by Amy Vastine
“Holy smokes,” Gabe repeated. “That’s one brutal story.” He paused. “Did the transit system pay the medical bills?”
“Yes, they were very accommodating.”
“So the trouble started when your doctors put you on pain meds?”
“More like when they decided I didn’t need them anymore.”
“And?”
Admittedly, the pain had been excruciating, making it next to impossible to climb to her second-floor apartment—especially when hauling groceries—or to stand onstage for hour-long intervals or sleep more than an hour at a time.
“There were three doctors. My surgeon. My regular guy. And my shrink. Little did I know, they compared notes. And when they realized I was hooked on the meds, they cut me off.”
“Harsh,” Gabe said. “Wouldn’t it have been better to wean you slowly?”
“Maybe.” But given how totally dependent she’d grown, maybe not.
“So you had to find other ways to cut the pain…”
It should have been easy to admit. It wasn’t. And so Lillie said, “What about you?”
Gabe shrugged. “Nothing as dramatic or understandable as a car wreck. No, I was the stereotypical spoiled brat with too much time on his hands and too much money in his pockets. Got in with the wrong crowd—although at the time they sure didn’t seem like the wrong crowd—and the rest is history.”
It wasn’t unusual for recovering addicts to be tough on themselves. Unfortunately, the self-deprecating mindset, her counselors said, was responsible for more addicts relapsing than just about anything else.
“Still,” she reminded him, “your mom inspired you to get help.”
“She’s only half the reason. I watched a pal OD on crack.” He grimaced and his voice trailed off, a clear sign that he’d recalled a raw memory. “I got real serious about rehab after that.” He turned slightly. “So when you got off the prescription meds, what cut the pain?”
“Hydrocodone, mostly.”
“As in Watson-387?”
“That, and half a dozen other types of pills supplied by my go-to guy.” Although she hadn’t touched drugs or alcohol since entering rehab, it shamed Lillie to admit that she’d washed down hydro, norco, vic, and more—with dry gin—and paid for it with money taken from those who cared most about her. Her sister and her husband. Her brother and his wife. Her parents. Her best friend. The guys in the band.
It had been humiliating, facing each of them, stammering through clumsy apologies, voice quaking and hands shaking as she returned every dollar. Though she didn’t believe she’d earned their forgiveness, they’d been gracious, smiling as they told her to stay in touch and take care of herself. Had they meant it?
She’d saved the toughest encounter for last. Jase…
“Your friend,” Gabe began, “the one who hooked you up with the Rising Sun people…is he a boyfriend?”
That inspired a smile. “No, Pete owns a pub in the Bronx. We met when my agent booked me to sing with his house band. I was barely eighteen, and he looked out for me.”
“Like a big brother.”
“Exactly.” Pete was the first person she’d turned to after that last night with Jase, when it became clear that she’d gotten completely out of control.
“So—to quote my grandpa—you’re footloose and fancy-free?”
Lillie had no idea how to answer him. Jase likely wouldn’t want anything to do with her, other than to accept repayment of the money she’d taken. If that was the case, she’d deal with it, somehow… In all this time, she hadn’t entertained thoughts of starting a relationship with someone new. He’d been her first true love, and he’d probably be her last. In her mind and heart, she hadn’t yet earned the right to romance or happiness.
“This Pete guy, he’s got connections at Rising Sun because he’s a recovering addict?”
“Yes. They helped him kick his addictions, so when he inherited a lot of money, he donated a chunk to them. He’d been into the hard stuff. Heroin. Mescaline. You name it, Pete did it. And almost died when someone sold him a bad batch of H.”
“Yeah, I can see how that’d scare a dude straight.”
“That, and finding out he had a child.”
“Whoa.” Gabe nodded. “The whole set-a-good-example thing, like me.” He reached into his duffle bag and withdrew two bottles of water. After handing one to Lillie, he said, “So you’ve been clean for a year?”
“Fourteen months.” And sixteen days…
He unscrewed the cap, took several gulps. “You said you were on the road before this all happened?”
“Mmm-hmm. I was a singer. Hotel lounges, mostly, but now and then, my agent would book me with a band. I saw a lot of this country through bus windows.” Until Jase, when she’d been more than content to stand on the same stage, singing into the same mic, every night for nearly a year before—
“Play an instrument?”
“Guitar. Practically the only thing I owned that I didn’t sell for, well, you know.”
“Yeah, I do.” He picked at the bottle’s label. “I have an Ovation. Belonged to my grandfather. And like you, it’s one of a handful of things I held on to.”
“Mine is handcrafted. It’s a MacCubbin. It has a great sound.” Jase had scrimped to give it to her the Christmas before she left for Rising Sun. While living at the center—and ever since—she’d taken the instrument from its plush-lined case only to change the strings and buff the Brazilian rosewood to a fine sheen. The calluses on her fingertips had all but disappeared, because she couldn’t bear to hear the resonant tones that reminded her of the music she and Jase had made together.
“You going back to it now? Music, I mean?”
And think about the way she once shared a mic with Jase, creating perfect harmony?
“Absolutely not.”
“I get it. Too much temptation.”
