapists are supportive, even when I’m sick as a dog, cursing them out.

  But I’ve been away from the farmhouse for too long, and it’s been harder to connect with Grandma because of it. That scares me more than anything.

  “I’m okay,” I lie. “I still don’t remember anything though.”

  He nods, trying to hide his disappointment. I think he was hoping that, once I was sober, my old life would come back to me. If only it were that easy.

  “I just want you to be okay, Meadow.”

  I want that, too.

  I’m not sure when the day will come that I won’t crave a drink, but I’m trying to figure things out.

  What choice do I really have?

  If I leave treatment, I’m back in jail. And I’ve already crushed Cash enough. I can’t do it again.

  But all this staring and awkward conversation make me nervous. I’d love to know what he’s thinking right now. I’m sure, if I asked, he’d tell me, but then I think about Teddi, and I chicken out.

  Hearing about their time together would hurt too much, so I settle for a simple, “How are you?”

  He blinks a couple of times, like he’s surprised I bothered to ask. That makes me feel awful, too. I know I don’t ask him often enough.

  Cash angles his body toward mine, and I prepare myself for his response.

  “I hate that you’re here. I think about you nonstop, wondering if you’re sick or if you’re making progress. Even my boss asks about you every day, so I at least have someone to talk to.”

  “You have Teddi, too, right?” It slips out as naturally as my next breath. But I don’t mean it how it sounds. I’m not angry, not really. I just want to know where she stands in all of this and if she’s someone I need to be concerned about. After all, she’s the reason I’m here.

  “Despite what you think, Teddi and I aren’t plotting against you. I know how bad it looked the night you were arrested. I never wanted to scare you like that. But you have nothing to worry about as far as she’s concerned. This is our battle, nobody else’s.”

  I’m sure he’s telling the truth, but then I remember why I ran in the first place. “You had a bag packed, Cash. I was coming here whether I liked it or not. So, I guess the cops bringing me just cut out the middleman. Unless the middleman is Teddi.”

  He stands up and runs his fingers through his hair, like the panicked guy I woke up to in the hospital. Only this time, he’s wearing freshly washed clothes, and he smells like cologne. He’s not a total mess, and I assume that’s because she’s picking up the pieces I’ve been so busy destroying.

  “Meadow, it’s not like that.”

  “Then, what’s it like?” I question just as my stomach contracts with another vicious cramp. The pain sends me running into the bathroom before I throw up all over the floor again.

  Cash doesn’t realize I’m sick. He thinks I’m upset about Teddi.

  With my back pressed against the closed bathroom door, I concentrate on taking deep breaths in through my nose and then exhaling the pain away, just like the nurse taught me. The cramp slowly fades, but I get them so often, so I know another will come along soon. My body’s a mess, and if I could just have a little bit to drink, I’m positive I’d feel so much better.

  “Don’t shut me out, Meadow,” Cash pleads through the door.

  I’m reminded of the night I locked him inside the bedroom, and I slide all the way down to the floor, ashamed of the plan I’d concocted. I still haven’t told anyone about that, not even my therapist.

  Cash fell asleep, something he rarely did before me. It didn’t matter if he was awake or not though. I had it in my head that I was leaving. If I was going to treatment the next day, I needed to spend my night with Grandma. Even if I had to sneak through the crawl space in the attic and shimmy down the drainpipe, I was going.

  Cash made it easy on me though. I didn’t need drastic measures.

  After I raided his closet and stole all of his shoes, I pushed the nearly empty dresser from the guest room across the hallway. Once it was in front of the door, I grabbed one of Cash’s jump ropes that he used during his workouts and wrapped an end around each doorknob, making sure not to leave any slack in between.

  My husband was barricaded inside the bedroom, so even if he woke up and saw me running across the lawn toward the field, I’d be out of sight before he could get to me.

  The neighbor wasn’t a factor in my plans. I figured she’d watch like she always did, but once I was hidden away in the field, she’d give up and go home.

  But I was so focused on remembering if I’d tied the ropes just right that I didn’t see her car coming. Her headlights were closer than usual, and once my face was lit up, I was blinded.

