by Kacey Shea
Yet I can’t find it in myself to resent my brothers. They really are the best, even if they are a little self-absorbed. They’ll run interference so I can make it through this brunch, and they won’t give me shit for choosing a different path. With such a big age gap between us, we didn’t grow up close. They were already off to high school and then college when I was just a kid. But they’ve always looked after me, family gatherings especially.
“There you are.” My mother’s smile is forced when we enter the kitchen. “Boys, take these out to the patio and make yourselves drinks.” She hands them each a platter of food. “Alicia, apologize to your father. He’s out on the patio.” She exhales and shakes her head before handing me a glass dish filled with cut fruit. “What were you thinking, upsetting him and taking off? You can’t expect us to treat you like an adult when you still act like a child.”
I bite my tongue, my fingers curling around the dish so tightly my knuckles fade in color. I should walk away, go apologize, and end this riff if only to keep the peace through brunch. But my feet won’t move. Just once I’d like her to ask for my perspective before taking his side.
She pins me with a long look of disappointment. “Alicia.” She turns away and refills her glass with champagne. “Don’t be difficult.”
It’s painfully clear why for years I felt the need to numb myself each time I set foot in this house. I wish I could now. Her drink practically begs me to slip up. My mouth waters at the idea, but fuck if I’ll throw away months of hard work over this shit. Not again. I turn on my heel and slip back on a mask of polite indifference.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Coming here and playing pretend is toxic to my recovery, but it also solidifies my decision to accept the summer internship. I made the right choice for myself. They might not understand, but they don’t have to. I’m leaving for my own health, my dreams, my goals. Maybe if I’m brave enough I’ll never come back.
10
Alicia
Packing up my car takes longer than I expect, but I make up the time on the drive down to Kitty Hawk a few days later. Both Callie and Jill offered to help me move, but it made no sense to bring two cars, especially when I’d be stuck in orientation meetings for two days. Besides, I need to do this on my own, if only to prove to myself that I can.
The community center internship includes communal housing. I haven’t lived in a dorm since freshman year and honestly, it’s the thing I’m most nervous about. I’m a bit spoiled when it comes to living arrangements. Okay, a lot. My parents have footed the bill for my housing needs, and my downtown condo is about as sweet as they come. But I want to prove my independence. I can’t rely on their money. I won’t be beholden to them anymore. It won’t work, not if I want to make my own decisions.
I refuse to be caught up in the perfect family project, especially when it’s a big fat lie.
With my music cranked loud, I drown out the negative thoughts and embrace the joy that comes with this new adventure. Singing at the top of my lungs to the new Taylor Swift album helps chase away my apprehension for the unknown.
But as soon as I pull up in front of the house I’ll be living in for the rest of the summer, they come back full force. What did I get myself into?
Peeling paint. Windows barred with iron—to keep predators out or lock inhabitants inside, I’m not sure. The screen covering on the door is ripped and hanging open in one spot. Jesus. This looks like the house you go to get murdered in. I offer up a prayer it’s better on the inside.
With a cautious eye trained on the front door, I grab a few bags from my trunk.
The broken front screen door swings open before I’ve made it up the drive. “Alicia?” An older man, thin with wire glasses and a handlebar mustache, waves from the door. His clothes are as wrinkled as his face. Immediately he sort of reminds me of the giant from one of my favorite childhood books. Odd and a little strange looking, but kind.
“Yes, that’s me.” I force a friendly grin on my face.
“I’m Tom. Nice to finally meet you.”
I make the connection as we’ve exchanged a few emails. “Yes, hi. It’s good to be here.”
“Come on in.” He steps out of the way, holding the door so I can pass. “Let me show you to your bunk.”
Bunk?
“You didn’t have any trouble with the directions?”
I follow him through a small living space. The furniture is all second-hand, or maybe it’s just old and worn. Attached is a kitchen in desperate need of an update.
“No, it was an easy drive,” I say, realizing I haven’t answered his question. “The GPS on my phone did well.”
“The traffic will get worse come July.” He nods, then stops in front of the refrigerator and gives it a pat. “Name on everything. ‘Specially if you want to find it in there later.”
“How many people live here?” I glance around. It seems empty, and I count the closed doors as he leads us down the hall.
“Bathroom’s there.” He presses one of the doors so it swings open. My pulse races and I take a fortifying breath to stop my rising panic. It’s so tiny. The meager countertop is piled high with personal hygiene items.
“Eight of us, counting you. We’ve got a shower schedule and alternate chores to keep it spick and span.” He continues moving to the end of the hall and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. He flips through them.
One bathroom. A shower schedule? I might die. I’m spoiled, I know. A side effect of such a privileged life. But I assumed these housing arrangements would include a step up from outdoor camping. At the very least, more than one bathroom.
“There’s also the facilities at the center, though that doesn’t give ya’ much privacy.” He slides one of the keys into the door and pushes it open. “This is you.”
It takes everything not to balk. The space is smaller than my parents’ pantry. On one side is a bunk bed and the other a chest of drawers and a tiny closet with no door. The room is packed with clutter. Scattered clothes and miscellaneous items cover most of the floor, but maybe that’s a blessing. From what I can tell, the mauve carpet beneath is stained and at least forty years old.