Lillie had earned her keep at Pete’s, serving liquor of every description, and managed to stay away from it. And yet she said, “Something like that.”
Gabe yawned. “Well, I hope you won’t think I’m rude or anything, but I’m gonna try to catch a few z’s before our first stop.”
“Good idea. I might do the same.”
Moments later, listening to his soft, steady snores, Lillie closed her eyes. But she didn’t expect to sleep, not with all those newly awakened memories whirling in her mind.
She was surprised when the lurch of the bus startled her awake.
“Hey, thanks for keeping me company. It was great talking with you,” Gabe said, standing as she pulled her rolling suitcase from the overhead bin. “Maybe we can exchange numbers, do coffee if I ever get to Baltimore.”
He produced an old envelope and a ballpoint, and not knowing how to say not interested without hurting his feelings, she accepted both. As she wrote her first name, Lillie was tempted to change a digit or two in her cell number. But starting her new life on a lie, even one that small, didn’t seem like a good idea. So she handed back the pen and the envelope.
“Thanks,” she said, “but…”
Gabe took it and, he must’ve read her hesitation because he said, “I get it.” He shrugged. “Good luck to you.”
“And to you.”
She meant it, but if he ever did call, she’d find a reason to decline. She was in no position to start anything—not even a friendship—with anyone. Not until she had a better handle on who and what she had been…and what she’d done.
Besides, she wanted Jase, and no one else.
The admission gave her the strength to make a decision that had been a long time coming: she’d earn his trust again, no matter what it took.
* * *
“LILLIAN MARIE ROURKE, is that you?”
Only one person had ever called her by her full name. Heart drumming with joy—and dread—Lil
lie turned toward the robust voice.
“Dad! It’s so great to see you.”
“My, my, my,” her dad said, gripping her biceps, “just look at you. Roses in your cheeks and sparkles in those big brown eyes. You look…” Liam wrapped her in a fierce hug. “You look healthy.” He held her at arm’s length again. “Are you happy, Lill?”
She was glad to be home, with rehab behind her. Glad to have put in hard, fourteen-hour days at work afterward. Lillie had saved a few thousand dollars, every penny earmarked to repay the last of her debts. Until then, she wouldn’t truly be happy, so she didn’t answer him directly.
“Where’s Mom?”
“At the inn, planning your homecoming.” He winked. “Here,” her dad said, grabbing her suitcase, “let me take that. Can you believe I found a space right out front?”
Lillie followed him to the parking lot, tossed her backpack into the trunk beside the wheeled bag and climbed into the front seat. “You look wonderful,” she said. “Have you been dieting?”
“Dieting? Me?” He laughed. “No, but I’ve started a new project at the inn. Turns out it’s good exercise.”
“A project?”
Liam started the car. “An addition.”
“Ah, Mom’s kitchen bump-out.”
“And screened-in porch.”
“With a terrace beyond it?”
“And a gazebo. And an arbor. I tell you, Lill, she’s more excited than a bride on her wedding day. She has visions of hosting wedding parties. None of those eight-bridesmaids-and-groomsmen shindigs, mind you. Don’t know where we’d put ’em all in a place the size of the White Roof.”
Amelia had once dreamed of planning Lillie’s wedding. It was all she could talk about after Jase proposed. Back then, her mother had looked into the possibility of renting an arbor for them to exchange vows under. They’d trim it with white roses and baby’s breath. It would be a twilight ceremony, followed by a candlelight reception, complete with a string quartet, finger sandwiches and a four-tiered cake that Lillie would bake and decorate herself. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a completely impossible dream…
“You won’t believe what your mother has done to that little room on the first floor of the turret.”
“Let me guess… It’s where the brides and bridesmaids will get dressed…” Along with mothers of the brides…
“A-yup.”
Liam reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “It’s really good to have you home, kitten. We missed you.”
How long since he’d called her that? Not since… Lillie shook off the hard memory.
“I missed you guys, too.”
“You’re really okay, then?”
In other words, are you clean and sober, for real? “Yes, I’m fine. Fourteen months now.” And sixteen days.
“What about all those aches and pains from the accident? They’re gone?”
Translation: Pain meds had started her down the road to addiction; was it possible she’d make a U-turn at the first temptation? They’d warned her at rehab to expect varying levels of mistrust. So much for the “forewarned is forearmed” theory, she thought, doing her best to shake off the sting of reality.
“Oh, I have the occasional ache, but who doesn’t? Don’t worry, though, I’ve fought too hard to put that life behind me. Forever. Ever. Period. Even if more surgery is in my future. Besides, I worked in a pub for months and months and didn’t so much as sniff a cork. So I passed the supreme test.” Not to mention, she’d continue daily meetings with the new sponsor recommended by Rising Sun to stay on track, but no one needed to know that. “You’re looking at the new me.” She raised her right hand. “Honest.”
Why did she suddenly feel sixteen again, explaining that she’d never stay out past curfew, ever, ever again?
“We just want what’s best for you, is all. You had us real worried there for a while. But if you say you’re cured—”
She hated to burst his bubble, but Lillie had to be up-front with him. “I wish there was a cure, Dad, but the fact is, I’m an addict. I’ll always be an addict, even after I’m old and gray and rocking on Mom’s new screened porch. But you have my word, I’ll never use again.”
