8.
FARRAH
“Farrah, it’s your turn to share,” Garvey Forrester, Zoey’s boyfriend, the leader of our meetings at The Flower Patch, who also happened to be in recovery, said as he motioned toward me. “What would you like to talk about this evening?”
“I’ve started seeing someone.”
“I heard about that.”
“Most of you know how we met and what’s going on with him, so . . .”
“Not all of us,” Garvey said with a smile. “Let’s start at the beginning. What do you think is important about him?”
“He’s sober.”
There was laughter around the circle, and Garvey grinned before he said, “That’s a good start.”
“I met him at the gym, so I know he’s health conscious.” I looked over at Moe when she scoffed and added, “He doesn’t mind a good smoothie now and then.”
“So freakin’ gross,” Moe complained.
“He asked me on a date, and when he suggested we have dinner and then go to a bar for dancing, I told him I wasn’t comfortable with that because I don’t drink.”
“Good for you,” Garvey said. “Did you tell him the other reason you can’t go to a bar?”
“No. I haven’t told him any of that.”
“Okay. We’ll get to that part later then. Since you couldn’t go to a bar with him, what did the two of you do instead?”
“He signed us up for a ballroom dancing class.”
The women around the room made noises of approval. Most of them, at least. Jill and her new bestie, Margie, who I’d started referring to as her evil twin, both snorted at the idea.
“How boring is that?” Jill asked.
“Ever tried it?” Garvey asked, already sick of Jill’s bullshit after an incident that had happened earlier in the meeting.
“No.” When Garvey shrugged, Jill said, “Whatever.”
“Anyway,” I said loudly. “We went to the class and had a lot of fun, so we signed up for six more lessons.”
“Already planning for the future, so that’s a good thing, right?”
“I think so. We’ve talked on the phone quite a bit, and we text back and forth throughout the day.”
“When are you planning to tell him that alcohol isn’t the only thing in your history that he should be aware of?” Garvey asked.
“I don’t want to.” When Garvey raised his eyebrows, I said, “I know! I know I have to be honest with him, but I don’t want to burst the bubble and make it real.”
“He’s a book boyfriend,” Moe chimed in. “Do you know what that is?”
Garvey chuckled before he said, “Oddly enough, I do. I’ve actually been told that I fit a certain genre of book boyfriend, although it’s probably not the coolest.”
“You're a second chance romance,” I informed him. “Zoey and I have talked about that before.”
“Yes. That’s what she told me.”
“So, if this man is a book boyfriend, what genre is he?”
“Definitely romance,” Fiona said dreamily.
“Late in life romance,” Serana said helpfully. When I glared at her, she said, “What? I think the two of you qualify.”
“After what you’ve experienced in your life, wouldn't you consider this a second chance?” Garvey asked.
“Not as far as books go, no. That’s an old flame returning,” Taylor said helpfully. “Maybe a redemption story?”
“I like that!” Moe cheered.
“Since I’m not much of a romance reader, let’s keep things in the real world and get back on track,” Garvey suggested. “You’re afraid that if you tell him about your past drug use and incarceration that will pop the bubble? What does that mean, exactly?”
“All he knows about me right now is what he sees and what I’ve told him. I like that we started with a clean slate.”
“But if things get serious, he’ll have to know what your triggers are and the importance of maintaining your sobriety.”
“Right.”
“From his point of view, do you think that the longer you wait to have an honest conversation with him, the harder it will be for him to process what you tell him?”
“How dumb is this guy?” Jill asked. “She already told him she can’t go to a bar, so if he didn’t figure out that there’s something off about her, then that’s his problem, not hers.”
Garvey ignored Jill, along with the glare I aimed at her, and asked, “He knows where you live, so don’t you think he’s already got an idea?”
“When I first met him, he just thought that I worked here, but he’s seen me on my porch in the morning, so he knows I live here too. If he does know what that means, he hasn't mentioned it. Most people are curious, and after you talk to them for a little bit, they either blurt out the usual, ‘What did you go to prison for?’ or tiptoe around asking until you feel like you have to tell them or it’s just going to get awkward.”
