Something To Dream On (10 page)

“Hey, Paul,” she says. “You’d better hurry. Mom’s standing in front of her jewelry box, so she’s almost ready.”

“That’s my cue! Funny how it takes men about as much time to shower, shave, and throw on a suit as it does women to pick out jewelry. Have fun kids! Catch a puck for me.”

The bed feels unusually comfortable as I slip in. It’s much like I imagine a cloud in heaven would feel.

Tonight I had a date with a guy who opened doors for me, carried my jacket, watched hockey with me, shared garlic fries with me (even if he did fib and say it was only so we could share garlic breath), and who gave me the sweetest kiss goodnight after walking me to my door. It was one of the most perfect evenings I could imagine.

With a sigh of bliss, I drift off to sleep …

I’m walking through a valley. Beneath me are patches of green among a desert of sand and dry grass.

My bare feet trudge through the heat. Each step sizzles as I seek patch after patch of cool grass and pieces of shade. Every time a breeze brushes the hair from my face, I long to stop and enjoy the peace, yet my feet keep moving.

In the distance, a rainbow sprouts from a field of grass and wild flowers. I run toward it, stop in the middle of the field, spread my arms, and then twirl in the glory of comfort and light. My eyes close off the world so I can savor the cool air as it whiffs up my nose, bringing in the scent of flowers. I smile, reveling in the glory of life.

Suddenly I tense. I know what comes next, but this is all in my mind, so logically, I can control it. I just have to stay locked on the bliss.

My body loses all weight as it floats heavenward. No! This can’t be happening!

I try to return to Earth. As my will deepens, my body descends. The grass below tickles the tips of my toes. I can do this! I can stay!

A force yanks me upward and into the heavens. My eyes open to find I’m among a cluster of stars. On the ground below, a figure races into the field where I just stood. She throws open her hands, twirls, and falls to the ground, spreading her arms like the wings of an angel, as if claiming the land as her own. A sense of injustice fills my heart. I want what is mine, yet a sense of peace keeps me tethered to the stars.

My cell phone feels like a brick weighing down my hand, but it’s not as heavy as the burden I’ve been carrying. Mom told me to wait ninety days. That mark has long passed. Tonight I was given a sobriety chip to show for it.

I bounce my leg wildly to release tension. Etta’s head rests on my other leg, while her eyes gaze intently on my hands. It only takes pressing one more button to take the first step in correcting the last of my horrible wrongs. I’m a heart-felt apology away from putting our relationship on the mend, yet I can’t bring myself to place the call.

What if Mom comes unglued? What if she doesn’t believe me? Could I handle it? Would I slide backward?

That’s ridiculous. Mom gave me chance after chance because she knew I could recover. She even said it in the note when she kicked me out. Her other son recovered, and she accepted him. No problems, no questions.

And then he died anyway, which is why I turned into such a disaster.

Calling Mom always seems like it should be such an easy thing, but once I start thinking about it, so many little things pop into my head that I want a drink to calm my nerves. Then I couldn’t call her because I wouldn’t be sober anymore. Instead I would be back on the road to self-destruction.

Etta nuzzles my leg, grabbing my attention. She then nods to the coffee table. She’s right. If I am that worried about blowing it, I shouldn’t take the risk. I need to cut myself some slack and follow the path that I know will keep me clean.

The phone is exchanged for my latest reading assignment. I’m sorry, Mom, but I can’t do this yet. I can’t face how much I let you down. You, the woman who raised two boys on her own while working two, and sometimes three jobs. The woman who let me stay with her because I kept promising to clean up. You held on to faith in me until I pushed you too far. I need to find the right words to apologize for that, but I don’t think they exist.

Not only did I lose a father, a grandfather, and then a brother, I watched you lose your husband, your dad, and your first son. Then I forced you to lose me. What words start that apology?

Maybe if I stop thinking about it, someday the words will come.

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday, May 8

Ambushed.

