Beneath the Stain - Part 3 (11 page)

“What?” Cambridge put a warm, soothing hand on Mackey’s shoulder, and for once, Mackey couldn’t find the wherewithal to shake it off.

“I would literally spread my ass for a gangfuck right now if I could get some fucking Valium.”

That hand didn’t move. “You are
so
not allowed to go to the bathroom,” Cambridge muttered.

That did it. Mackey started to laugh semihysterically into the hollow of his body. His stomach muscles ached, they’d been taut for so long, and his shoulders screamed with tension. The laugh rocked him, careened through his bones, veered out of control, and began to slam him back and forth. He rocked in the fetal position on the floor of the shrink’s office as his sobs ripped him apart.

He couldn’t stop. He tried. He deepened his breaths and got a stitch in his side. He counted to ten, and counted to ten, and got lost at eight.

He tried to recite all the lyrics to
Led Zeppelin
IV
, and actually
forgot
the words to “Stairway to Heaven” and had to start all over again.

He leaned into Cambridge’s arm and begged for Trav.

“T-T-Trav’ll fix it,” he sobbed. “Trav’ll m-m-make it stop.”

“C’mon, Mackey, just deal. Don’t make it stop, just feel it.”

“Aw,
fuck you
!” he shouted and spent the next few minutes catching his breath. Then he sobbed some more. “
F-f-f-uck th-th-thissss
….”

“Stop fighting,” Cambridge whispered against the side of his head. “Just for once, stop fighting.”

“Aw
hell
!”—and he went limp with it, let the pain wash over him, let it burn under his skin, immolating his resistance in grief. No memories of Grant existed in that white-flamed holocaust, no need for drugs, just the need to follow one breath with the next, and another, and another, heedless of the choking, inarticulate word-shit that fell out of his mouth.

Eventually he stopped cursing.

Eventually he could breathe.

And eventually he was still, curled into a ball, breathing in quiet puffs into the cream carpet in the shrink’s office.

For a moment he just stared at the carpet and realized the light had changed from the long shadows of a late September afternoon to the artificial light of Doc Cambridge’s lamp.

“I’ve missed dinner,” he said dully, and he was surprised by the little half laugh from Cambridge, who was sitting somewhere behind him.

“So have I,” he said. “And my wife was making something special.”

“Your wife cooks for you?” For some reason this was a good subject to talk about. “That’s nice. My mom never had the money. Lots of Top Ramen and hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly.”

“There are nice things about money sometimes,” Cambridge said. He was still touching Mackey’s back, and his hand moved for a moment and then resumed its desultory, soothing stroke.

“Trav got us a house,” Mackey told him. He wasn’t sure he’d mentioned that before. “When I get out of here, I’ll live in a house for the first time in my life.”

“You looking forward to that?”

For once Mackey didn’t have the strength to resent the probing question. “Maybe he’ll let me get a bunk bed,” Mackey said, suddenly interested. “I’ll text him and tell him that. I want a bunk bed. I’m tired of sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ll bet that won’t be a problem.” Cambridge sighed and leaned forward, groaning a little as he stretched out his muscles. “Maybe the first step is getting off of this one, you think?”

“God.” Mackey pushed up on an elbow and stood up, wiping his face on his shoulder as he did so. The fabric of his T-shirt was a mess—snot and tears and spit—but he thought that maybe the doc was right, and it was time to change anyway. “I don’t even care about the food. I need a shower.” That long-ago shower when he’d gotten back from prom echoed in his mind, but right now all he could remember was how the warm water had relaxed him and not the pain he’d tried to wash away. He reached a hand out and Doc Cambridge grimaced, trying to push himself awkwardly from the floor.

“Oh c’mon and take my hand,” Mackey snapped. “I’m not a little
kid.”

Cambridge grabbed his hand and Mackey hauled, shaking his head when Cambridge came up easily.

“You’re right,” Cambridge said, smiling a little. “You’re stronger than you know.”

Mackey shook his head in disgust. “I’m gonna go shower. I
feel
like I smell bad.”

