Tymber Dalton (14 page)

The meeting started and the introductions began. When his turn came, he moved closer to the group. “My name is Steve, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Steve.”

He hesitated, then spoke for a few minutes, purging himself. His temper, his remarks that seemed like they came from someone else. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he confessed. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like I want to hurt her. Emotionally,” he quickly added, noting their concerned faces, “not physically. I feel like I want to make her cry sometimes, and I don’t know why. I’ve never been like this before.

“I was on antidepressants for a while, years ago when I first got sober. They helped with my drinking. The doc weaned me off them, and then my…job took off, and I guess since then I’ve been moving forward.”

When the meeting concluded, he talked to the group leader. “I have an appointment I need to get to with someone here in town, a psychologist.”

“Who?”

“William Raymond. Do you know him?”

Bill smiled and stuck out his hand. “Know him? You’re looking at him.”

* * * *

They stopped by a diner, got coffee to go, then retreated to his office two blocks away. When they were settled, Dr. Raymond took out a notepad. “Where do you want to start?”

“I guess I’m getting a pretty good bang for my buck today, huh? You heard a lot of the basics.”

“Why don’t you back up and fill me in on the details. I know you were somewhat reserved in the meeting because of your profession.” Steve looked surprised. “Oh yes”—Dr. Raymond nodded—“I have all your books.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I thought maybe I needed a change of scenery. I thought it would help me with my latest book…”

At the end of the hour, Dr. Raymond put his notepad down. “I don’t know if you need any medication right now. I think it’s more important for you to stay sober at this point.” Steve felt guilty not coming clean about his sobriety record, in the meeting or here with the doctor, but he didn’t want it getting out.

“I don’t want to be on meds if I don’t have to. They helped my mood, but they played hell with my writing.”

“We’re agreed then. I do want you to get a full medical checkup. How much do you exercise?”

Steve shrugged. “Does lifting a coffee mug count?”

“Not even close. Maybe take up walking, get out of the house a little each day. Sunshine and fresh air. Exercise will help. Give you a good excuse to spend time with your wife.”

Steve nodded. “She’d like that. I hope.”

“And cut down on the caffeine.” He smiled. “It can make you jittery and contribute to the nerves.” He wrote the name and number of a doctor on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Give him a call, his office is a couple of buildings away. Tell him I referred you. He’s a GP, and he’s good.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

“We’ll go from there. After a few weeks we can revisit the medication question.” Dr. Raymond checked his appointment book. “I want you back on Monday. I can see you immediately after the meeting, at nine.”

“Meeting?”

“AA. We meet every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings. We meet Friday night at nine. I don’t always make the Friday meeting, but I usually make the morning ones.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Dr. Raymond noted the appointment. “Good.”

Steve paused. “How long have you been sober?”

“I’ve been without a drink for over fifteen years. My wife met me at the door one night with her suitcase in one hand and the baby on her hip and told me she was leaving. I begged her to stay, and she did. I white-knuckled it for the first six months so I wouldn’t lose her, then I finally got with the program.”

“How are you now?”

“She still puts up with me, if that’s what you mean.” He smiled. “When was your last meeting, before this morning?”

“Way too long.”

He nodded. “Sometimes we forget we need to keep working the program. We think we can do it alone, but it’s like maintaining diabetes. You might not be bad enough to have to take insulin, but you sure can’t sit down and have a soda and cookies every day either. Maintenance.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“You need to decide what’s most important in your life and go from there, take it one day at a time.”

They shook hands. Steve’s mood lightened while driving home. He could do it this time. He felt hopeful. He was starting over.

Steve stopped at the grocery store, determined to make it up to Sami. He bought Florida lobster tails, pasta, salad fixings, and a few other things he knew she’d love.

She wasn’t there when he arrived, but Jeff was gone from the pasture. Good, that gave him time to prepare.

It would be a great late lunch. He started cooking and timed it perfectly. She’d returned to the pasture when he was ready to drop the tails into the water.

He walked outside and she looked at him over Jeff’s shoulder as she unsaddled.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“Good. I’m going back Monday. He wants me to get a complete physical.”

“It’s been a while. You’re overdue.” She acted cool, cautious.

He rubbed his right side. He felt a little discomfort, like gas. Must have been the fast-food breakfast he grabbed on the way to the meeting.

“Listen, Sami, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

The reservation in her eyes hurt, but he knew it was his fault. “Really?”

He nodded. “Hurry up, you’ve got time to take a shower before it’s ready.” She had her arms full of tack and couldn’t push Steve away when he grabbed her and kissed her.

At first she resisted, then she responded. He broke their embrace and smiled. “That’s just the appetizer.”

She smiled. With relief he noticed it reached her eyes. The desired effect.

“I’ll be right in,” she said.

* * * *

When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, her smile broadened. “Lobster? What’s the occasion?”

He put his arms around her. This time she returned his embrace. “You having the patience of a saint. We do have an anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks, you know.”

“I know.” She kissed him.

“I’m glad you stuck around with me long enough to celebrate it.”

“I love you. I just don’t understand what’s happened. And I’m not going to keep living the way we’ve been. I won’t. I told you that.”