  I heard her voice begging me to slow down, but I darted into the field just in time. I half-expected her to chase after me, especially when her headlights lit up my path for so long. But, when I made it to t
he farmhouse, I knew I was safe.

  By the time Cash woke up and found his way out of the bedroom, he’d assume I was long gone.

  Freedom had never felt so good—even if it was short-lived.

  Now, Cash is on the other side of the door again, begging me to let him in.

  I want nothing more than to be in his arms, feeling as safe as I do when I’m at the farmhouse, but I don’t know how to get to that place. I don’t know how to let him love me—or worse, how to love him back.

  Staying locked in the bathroom doesn’t look good though. If one of the counselors comes in and sees us like this, Cash might not be able to come back. Or they’ll make him come to one of my sessions, and I’m not ready for that.

  I resign myself to the fact that this is always how it’s going to be—me trying to force a life that I’m supposed to be living. I’ll probably always carry around resentment about the accident because, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be making any of these choices.

  I thought I’d taken some steps in the right direction, but now that I’ve seen Cash, I know I’m still so messed up.

  “Meadow,” Cash says again.

  He’s not going to stop, so I wrap my fingers around the doorknob and take a deep breath. This is my life.

  I still don’t know if I’m capable of loving him, but everyone here expects me to be Cash’s wife. So, I guess it’s time I start playing the part.

  He’s my ticket out of here.

  nine

  CASH

  Meadow opens the bathroom door, and to my surprise, she doesn’t run past me. She stares directly into my eyes; there’s no avoidance whatsoever.

  “Did you get sick?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head and takes a step closer. I’m afraid to breathe—like, if I exhale too hard, I’ll push her right back into the bathroom.

  When I reach for her hand, she doesn’t flinch like she usually does, but tears pool in her eyes, and I’m about to lose it.

  I don’t know what’s happening, but something’s changed. The woman who went into the bathroom isn’t the same one who came out.

  “You look tired, Meadow. Do you want to lie down?”

  “No,” she says, her voice laced with so much emotion.

  “Please, don’t worry about Teddi.”

  “I’m not worried anymore. I trust you, Cash.”

  She has no idea how much that means to me. I’ve been trying to earn her trust since I took her home from the hospital.

  “Then, don’t cry,” I whisper. “You’re too pretty for that.”

  “I don’t feel very pretty.”

  Withdrawal is fucking hell. I’ve imagined what she’s going through a million times, praying the doctors give her medication to make it less painful.

  The first couple of nights she was here, I called every couple of hours, just to make sure she was still breathing. After what I had seen at home, I was so afraid she’d die.

  But, today, she’s not the weak woman I held in my lap on the bathroom floor. We’ve spoken more than we have in months, and I haven’t seen her standing this tall since before the drinking started.

  I’m not sure how much energy she has, but I don’t want whatever’s happening to disappear. “Do you want to go for a walk or something?” Maybe, if we get out of this room, it’ll help.

  “Can we …” she begins and then stares at the bed.

  I’m not sure what she’s trying to say, but it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with a walk.

  Embarrassed at what she implied, she stares at the floor, and if there were an award for awkward, we’d win it.

  I lift her chin with my finger and force her to look at me. We’re close enough that, if I wanted to, I could kiss her. But Meadow’s shaking, and I don’t know if it’s the withdrawal or her nerves.

  Finally, she says, “I don’t think I’m ready for more, Cash, but if you want to lie with me, I think I’d like to rest for a little bit. I’m still getting my strength back.”

  I’ve dreamed about kissing my wife again. I know this isn’t the time or the place for that, but I still imagine what it’d be like if she pulled me close and pressed her lips against mine. The day she kisses me will be the happiest day of my life, eclipsing any other memory—because she’d remember it.

  “I’ll wait as long as you want, Meadow. Let’s get in bed and rest.”

  She slips out of my arms and scoots under the covers, leaving enough space for me in her tiny twin bed. I’m sure we’re breaking at least one of the rules, but I couldn’t care less. This is more than Meadow’s given me since she was discharged from the hospital. Someone would have to physically kick my ass to the curb to get me out of this bed. And I’m more than willing to risk all future visits for this one moment with my wife.