“That’s true,” Garvey said. Several women chimed in their agreement, and then Garvey asked, “Have you thought about when a good time to tell him may be?”
“I have no idea. I know that I should before we get too serious.”
“I agree. I also think it might be wise to tell your counselor how you’re feeling about the situation and the fears you have.”
“I’ll talk to Dr. Hamilton about it at our next session.”
“Good. Anything else?” When I looked over at Jill and then back to Garvey, he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He finally said, “No? Okay, Moe. You’re up next.”
“Great. I have to follow that with absolutely nothing big has happened in my life other than that I’ve discovered that I absolutely love to play bingo and can’t wait to go again.”
Moe’s admission had the entire group laughing and broke the spell I’d cast when I talked about my fears and doubts. That made me relieved, but Jill’s glare was unsettling. I hadn’t mentioned Lynn by name, but I had a feeling she knew exactly who I was talking about.
I had enough experience with women like that to know that I should watch my back. She would never be okay with others having something she couldn’t get her hands on, whether it was money, possessions, or, most of all, a handsome man.
The thought of her playing games that might cause this happy bubble I was living in to burst filled me with rage, and it took everything I had not to look back over to return her glare and then some.
Considering what had happened the other night after bingo, I had a feeling that she wouldn’t be around for long. Hopefully, she’d go away before she caused too much trouble. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to stop myself from retaliating - not in the devious ways she seemed to prefer, but with my fists, which was also against the rules of our program.
I just had to pray it didn’t come to that.
◆◆◆
“Yes, ma’am. We received Shivon’s application and are eager to have her in our program.” As the parole officer on the phone listed the merits of the parolee, Zoey walked into my room and sat in the chair across from me. I put up a finger, and she nodded before she pulled her phone out and started scrolling. When the parole officer was finished talking, I reminded her, “In order to put her on the waiting list, I’ll need the paperwork completed and emailed back to me along with a release for her drug screen results.” There was a little more talking before I was able to wrap it up with, “Okay. Have a good day. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I put the phone down and closed the folder in front of me while I waited for Zoey to finish texting and then smiled when she looked up.
“What’s up, lady?” I asked.
“Do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”
“Your pick since neither of them sound good.”
“She passed her urinalysis and gets to stay in the program.”
“That’s bullshit!” I said way too loudly. I jumped up and hurried across my office so I could shut the door, and when I sat back down, I leaned forward with my arms on the desk before I continued, “I know she was high. I could smell it, Zoey. I wasn’t the only one either.”
“Could it have been on her clothes?” When I just gave her a blank stare, Zoey asked, “What else can I do?”
“Wait for her to fuck up, because we both know it’s going to happen, and then kick her ass out of here so fast that her head spins.”
“That’s the option we’re going to have to roll with. Fair is fair. I popped her and three others for a test, and they all passed.”
“I don’t know how.” I thought about it for a few seconds and then winced before I said, “Actually, I have a few ideas on how she might have pulled that off, but I didn’t think she was smart enough to know them too.”
“How? They don’t let them take anything into the restroom when they’re testing.”
“Did they frisk her before she went in?”
“I don’t know.”
“I doubt they did, but even if they had and she was clean, that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have been carrying something.” Zoey shuddered, and I laughed before I said, “She wouldn’t be the first person to pass that way.”
“We could do a hair strand.”
“You didn’t put that requirement into the contract, remember?”
“Shit. You’re right. I swear she gets her hair touched up every other week.”
“So it can’t be tested,” I said drolly.
“Fine. Put the addendum in and then make sure it goes out to all new applicants and get everyone here to sign it,” Zoey ordered.
“They’re gonna be pissed.”
“Not if they don’t have anything to hide.”
“True, but not everyone is content with the wisdom streaks like I am.”
Zoey rolled her eyes before she said, “My mom hates you because your hair looks like it was professionally made to look like that.”
“It’s because I’m blonde.”
“Mom doesn’t really hate you.”
“I know. I’d probably be buried in a field somewhere if she did.”
Zoey barked out a laugh and started texting, and I knew her mom would get as much of a kick out of my declaration as she had.
“Tell me what you know about Lynn Serrano.”