“Charlie has the top bunk,” Tom says, clearing a few bags off the bottom mattress. “Sorry, I told them to clean up but this week’s been crazy.”
I’m a fish out of water. I don’t know how I am going to sleep here, let alone call it home for the next twelve weeks. “Charlie?” My brain processes his words. “The rooms are co-ed?”
“Charlie identifies using they/them pronouns.” For the first time since I arrived, Tom’s brow twists with a scowl. “That’s not gonna be a problem, is it?”
“No.” I shake my head, wishing I could explain I’m only concerned about sharing such a small space. I have no hang-ups with a non-binary roomie. “When do I get to meet them?”
“Charlie’s working until five, so I expect some time this evening. Should give you plenty of time to get unpacked and settled.”
“Do they work at the center, too?”
“Yeah, on the maintenance staff. You’ll want to make friends. Charlie has a key to every door and closet at the center.”
“Awesome.” A thread of unease passes at the prospect of meeting my co-workers. I want to make a good first impression. I want them to like me. I set my bags atop my bunk and inhale a breath into my belly to calm the nerves rattling my insides.
“Here’s this.” Tom hands over the key to my room. “Stays locked when you’re gone. We respect each other’s space and property here, but it’s an extra measure of safety.”
“Right.” I nod.
“I’ll be around for most of the afternoon. If you need anything, just holler.” He walks to the doorway, but turns around to meet my stare. “I’m sure you’ve read through the handbook, but just a reminder there’s no alcohol or drug use allowed on the property. We’ve got a zero tolerance policy.”
“Not a problem.” It’s probably the only thing I will enjoy about thi
s setup. “I don’t do either of those things.”
“Straight edge? Or recovering addict?” His pointed question isn’t the least bit professional. In fact, I’m sure he can’t ask me that. But he’s not really my supervisor, at least I don’t think. Besides, something about the ease in his expression makes me want to answer.
“Recovering alcoholic.”
“Very good.” He nods, a full smile showing off a few crooked teeth. “Twenty-three years for me. If you’re interested, we’ve got a fantastic local AA group. Meetings every morning.”
A genuine smile works its way onto my face. He’s a kindred spirit. We might be strangers but a bond instantly connects us as recovering addicts.
“I am interested, thank you.”
“Very good.” He tips his chin. “I’ll leave you to getting unpacked, then.”
I turn around, taking in my new bedroom with an open mind before I settle in. The unease in my gut is still present, but not overwhelming like before. This place might be older, run-down, lacking modern design, and really, really small, but knowing I belong and have someone here who gets what it’s like to fight for a sober life makes it a safe space. My new home sweet home.
11
Chase
“Ready?” My brother glances around my bedroom. There’s not much left. The things I need are already packed into his truck. The rest is in storage at his place. We’ve been working for most of the day, emptying my life’s possessions from this ten-by-ten space.
Pathetic really, that everything I have to show for my almost thirty years on this earth can be packed away in less than a day.
“We should hit the road soon,” Cam says.
My turnout gear and boots sit inside the closet. I don’t need them anymore, but a part of me refuses to give them up. I zip them into a duffle and stand, hauling the bag over my shoulder. “Yeah.” I walk to the door and give the space one last look before flipping off the light. I don’t know who’ll live here next. My former roommates aren’t even here to send me off with a proper good-bye. Not that they would. Nothing’s the same since the crash, and the only drinking we ever do is entrenched in sadness, not celebration.
I trudge out to the parking lot, following my big brother. He hasn’t said much and I wonder if he hates me, too. Is he as disappointed as Dad? Does he resent being asked to drive me down to Uncle Rob’s? Did he even have a say in the matter? Knowing my dad, probably not. Cam’s always been the good son. The level-headed one. He would have progressed up the ranks even without our family connections. He’ll probably be battalion chief one day. I wonder what it’s like to make Dad proud? Or if it matters to Cam the way it does to me? I probably don’t want those answers.
As I climb into his truck, I wonder if I’ll even come back to Richmond after the summer, or what that looks like. I haven’t given much thought to my dad’s ultimatums. I guess part of me hopes he’s only trying to scare some sense into me. I can’t imagine a life in which I’m not firefighting. The brotherhood defines me, it’s the one thing I’ve been most proud of. Now? Now, I’m nothing more than a sad SOB with no job, no future, no hope.
How do you think Maverick feels? The thought punches me right in the gut.
Jesus. I could really go for a drink. It’s the only thing that keeps him off my mind.
“You okay?” Cam says from the driver’s side.
“Fine.” I swallow hard, the lie tasting bad in my mouth.
“Did you go see Maverick yet? We can stop there first.”
“No.” The reply flies with a little too much force. “I can’t. Not today.”
Cam sighs. He probably thinks I’m a coward. He would be right. “You can’t avoid him forever. You guys were tight. He needs all the support he can get.”
He’s right. I know he is, but I can’t see my friend stuck in some hospital bed. I can’t face him, not now. Maybe never. Besides, Maverick doesn’t want to see my face. Not when everything’s my fault.