  After I kick my shoes off, I climb in next to her, and when I wrap my arm across her stomach, she turns onto her side. I leave my hand resting on the curve of her hip, and she snuggles closer. Her shirt rides up, leaving just enough exposed skin for me to rub my thumb back and forth.

  “I’m trying to get better,” she says. “I want to do more than just exist.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” My voice comes out more robotic than intended—not because I don’t mean what I’m saying, but because my throat’s closing up. Because I finally know that Meadow’s in the right place. After only a month of treatment, she finally wants the same thing that I do.

  Guilt has been eating me alive since I found out she had no memory of our relationship. I’ve asked myself the same questions a million times over. The biggest one? What if I had done just one thing differently?

  Maybe, if I had been with her the day of the accident, she’d have avoided the scene altogether. And, when that truck lost control on the slick road, veering into the other lane, it wouldn’t have been Meadow’s car that he smashed into. Maybe the accident wouldn’t have happened at all.

  We’d have all of our memories intact—along with maybe a child on the way, a house with a finished nursery, and a brand-new crib.

  She wouldn’t be spending her days feeling like a failure because of her inability to recognize the world around her. I wouldn’t have jumped from a window to save a woman I didn’t recognize.

  But that’s all in the past now. Sober Meadow is trying. She’s trying harder than I’ve ever seen, and I think we can both agree that we’re not giving up.

  “I’ve been having a lot of dreams,” she says. “I’m not sure if they mean anything though.”

  “Do you want to tell me about them? Maybe I can help you sort things out.”

  “Not yet,” she says. “I’m writing them all down in my journal, so I don’t forget. Hopefully, one will repeat itself soon, and then I’ll know it’s not make-believe.”

  Just as I’m about to tell her that I think that’s a good idea, there’s a knock on the door. Meadow must have expected it because she doesn’t flinch.

  I don’t take my eyes off her, so the man clears his throat, and then he says, “Visiting hours are over.”

  “That was fast,” I tell her. “I can ask for fifteen more minutes if you want to keep talking.”

  She sits up and glances toward the door. “That’s okay. I don’t want to press my luck. I’m finally through the worst, and I can have regular visitors.”

  We both know there’s nobody else coming to see Meadow. I’m all she has, and other than Teddi and my boss, nobody else knows she’s in rehab.

  “So, it’s okay if I come again next week?” I don’t want to assume this is a regular thing even though I’d still come and sit in the parking lot if she didn’t want to see me, just to feel closer to her.

  “Yeah, Cash. I want you to come back.”

  Meadow might not be ready to kiss me or even hold hands for more than thirty seconds, but those words, they heal more than anything physical could.

  All those days and nights she spent avoiding me, and look at her now, telling me to come back in a week to spend time w
ith her.

  I’m beaming; I know I am.

  “Walk me out?” I ask her.

  “Sure. You’ll get lost in this place. Everything looks the same, just different hallways.”

  She looks tired as she leads me out of her room, and I hope they don’t push her too hard the rest of the night. These visits take a lot out of everyone.

  But she doesn’t change once we leave her room. She stays close to me as we walk down the hallway. Our fingers touch, and instinctively, I grab her hand.

  When she looks at me, I give her as much of a smile as I can manage. I hate good-byes.

  Neither one of us says anything else until we’re at the front desk—as far as she’s allowed to go without signing out. There are so many things I want to say to her, but I keep them inside. She’s not ready to hear them yet, but with time, I think she will be.

  “Thank you for coming, Cash. I know I’m not easy to be around.”

  That’s where she’s wrong. Being with Meadow is my favorite thing, even when we’re struggling and miserable.

  I can’t find the right words to convey that, so I pull her close and wrap my arms around her back.

  Her chest heaves against mine, and she digs her nails into my back. When she sniffles, I feel her tears soak into my shirt. It makes leaving that much harder, so I gently sway our bodies from side to side, shushing her.

  “I know you’re scared, Meadow. It’s okay.”

  I get those extra fifteen minutes I wanted because I don’t let go until my wife stops crying and can catch her breath without hiccuping. When she’s ready, I use the edge of my shirt to wipe her eyes.

  “No more tears, okay? You can do this.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, her voice still too shaky for complete sentences.