“I’ll have my wife bring us leftovers,” Cambridge said. “Bring dinner to your room.”

Mackey looked over his shoulder, surprised. “That woman must really love you,” he said in wonder. “You should definitely keep her.”

“Yes, well, third time’s the charm.”

Mackey giggled. He stopped for a moment to make sure this time he
could
stop, and then started again.

“What’s so damned funny?” Cambridge called after him.

Mackey just kept giggling, shaking his head.

Yeah, he dressed nice and everything, and the white hair was all distinguished and shit, but money or no money, the guy was as fucked-up as any pot-bellied homeboy in Tyson.

Mackey turned around and grinned, walking backward for a few steps. “Man, you are just regular people, you know that?”

And then he trotted to his room before anybody could come out and ask him why he missed dinner.

T
HAT
NIGHT
,
after Cambridge came by, good to his word, and served him some damned fine London broil with bordeaux sauce and vegetables, he texted Trav.

His conversation with Cambridge had, surprisingly, been about music. Cambridge had been a fan of Led Zeppelin, who had been big when he’d been in grade school, and was also a huge fan of some of the classics—Def Leppard, Tesla, Guns N’ Roses.

“Yeah,” Mackey said, picking at some bread Cambridge had stolen from the cafeteria. “Old Axl could really tear shit up. It was a shame what—”

“What he let the booze and the drugs do to his talent,” Cambridge said with meaning, and Mackey felt a particular wrench at the words.

“Yeah, well, I guess they don’t all go out in a blaze of glory, do they?” He took a bite of London broil and closed his eyes. “You know, it’s like food tastes better now that I’m not doing coke anymore. Is that right? I mean, the coke tasted
nasty
. Fucking nastiest shit on the planet. And all I can think right now is that must have been some rush if I was gonna give up food that tasted like this.”

Cambridge nodded and made a “mmf” sound through his own food. After he swallowed he wiped his mouth. “Yeah, I remember coke—drug of choice in the eighties, when I was going through college. Taste was bad, but it could definitely keep you up all night.”

Mackey stared at him in surprise.

“What?” Cambridge asked before taking another bite. “You think just because we’re doctors here doesn’t mean we haven’t done some of the drugs?”

Mackey thought about it, thought about everything he’d learned. “Were you an addict?” he asked carefully.

Cambridge shook his head deliberately. “Good question,” he praised. “No. I finished grad school and stopped buying coke. I was done.” He grimaced. “But my first wife, who finished the same year I did—she wasn’t so lucky.”

Mackey nodded, hungry for some poetry, even if it was from his shrink. “What happened?” he asked seriously.

Cambridge sighed. “We started working for an HMO, and she put most of our salary up her nose, and when we couldn’t afford it anymore because we were paying off our student loans, she started stealing from the hospital.”

Mackey listened, enthralled—and at the same time sympathetic. “Hard,” he said, reasoning it through. “Watching someone do that to themselves.”

“You think?” Cambridge said dryly.

If Mackey wasn’t so relaxed, so hollowed out by his breakdown in the office and the damned decadent forty-five minute shower he’d just taken, he might have flushed. “How’d she stop?” he asked, not wanting to talk about himself anymore.

“She got busted by the hospital and got arrested,” Cambridge said, grimacing. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on top of his little foil-insulated lunch box. “It was before hospitals were so generous about sending people to rehab—she lost her job and her license and did two years in minimum-security prison.”

Mackey was aghast. “That sucks,” he muttered. “Man, that shit is just so
everywhere
, you know? You forget it’s illegal until someone wants to remember.”

Cambridge nodded. “Yeah. That’s the truth. I know Kristin was pretty damned surprised—and so was I. I mean, I don’t know why it was so much easier for me to stop.
Professionally
I do. I know about genetic studies and personality profiles and the differences in the way people respond to stress. But… but in my stomach, I don’t. It hit me, how really damned lucky I’d been, to just be able to walk away. She couldn’t, and it never seemed like her fault. I mean, we
bonded
doing blow in the bathroom when we were doing our clinical rotations. It was 1987—who
wasn’t
getting high? But….” He sighed, and Mackey realized his voice had gotten really impassioned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth dry. “What happened to her?”