“He gets to go home soon. He’s done really well with rehab. At least that’s what Richards said last we talked. The guys at the station rallied to raise funds for his medical bills. Your car really helped.”
For that I’m glad. As angry as I was for Dad insisting I give it away, I am happy the money is going to Maverick. It’s the least I can do.
“Hey.” My brother clasps my shoulder. “He’s out of the woods. He’s going to be okay.”
Okay? Paralyzed is okay? I appreciate my brother trying to ease my guilt, but I’m not some little kid who threw a baseball through a window. I ruined a man’s life. I took away his ability to work and provide for his family. Nothing makes this better.
“Can we stop at a convenience store before we get too far in?” I nod to the exit ahead.
Cam exhales a breath and nods. “Sure. Of course.”
While he tops off our gas, I head inside and go straight for the wall of refrigerated beverages. I have no idea what my bank account balance is, and this is the last thing I should spend money on, but listening to Cam yammer on for the next two hours is going to send me over the deep end. I need something to take the edge off.
Grabbing two forties, I head to the counter and pay. The attendant wraps my purchases in brown paper bags. I try not to think about how pathetic I am. A grown man who can’t even handle a car ride without a drink. Whatever. My state-mandated outpatient program starts in two days. Today’s the last I can partake before I have to blow in a tube once a week.
One of the requirements of my volunteer position is that I remain sober. Any sign of drinking or abusing drugs and I’m kicked out. I might hate myself and I don’t deserve much, but there’s one thing I know for certain, and it’s that I don’t want to go to jail.
Cam’s idling at the curb when I step outside. I hop into my seat, buckle my safety belt, and pop the tab on my beer before we’ve even made it out to the highway.
“Seriously?”
“What?” I bring it to my lips and take a sip.
“Throw it out. Now.” I’ve seen Cam pissed plenty of times, and I’m actually concerned he might knock me out—or take my beer. “You can’t have an open container in my fucking truck!”
I tip it back and chug.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He smacks the back of my head and pulls off to the side of the road, throwing the gear into park. “Have you learned nothing these last weeks?”
I don’t stop to answer. If I do, he’ll definitely take away this beer. I tip my head back and guzzle until my head buzzes and I’ve drained the can. As soon as I pull it from my lips, I release a deafening belch and meet his stare. “I’m not driving, am I?”
“Jesus. Fuck.” He points at the door. “Throw it out.”
I roll down the window.
“In a fucking trash can.”
“Fine,” I grumble and jump down from my seat. I discard the empty can and get back inside. My gaze drops to the floorboard where my second one should be, but it’s not there. “Hey.”
Cam holds the full can out his window, his gaze hard. “Put on your seat belt.”
“When did you become such a killjoy?” The insult flies from my lips with the click of my safety belt.
Cam shifts into drive and pulls out into traffic, dropping the perfectly good can of beer along the side of the road.
“Hey! I thought you cared about littering.”
“Yeah, well, I care about your sorry ass more.” He practically growls with his next exhale. “Seriously, Chase. You need help. You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Punishing yourself.”
“You’re not a fucking shrink. I just wanted a beer.”
“No. You need to figure out a way to forgive yourself. Nothing good comes from ruining your life. You get that?” The fact he sees straight through my bullshit is unnerving. That he’s willing to call me on it, even more irritating. “You have to find peace with what happened or it’ll eat you alive, and I’ll be damned if I stand by
and watch it happen.”
“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Once you drop me off, you won’t have to worry about me all summer. Out of sight, out of mind.” I’m sure that’s why my dad arranged it this way.
“You have no fucking clue.” Cam shakes his head but doesn’t explain further. He reaches for the volume on the stereo and turns up the music, effectively ending our little heart-to-heart. For that I’m fucking thankful. I’m not in the mood to hash out any of this.
It’s bad enough he ruined my buzz.
A few hours later, we pull up to my uncle’s beach house. It’s been years since I’ve been here. Growing up, we came down a few weeks each summer. The place looks the same. The light blue paneling stretches up three stories and it’s as picture perfect as ever. The salty air immediately calms my nerves. Maybe this exile won’t be so bad.
Cam pops the tailgate on his truck and climbs up. He tosses my bags down and I haul the heavy ones over my shoulders to trudge up the steps. Cam follows behind, tipping up one of the planters to expose a key.
That’s real safe.
“Where’s Uncle Rob?”
“Dad didn’t tell you?” Cam glances over his shoulder and pushes open the door. He moves inside and flicks on the lights. “He’s gone for the summer.”
The entire summer? So I’ll be here . . . alone? Damn. “I really am being banished.”
Cam chuckles. “To a fucking castle in the sand.”
It’s a massive place and within walking distance of the water’s edge. The fact I’m complaining when the very real alternative is jail doesn’t escape me. I blow out a breath and sink onto the huge plush sofa. “I’m acting like a little bitch.”
“A little.” Cam grins and drops the rest of my bags near the staircase. He glances around and lets out a long whistle. “Uncle Rob is fucking loaded.”