The moment I get home from work and step inside my apartment there is company on my tail—company with sweet breath that tickles my ear and reminds my body that it is male. “There you are. I missed you.” Usually when Laura does this, it’s a seductive whisper. Now she sounds like the Grim Reaper who has come to stake claim.

I sigh. “We've been through this already.”

I knew by the tone of the text she sent this morning that she’d soon pop in for a romp. It ain’t gonna happen, which is why I responded with a firm, “No, we are done.”

Laura strolls her way into my apartment as if I have rolled out the red carpet. Etta immediately comes to attention. Why can't I shove Laura out the door like an intelligent person would? There is a difference between being a gentleman and being a doormat. I don't mind becoming a bit of a wuss when it comes to Lizetta, but with this girl? No way.

“You mean the same game you and I have played for the last year? Every time you stop taking my calls it’s only to build the tension. I don’t mind you toying with me, but this go around lasting two months is pretty ridiculous.”

I never should have slept with her after I bailed out. The brain inside my dick that overrules my sanity needs to be lobotomized. It took forever for her to give me a break after that. It finally seemed to be working, too. The last time Laura called was the same day her brother, Larry, tried to get me to come back to the band, again. Coincidence? Probably not. A few hours later I reached my ninetieth day of sobriety. With the exception of the text I got when Lizetta and I were on our first date two weeks ago, I took the few weeks of quiet that followed as congratulations from God for making it. It’s been insanity ever since.

Hey, God. Thanks for nothing.

Laura also makes me bitchy as hell.

“It’s not a game, Laura.” I was always serious when I said no. It's just that she can be rather persuasive in changing my mind.

She leans back on the sofa with one boot resting on it. Combat boots? What happened to heels? Given what she had started experimenting with when I left, this is a bad sign. Her skirt exposes the fact that she's not wearing any underwear. I hate when she does that.

Actually, I wouldn't exactly call it hate.

Why does everything with this woman have to be so challenging? Can’t she just be normal?

No, with the hell she has been through I suppose this is normal enough. I can’t think about it, or I’ll want to help her. She turns my compassion around and makes me defenseless. She doesn’t want sobriety; she wants love. She wants someone to swoop her up in a grand gesture of devotion. I can’t give her that. I won’t risk my sobriety for her, no matter how much she is hurting my heart.

Etta snarls at Laura, reminding me that I’m not supposed to feel for the woman. The spitefulness Laura brings out in me nearly has me hoping that Etta’s raised ears and tail mean she will turn vicious. I don’t want Laura harmed, but she’s exasperating. My head feels like it is going to explode, so I rest it against the wall and point to the door. “Laura. Please.”

She slides down farther, thus sending her skirt up, just in case I missed the obvious. To ensure that her message is sent she tugs down her tank top. It’s not a display of modesty like it is with Lizetta, but more an act of exposure since the neckline stretches down past where her bra
should
be. Sweet Lord. She may not have any class, but memories of those boobs come rushing back. How I’d love to—

Man, I know Lizetta and I have only had a few dates, but even if Laura weren’t such a skank, I couldn’t go there. I'm just trying to do something right in my life. It seems to be working, because not long ago I would already have been down to business.

I toss my keys on the coffee table—despite knowing I should keep them at the ready to use as a weapon. I’m not getting my ass, or any other part of my body, near that sofa, so I squat beside her. Laura may have serious issues, but that doesn't mean she can't be reasonable and that I should not try to be decent to her.

“Look. That reply I sent was serious. We are done. Please respect that and wish me happiness, just like I wish you.”

She stands like she is going to leave. Instead, she tromps up to Etta and looks down on her. “Where did
this
come from?”

Scratch what I thought about being a decent human. I’ve always known that Laura is more of a bitch than I want to admit. She's proving me right. “That’s Etta. I adopted her.”

She stares straight at Etta and snickers. “
You?
You
adopted a dog?”

“Why are you so surprised?”
Etta, honey, if you rip her a new one, I promise not to think ill of you.

“What’s up with its leg?”

Etta growls. I’m with her.

“
Her
leg is fractured. I rescued her.”