Cambridge smiled. “She got out, rehabilitated. Got a job in retail. But she… she was angry with me. We both knew it was irrational, but the situation was difficult. It was as though I’d gotten away with something. Doesn’t make for a long-lasting marriage,” he said, twisting his lips. “I understand she met a nice man and is working on grandkids right now, but we were never the same.”

Mackey nodded thoughtfully. “It can fuck shit up,” he said, picturing Trav.

“It can indeed,” Cambridge agreed. “It’s how I found my calling, though.” He smiled at Mackey’s surprise. “Yes—you heard me. That’s why I’m here. Penance, sort of. But mostly it felt important. A real reason to practice healing.”

“Craft is important.” Mackey nodded earnestly. “If it’s… it’s a
real
thing you love to do, you want to do it your best.”

Mackey was starting to hate that thing Cambridge did with his face, the thing where he wrinkled his nose and squinched up his cheeks. “And
that
discussion is for another day,” he said grimly. With that, he stood up and started gathering plastic plates and throwing everything in the lunch bag his wife had brought him.

Mackey had a thought. “Hey, Doc?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your wife right now? The one who brought you the food?”

Cambridge smiled. “She’s eating dessert with the nurses. They know her here.”

Good. “You guys riding home together?”

“Yup. She’ll drop me off in the morning.”

So the guy had stayed there for him, special. That was nice. “Doc?”

“Yeah?”

“’Kay, even if I fall apart and fuck this whole thing up? This was nice of you to stay here, bring me dinner. This was a real good moment. Thanks.”

Cambridge looked suddenly bleak. “And that’s something else we’ll talk about,” he said softly. “Here’s hoping you have a lot of good moments to come, okay?”

Mackey nodded and gave the man his Tupperware. “Yeah, well, if I have them, they’re going to have to be without Grant.”

“Maybe they can be without anyone for a while,” the doc said meaningfully.

Mackey grimaced. “Well, right now, I wouldn’t mind if they were with my friend.”

And that was why he texted Trav after Cambridge left.

Trav?

Yeah?

Are we friends?

Pause.

At least. Yes.

I’ve never really had a friend
, he confessed.
Only brothers.

Friends are brothers you can pick.

Fucking profound.

I was trying to be wise.

Leave that to me. I’ve got the ass for it.
Mackey cackled a little as he texted.

Why are you asking?

Mackey sighed, took a deep breath, texted again.
Good friends are harder to lose than boyfriends, aren’t they?

Depends on the friend and the boyfriend.

I mean… if you think of me as a friend, you might be more inclined to stick around.

Ah.

Mackey scowled.
Ah what?

You’re right. Being friends might be easier if you want me to stay.

Mackey felt a solid ping of loss in his chest.
I do want you to stay. Maybe… maybe the friends thing has to come first. Maybe.

Maybe it does.

But that doesn’t mean you can go out and bang someone and think I don’t care.
His breathing had quickened as he typed it. God, he sucked at this.

Backatcha, Mackey.

Great. Friends who are celibate.

Until you find someone your own age, I guess so.

And deluded. Deluded friends. Awesome. Healthiest relationship I’ve ever had.

Mackey’s eyes were closing—he had to type that last word six times.

We’re coming in two days. Anything you want us to bring?

Yeah—furniture catalogs and stuff. Don’t I get my own room?

Yup. We were bringing those anyway. Anything else?

Mackey thought about the dinner he’d just had, and suddenly he had a craving.
Chocolate cake. I want some, bad. The kind with pudding in the middle, and fudge frosting.

There was a long pause, and Mackey wondered if someone had just walked in.

Done
, Trav said in a minute.
Anything else?

Just thank you. Seriously. Thank you.
Mackey closed his eyes, thought that Trav and his brothers were waiting for him, and was profoundly grateful.

Thank you.

Night, Mackey.

Night, Trav.

Lights out.

T
HIN
,
PALE
,
and tired.