There. It was out. Sadly, she’d need to repeat the little speech to reaffirm it for her mother and siblings. And Jase, whom she’d yet to apologize to. Something told her that no matter how many times she said it, the reassurance wouldn’t get any easier.
Lillie squared her shoulders. “So how are things at the inn? Are you overrun with guests?”
“Actually, just one old couple this weekend. They’d booked last year. It’s an annual thing for them, anniversary celebration. Once they check out, we’ll shut down for the next couple of months, you know, so the contractors won’t disturb anybody.”
“Contractors? Since when do you let someone else wield a hammer in your house!”
“Since I won the lottery.”
“Wait. The lottery? You’re kidding!”
He held up his right hand. “As God is my witness. My ticket came in. After taxes, I raked in a cool half a million. More than enough to make all your mother’s dreams come true. And even though you didn’t cost me a dime, you’re one of those dreams, you know.”
They’d stayed in touch. Emails. Phone calls. FaceTime. Why was this the first she’d heard about something that big?
Stop thinking of yourself, Lill.
Her folks had worked hard all their lives and deserved a big break. She smiled.
He grabbed her hand again. “And now that you’re home and healthy? Well, that’s the cherry on life’s sundae. Speaking of desserts, that’s just one of the reasons she didn’t come with me to pick you up.” The car’s interior rattled as he let out a piercing, two-note whistle. “That woman has been cooking and baking for days. All your favorites.”
“That’s sweet of her. But I hope she isn’t ignoring her art because of me. She’s still painting, right?”
“Not as often as she’d like, but yes, she adds a canvas to her gallery now and then.”
“You mean she finally turned that old parlor room into a studio?”
“Yup. It looks good, I tell ya, and the guests agree. A few talked her into giving them lessons. They were happy with their paintings. You’d think that would inspire the cheapskates to buy one of hers, but no such luck.”
“But they will.”
“Right. There’s always hope, isn’t there.”
She took the comment to heart, because hope was about the only thing Lillie had left.
“You’re not still planning to get a second job, are you, kitten?”
The way Lillie saw it, she didn’t have a choice. Her parents had always been so generous and forgiving, and she didn’t want to take advantage. “I’ll look around, see what’s available.”
“Well, don’t be in a big rush. Give yourself time to adjust to being back. Hasn’t been all that long since you left the rehab center.”
It had been more than a year. The minute her counselor felt it was safe for her to leave, she’d gone to work for Pete, waiting tables, scheduling the staff and pitching in wherever else she was needed. It was the least she could do since he’d refused to accept rent for the tiny apartment above the pub. Between her salary—and Pete had been more than generous—and tips, Lillie had saved enough to repay everyone.
Almost everyone.
“How are Molly and Matt?”
“They’re good. Planning a world cruise once school is out.”
She pictured her little sister, a miniature version of herself, married to a guy who could easily be a Ravens linebacker. Since he and Molly couldn’t have children, they’d decided to save up and travel, instead.
“Wow. I can hardly wait to hear about this trip. And how are the Sams?” The fact that her brother Sam had married a woman named Samantha
had, for years, been at the root of much good-natured teasing.
“They’re great, too. Got a new dog.”
“A mutt, like Beano?”
“No, she’s a Yorkie. Or so their vet says. Clem’s kinda yappy, but that’s to be expected of a pooch you could carry in your pocket.”
“They named her Clem?” Lillie laughed, picturing a tiny canine answering to the name. “Let me guess…it was Kassie’s idea.”
“She found her at the playground, shivering under the merry-go-round. Tucked the critter into her backpack, and the minute her mother got an eyeful of her, it was all over. They took pictures and tacked lost dog signs all over the place, put ads in the paper, posted on Facebook. But when no one claimed her…”
“No microchip?”
“Nope. But she has one now.”
That didn’t surprise Lillie one bit. Her sister-in-law, an in-home nurse, gave new meaning to the term caretaker. How she managed to work full-time, run a household, care for a cat and two dogs and keep track of the twins’ playdates and soccer practices, Lillie didn’t know.
“Do you mind stopping at the Flower Basket on the way home? I’d like to get Mom a little something.”
“Why? It isn’t her birthday.” He glanced at her again, and feigning panic, added, “Is it?”
“Relax. No. But Sunday is Mother’s Day. I got her a little something, but I know how much she loves orchids, so…” She shrugged. A bouquet couldn’t make up for years of heartache and disappointment, but it was a start.
“I have something in my suitcase for you, too,” she told Liam.
“Kitten, you didn’t have to do that. I’m just happy that you’re home and…”
His voice trailed off, so Lillie finished for him: “…home, and drug-free…”
He recoiled slightly at the phrase.
“You don’t have to tiptoe around my addiction, Dad. If you or Mom have questions, feel free to ask. And if you have things you’d like to say, by all means, say them. I can take it. And anyway, you deserve the truth.”
Nodding, he turned into the florist’s parking lot. “Good to know.” After rolling down the windows, Liam said, “Want me to come in with you?”