“That’s a lot to tell.”
“Colt went to breakfast with us, and I could tell it wasn’t the first time Lynn had met them.”
“Let’s just say that Lynn’s daughter may be a resident here one day.”
“She’s in prison? He didn’t mention that.”
“He was probably embarrassed.” Zoey realized what she’d said and looked up from her phone in shock before she rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“No offense taken. I can see how that would be embarrassing to tell a stranger.”
“But you’re not a stranger anymore, right?”
“I haven’t exactly opened up about why I live here.”
“He probably thinks it’s because you work here. I know it’s hard for y’all to reintegrate, and it would be harder if I announced to the world that this whole place is inhabited and run by ex-cons.”
“People are going to find out.”
“I know, but I choose to let them figure it out organically rather than make a statement.”
“You’re still such a cop,” I teased. “Make a statement. Good grief.”
“Maybe I need some therapy.”
“My guess is that before long, living with Garvey and being surrounded by us, we’ll have you sounding like you just stepped out of an AA meeting or spent time in the pen.”
“It’s already happening. When I think of triggers now, it’s not as part of a weapon, it’s part of recovery.”
I started laughing and said, “We’ll get you converted yet!”
“Okay, I’ve got to get back out there. I was trying to build something before my brother got here to help and started moaning and groaning about angles and structure. But before I go, I have to ask if you’ll put the word out to the women who are already living here to keep their eye on Jill and Margie . . .”
“The wonder twins with evil powers and villainous intentions.”
Zoey chuckled before she asked, “Did you come up with that?”
“No. That was all Moe.”
“Sounds like it. Anyway, watch your back because I’m not sure what she’s willing to do to get ahead. As it stands, she’s supposed to be moving into the next house unless I get concrete proof that she’s fucking up.”
“I got ya. I’ll let the girls know.”
“You’re the best, Farrah, but I knew you had to be because it takes a certain kind of someone to put up with Janis for that long and come out of it with their sanity intact.”
“Deep down, Janis is a sweetheart.”
“Very deep. So deep that seasoned explorers haven’t been able to traverse the wasteland of her sarcasm and irritation to find a single grain of sugar, let alone this sweet heart you swear she has.”
“You know you love her too.”
“I do, and I wouldn’t want her any other way.”
◆◆◆
LYNN
“I don’t think it’s fair that she lied and I got punished for it.” I glanced up from the papers I was working on and stared at Brinlee until she looked away. “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have hit her, but she still lied!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have hit her?” I asked. “Try again.”
“I am not supposed to hit when I’m angry.”
“Why?”
“Because there are better ways to resolve conflict than violence,” Brinlee muttered. She rolled her eyes before she asked, “If there are better ways, then why does hitting feel so good when I’m mad?”
“You know you’re supposed to keep it in the gym unless you’re defending yourself from a threat.”
“I know.”
“Now, write the paper that I assigned you, and try to do it without any more complaining.”
Brinlee sighed dramatically and looked down at the paper in front of her.
And, of course, it was now Berklee’s turn to complain. I was almost sure that they sat up late at night and plotted ways to make me crazy. Tag-teaming me to get their way was one of the tricks they’d found worked best.
“Technically, it wasn’t a lie if I was writing about what I wished. I didn’t say it was the truth.”
“Then you haven’t learned anything about the unit your class has been working on for how long now? A biography is the truth about a person. An autobiography is the truth about a person that is written by the person. You wrote fiction. The assignment requires you to write the truth.”
“It’s none of their business!”
“Then write about the truth you’re willing to share. Write about going to gymnastics and martial arts and how much fun you have sharing that with your sister. Write about how much fun it is when we cook together in the evenings. Hell, write about our plans for the backyard this summer. Whatever you write about, just make sure it’s the truth.”
“It’s not fair! All the other kids get to live with their mom, and we don’t.”
“Not all of the other kids. I know for a fact that there is at least one kid who doesn’t have his mother.”
“Because she died!” Berklee shouted. “My mom didn’t die!”
“Nope. She made bad choices, and the consequences for her choices took her away from all of us.”
“When can we visit her?” Brinlee asked.
