Chapter Twenty-Four
Two weeks later, Dan finally found the time to go to the church. Okay, found the time might not be the right terminology. More like got up the nerve. Still, he walked past the church three times before he stopped across the street and thrust his hands in his pockets.
The church itself was pretty with grey stone and beige arches. Big brown plank doors with iron trim work and handles faced him. A plastic sign on the right listed mass times and clergy names. A chalkboard in front announced the location of the NA meeting.
He’d cleared his schedule. He’d found this church. He couldn’t enter, though. At least, not today.
Tess talked to him now, albeit without excitement. She hadn’t yet gone back to saying, “I love you,” but she said “goodnight” and “hello” and “goodbye.” When he asked questions, she answered with minimal eye rolls, quite a feat for a teenager. It was progress. But she sounds more like a roommate than a daughter.
If Hannah were here, she’d know how to fix it. She possessed an innate ability with Tess. He shook his head. He shouldn’t think about her.
He paced the sidewalk across from the church. This was stupid.
“Are you going in?”
Dan swung around and swore under his breath as his leg protested. A woman had stuck her head out of the diner. He frowned at her.
She opened the door wider. “I’ve seen a lot of people hesitate about going to meetings, and I’ve served a lot of coffee to them as they considered. If you’d like a cup, you’re welcome to it.”
He shook his head. “No. I—”
“—could probably use a seat to give your leg a break.” She tilted her chin toward his leg, held the diner door open wider and he relented. Pointing to the first table in the corner, she smiled. “Regular or decaf?”
“Decaf.”
She brought it over, patted his shoulder and left. He nursed his cup, inhaling the nutty scent and stared out the window. Who would have thought entering the church would be so difficult? He’d made it this far. He’d postponed long enough. Tess needed him to do this. Hannah did too. Hell, he needed it. The waitress returned and he asked for the check. Instead, she sat across from him. “Coffee’s on the house for newbies,” she said. “When you get your one-year-clean chip, come back, and make a donation for someone else’s cup. We’ve done this for years.” She rose and turned to him. “You’re not alone.”
The thought of not being alone, like invisible strings, pulled him out of his seat and propelled him across the street. He entered the church, and followed the taped paper signs for the meeting. As he descended the stairs into the basement, gripping the handrail and moving one step at a time, he shook his head. Funny how an obligation over one cup of coffee could convince him to do what no one else could do. He didn’t want to think too long about what it said about him. He was tired of overthinking. He was tired of wondering.
He was tired of everything.
The doorway to the classroom where the meeting was held was open. He entered the room and sat in the back. No one’s attention was focused on him as the meeting had already started, and he remained inconspicuous until they made for the coffee machine.
A blonde woman approached him, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Darlene.”
He shook it, feeling uncomfortable, as more people looked him over. “Dan.”
“Nice to meet you, Dan. Are you joining our group?”
“Well…”
“We don’t bite, although the coffee might, depending on who made it.”
He nodded. “I’m good. I just drank some.”
“Across the street? Jewel is a gem, pun intended.” She looked him up and down. Dan wasn’t sure what to make of her. Was she flirting? Trying to decide why he was here?
“You owe her now, so you have to come to at least one meeting.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Doesn’t count unless you arrive on time and participate. We have another one tomorrow at lunchtime. Why don’t you come then?”
Sometimes anticipation was worse than the actual event. He’d hemmed and hawed enough. “Okay.”
That weekend, Dan examined the brochures he’d found on display at the meeting and the booklets his NA group suggested. There was a lot of information to take in. He wasn’t sure what to believe. According to his initial conversation with the people at the NA meeting, and the brochures he’d started to read, he’d gone to the extreme. Cutting off the drugs cold turkey had been admirable. Eliminating everything he loved in his life was overkill. The books and brochures, written by addiction experts, backed them up. Scientific data, case studies and recommendations for moving forward filled his brain. He’d cut things out he’d only needed to limit, ignored things he liked rather than embraced them.
“What are you reading?”
Dan jumped at Tess’s question. He held out the materials. She grabbed a brochure and plopped next to him on the sofa.
“NA, huh?”
He swallowed. “Yeah.” She’d wanted this. He shouldn’t be self-conscious, but he was.
Her eyes lit up. “That’s really good.” She gave him a hug and he inhaled her shampoo and One Direction perfume. His eyes watered—he’d blame it on the perfume. More importantly, she’d hugged him again. “I’m really glad you’re doing this.”