He kissed her again. “That’s why I’m going to see Dr. Raymond on a regular basis.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m going to AA again.”

She leaned back and looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I want to make sure I don’t screw things up, that’s all. I’m hoping you’ll stick around for at least seven more years.” He grimaced and rubbed his right side. “Do we have any antacids?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I should have skipped the sausage biscuit sandwich this morning.”

Sami handed him a bottle from one of the kitchen cabinets. “Here, take this. I’ll get my shower.” She felt a little nervous about taking a shower after the prior day’s events. It must have been some sort of weird daydream. She’d been exhausted, worn out, and emotionally stressed.

Still, she left the bathroom door open while she showered and made sure the window was securely locked.

He
is
trying
.

Steve had dinner plated and ready to serve when she reappeared.

He summarized his appointment with Dr. Raymond and again asked her forgiveness.

“Promise me you’ll keep working on this,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

She fell quiet for a moment. “I’m scared to get my hopes up, but life is too short to live the way we’ve been living over the past several months.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, Sami.”

* * * *

It was nearly four o’clock when they finished. After dinner, Steve shooed her out to the living room while he cleared the table. A few minutes later he came in, rubbing his side, but smiling. “Feel like curling up in front of the TV?”

She patted the couch next to her, and he sat, taking her into his arms. “Is your stomach okay?”

He nodded. “It feels a little better, probably gas.”

“How romantic.”

He laughed. “Sorry.”

He held her close, trying to remember when and why he’d lost interest in romancing his wife. The writer’s block, the deadlines, the stress of speaking tours—

The drinking.

He was doing it again. Forcing himself to stop, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. She tilted her lips to his and he kissed her, slow and gentle at first, then with more force as he finally silenced his brain and let his heart and other organs take over.

His side throbbed, but he knew it would go away when the antacid kicked in. It had to be gas, because he’d had his appendix out in college.

He decided to ignore it. He stood, scooped her up in his arms despite her laughing protests, and slowly mounted the stairs one at a time. Halfway up the pain hit again, but he ignored it. Then the voice in his head, a low, raspy, drunken growl—

Teach you to poison me, you bitch!

He stopped, gasping for breath.

“Steve, what is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I thought I heard something—”

DAMN STUPID BITCH!
the voice roared inside his head. He swore he tasted whiskey in the back of his throat. Sami made him put her down as he clutched the banister for support.

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know—” The pain flared in his side, making him gasp, driving him to his knees. He wasn’t about to tell her he heard phantom voices, or tasted whiskey.

But the pain felt real.

Sami knelt beside him. “I’m calling 911.”

“No.” He caught her arm. “No, I’m okay. You drive me.”

She finally agreed. “Let me get you downstairs and I’ll get my clothes on.”

She maneuvered his arm around her neck and supported him down to the couch. She returned a moment later, dressed in jeans and a blouse. She retrieved her purse and keys and helped him out the front door and across the yard to the truck.

They had to stop twice as the pain hit. Again she begged him to let her call an ambulance.

“Get me into the truck. You can get me to the hospital faster than they can. They’d have to find their way out here first.”

She couldn’t argue with that logic.

As they drove into town, he seemed better. By the time they arrived at the emergency room, his pain had fully subsided.

There were some benefits to living in a small town. They didn’t have to wait long to see a doctor, who took Steve’s medical history and ordered a CT scan.

Three hours later, Sami stood next to the gurney and held Steve’s hand while the doctor announced his diagnosis. “I think we’re dealing with a plain old gallbladder attack.”

Sami squeezed Steve’s hand with relief. “Thank goodness. What brought it on?”

“Probably the dinner. You said you had butter garlic sauce on the pasta?”

Steve nodded. “But it’s never happened before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. The CT scan clearly shows gallstones. We can take them out now, or try managing your condition through diet and medication.” He wrote Steve a prescription. “Take this, and get to your regular doctor tomorrow, if possible. I’ll get you a copy of the radiology report to take with you and he can get copies of the films from us.” He handed Sami the script. “Take it easy for a day or so. If you start to run a fever, or if you start vomiting blood, call us.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, doc.”

Steve felt silly waiting in the truck while Sami went into the pharmacy to get the script filled, but she didn’t want him moving around any more than he had to. Worse, now he really
was
in the mood to romance her, and now her mind was anywhere but, worried about his health.

She brought him the medicine and a bottle of water. “Take this now, before we leave.”

He obediently swallowed the pill, and she drove home. He was glad she made him take the medicine, because another minor wave of pain hit as they crossed the cattle guard at the main gate.

“Sorry honey.” She apologized for the bumps.

“No, that’s not it.” He winced.

“More pain?”

He nodded. “Not as bad though. The medicine must be working.”

She helped him up the stairs through another minor bout of pain, and tucked him into bed. The medicine made him sleepy. He caught her hand before she turned to go.

“Thank you, Sami. I’m sorry I ruined our evening.”

She kissed him. “It’s okay. It’s not like you did it on purpose.” She patted his hand and closed the door. He fell asleep in minutes, the medicine taking him to a dreamless darkness.