“I have no idea when, or if, that is going to happen anytime soon,” I said honestly.
Since the girls had come to live with me, I’d done my best to be as honest with them as I could, or at least as honest as their therapist and mine suggested they were old enough to understand. I did not want to tell the girls their mother had refused to let them visit, but the longer I thought about it, the more I came to know that was the right decision, at least for now. I knew they would think it was because she didn’t care to see them and not that she was thinking of their well-being.
This parenting gig had been difficult the first time when my ex fucked up for the millionth time and the state gave me full custody of my daughters. There was a lot to deal with back then and not nearly as many resources to help us through it, but it was still easier than what I was helping the girls through right now.
My phone vibrated on the table, and I picked it up to find a text from Farrah. Just seeing her name lifted my spirits and made me think about our yoga class this morning.
Even without her text, I’d still be thinking about that class, mostly because every muscle in my body was screaming at me and had been all day long.
“She wants me to do what with my leg?” I whispered as I looked over at Farrah who was easily moving into the new position the instructor had demonstrated. I wasn’t sure how because even with my upper body strength, I was having a hard time holding myself up. “Am I supposed to pop it off like I’m an action figure and get into position before I pop it back in?”
Farrah bit her lip to stifle a laugh before she whispered, “Just do your best.”
“I’m doing my best to not die right now, and here you are twisted up like a pretzel and looking like a snack.”
This time, Farrah couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing before she cleared her throat and whispered, “Just try.”
I pushed my body to the limit, muscles screaming and joints groaning at the effort. Once I was in a laughable imitation of the pose Farrah was holding so gracefully, I felt a split second of pride right before my thigh muscle revolted and cramped up.
With my concentration gone, I lost my balance and fell to the side with a shout before I sat up and started massaging my leg as I gritted my teeth against the pain.
Farrah fell over, too, but not from pain. No, she was gasping with laughter and couldn’t hold her pose any longer. I turned so that I was on my hands and knees next to Farrah who was on her back with her legs in the air. The cramp in my thigh subsided, leaving behind a throbbing rather than the clenched torture I’d experienced before, and I took a deep breath as I tried to stretch my leg out behind me.
By this time, Farrah had control of herself and was sitting cross-legged watching me as she used her pointer fingers to get the tears from under her eyes and salvage her makeup.
That was when I remembered that we were in the middle of a room full of people and looked around to find every one of them looking at us - all from the whatever fucked-up pretzel pose I’d been trying to do.
For some reason, that struck me as funny, and I roared with laughter which caused Farrah to snort and crack up too.
I looked up and saw the instructor glaring at us, so I hurriedly got to my feet and reached for Farrah who was still giggling uncontrollably. When she didn’t grasp my hand to let me pull her up, I did the next best thing and bent over to pick her up beneath her arms and pull her into mine.
Once I had her secure, I limped toward the doorway as quickly as I could with Farrah cackling away. I managed to hold it together, my laughter and my embarrassment vying for top position, but when Farrah did a passable impression of Elvis Presley and yelled, “Thank you! Thank you very much!,” I lost it.
We were still laughing when we walked out into the sunshine holding hands, and I couldn’t think about the memory without smiling. To add insult to injury, Farrah had been sending me memes and GIFs all day. When she started sending them, they had a yoga theme but had soon morphed into whatever funny thing she could find about embarrassment and laughter, which all brought a smile to my face.
“Why are you smiling when we’re in the middle of a traumatic event?” Berklee asked.
I wiped the smile off my face before I asked, “How is doing the right thing traumatic?”
“Being grounded is traumatic and will probably affect our long-term mental health,” Brinlee said with a straight face. When Berklee nodded in agreement, I didn’t know whether to be happy that they were finally getting along or angry that it took going up against me to unify them. “We should probably call Miss Emerald and ask her.”
“We’ve got plenty to discuss with Dr. Hamilton the next time we see her, and you being grounded is on the bottom of the list.” I cleared my throat before I pointed out, “You think my punishment is bad? Wait until practice tonight when you each have to tell Coach what happened at school.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be depressed or impressed when I saw that they were much more worried about him finding out than they were about dealing with me.