He nodded, throat thick with too many things he should say, but couldn’t.
“I’m going to the JCC with Lexi to tutor.”
There went the moment. “Don’t you mean, ‘May I go tutor with Lexi, Dad?’”
She sighed, the long, deep, drawn-out sigh perfected by teenagers everywhere. “Yes, Dad.”
He waited.
“May I go to tutor with Lexi, Dad? Please?”
With a smile, he nodded. She jumped off the couch and slammed the door. As he reabsorbed the silence after she left, he thought about what he’d read and the discussions he’d had. It had only been one lunch meeting, not including the one he’d arrived half way through. Now it was up to him to be brave enough to go ahead with it. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed a coat and left the building. Entering the drug store on the corner, he went to the pain relief section, grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen.
It was over-the-counter. It was non-habit forming.
He purchased a small bottle, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickling. Except this time, he had no reason for shame or embarrassment. Ibuprofen wasn’t illegal. He brought the bag home and placed the pills in the medicine cabinet.
As he prepared dinner, his mind drifted to the pills. Would he take them? Should he? Wasn’t this what he’d tried to avoid? He pulled the phone number of the group leader off one of the brochures. Swallowing, he dialed. “Darlene? It’s Dan. From…NA.”
“Hi, Dan. What can I do for you?”
“I bought the ibuprofen.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. Doesn’t this prove I’m addicted to it? I know it’s not physically addicting, but I don’t want to feel like I have to lean on it, like a crutch, in order to get through my day. And these constant thoughts about it can’t be healthy.”
“Dan, you know ibuprofen isn’t addictive. You’re thinking about it because it’s new. Take two pills and see how you feel. I think it’s the anticipation that’s worrying you. You’ll feel better having taken the plunge. Trust me.”
He swallowed two pills before he could change his mind. “I don’t feel anything.”
“You’re not supposed to. They’re not like the painkillers you were on before. As long as you follow the directions on the box, you’ll be fine. If you need to talk to me again, call anytime. The next meeting, we’ll see about getting you a sponsor.”
For the next two weeks, Dan went to lunchtime meetings every day. He didn’t take any more ibuprofen—he was used to the ache in his leg. He began to believe maybe what they all said was right: just because you wanted something with all your soul, didn’t mean you were addicted to it. But he couldn’t be sure, so he couldn’t risk calling Hannah. Too bad ibuprofen couldn’t cure the ache in his heart.
He did a lot of listening. He listened to the other recovering addicts in the meetings when they told their stories. He listened to Tess talk about school and friends. He listened to his coworkers talk about their families and life outside of work. For the first time in a long time, he considered the possibility of developing friendships with some of them. And he listened when his sponsor, Brian, suggested he develop some outside hobbies.
“I used to work on puzzles,” he said.
“Puzzles are great. You should continue them if you enjoy them. But also try to develop something you can do with other people.”
“I stopped the puzzles, though.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid I was too dependent on them.”
Brian put down his soda and tented his fingers. “Some attachments are healthy, like exercise. People who exercise feel a physical need to do it, due to a chemical the brain produces that makes them feel good. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s excellent. If you feel a need to work something out when you’re in pain, a puzzle can be an excellent form of therapy. You want to replace your need for painkillers with something else. As long as you’re healthy about it, it’s fine. Don’t be afraid of developing an addiction to everything you like.”
“How do I know? How do I know if it’s a healthy attachment or a dangerous addiction?”
“You need to learn to trust yourself. You need to be honest with yourself and decide if you need to talk to a professional. And you have to be able to depend on those around you. In general, I’ve found if I need to hide something, it’s dangerous.”
Dan stirred the straw in his Coke and listened to the ice make a whirring sound as it spun around the glass. When he stopped moving the straw, the ice cubes clinked against each other, changing the liquid from a smooth whirlpool to choppy waves. Kind of like his thoughts these days—choppy, jumping from one thing to another, without any consistency.
“You know,” Brian said. “You’re supposed to do things to make you happy. As long as those things don’t cause harm to you or to those you love, it’s usually okay. Replacing bad habits with good ones is the goal. If you take away everything that makes you happy, life is pretty grim.”
Grim. It was a good description of his life. Perhaps it was time for a change.