Chapter 3
Doug
New Year’s Eve, Doug skipped his usual morning shave. He had a few errands to run before work, and he wanted to be at the
office early since he was hoping to leave early too. That way, he’d have time to run home and change before he and Hellie
were due at the New Year’s party.
He left the house whistling, jangling the car keys in his hand to the rhythm of “Jingle Bells” and turning on the front porch
to wave goodbye to the day nurse, who was watching his exit from behind the front window with her arms crossed. She had resting
bitch face, and Doug knew she actively disliked him. He’d seen the nurse with Granny’s various liquid-form drugs, angling
the bottles back and forth, eyeing their contents, as if Doug was going to steal his grandmother’s fucking hospice drugs. Well, surprise, Nurse Nancy, he was eighty-nine days clean, and he was staying clean.
Doug climbed into the old Ford Taurus and turned the heater on to full blast. The last day of the year seemed to hang heavy.
Pregnant gray clouds above and a thin layer of snow below, ragged patches of grass poking up. Scrappy, like Michigan City
itself.
It was strange to be back in The Region.
Strange and also not strange. It’s where he had grown up.
It’s where he had imagined himself launching from.
And he’d launched, alright. Then it was malfunctions all the way.
But they’d stayed strong, he and Hellie .
. . until the second miscarriage, earlier this year.
Something in Hellie had broken, and now everything was touch and go.
Doug had never felt so fragile as he did now.
His surroundings, his life, like spun glass, and himself, oversized like the proverbial bull, trying like hell to make it through without knocking anything over.
“I can’t keep doing this, Dougie,” Hellie had said when they were packing up their stuff to move here.
“You mean moving? Or trying for a baby?” he asked.
She looked at him with a new expression. A kind of blank expression, like all the patience and passion he loved her for had
bled away and she was merely a doll, unblinking and unfeeling. “No. I mean, if you can’t find a job and keep it this time,
I’m out.”
Doug had the good sense to remain quiet, even though he’d wanted to throw their wedding vows back in her face. What about
for better or for worse? He wasn’t a shit husband, he’d just faced shit circumstances, and sure, perhaps made a couple shit
decisions along the way, to be completely fair, but—
That was behind them. Eyes on the prize, right?
And the prize was in their hands. He had both found and held his job. He was proving himself with actions, not words, just
like Hellie wanted. He had already decided that when he hit a year sober, he was going to make a grand gesture. Buy Hellie
something flashy—a necklace, maybe, with a real diamond pendant. From the mall, not the pawnshop or his grandma’s unsupervised
jewelry drawer—something new that hadn’t belonged to anyone else before. He’d ask her to renew their vows, and he could just
imagine the tears slipping down her cheeks and the joy in her face as she said, Yes, a thousand times yes—
Doug should get something for himself too.
After all, he was the one working so hard every day to stay clean.
An expensive cigar? Or a bigger screen for his gaming system .
. . Wait, how far away was the one-year mark, exactly?
Let’s see, 365 minus 89 . . . Daaaaamn. Two hundred and fifty-seven fucking days away.
You know, why wait for a year? Six months was good—amazing, actually. Even three was pretty fucking respectable, and he was
nearly there . . . Either way, he should probably start saving for all this shit now.
He braced his arm on the passenger seat, twisted his body around, and backed slowly down the dirt driveway the old-fashioned
way, since the car didn’t have a rear camera. It was all cornfields behind him. No traffic. He swung into the street and punched
on the radio to the rock station. Foo Fighters. He cranked it up. The presets used to be to NPR, an oldies station, and classical,
but there was a new king in town.
His grandmother hadn’t exactly offered them the use of her car; then again, she couldn’t use it, so it had become Doug’s car in the four weeks they’d been back. Granny Gia was on hospice, and her dementia
had worsened. Doug had pitched their move into her basement as a loyal sacrifice. Sure, he and Hellie would be working a lot,
not able to be at the house with her all the time, so Doug’s mom would still be doing the brunt of the care during the day, with some help from Her Bitchiness the
day nurse. But he and Hellie would take nights, which would allow his mom to recharge and actually get some sleep for once.
It was a testament to how hard it had been on his mom for the past year that, without a beat of hesitation, she said yes.
Hellie did a lot of nights bartending, but Doug didn’t mind being alone.
Not at all. In the finished basement where he and Hellie had set up their realm—gaming system, scented candles, stash of edibles—he could relax.
There was a baby monitor with a cam to watch Granny, who sometimes tried to leave her room in the night.
Doug could never sleep at night anyway, so he’d often set up the granny-cam next to his computer, alternating between World of Warcraft and the latest porn from DormGirl888 and SpankPrincess, which helped distract him from the obsessive itch to use.
It was strangely tender, the couple times Granny had wandered out of her room in the night. Doug padded upstairs, his socks
silent on the carpet, and put a hand on her bony shoulder.
“Grandma, it’s time for bed. It’s the middle of the night.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
The first time, she touched his face and said with wonder, “Douglas?”
“It’s me, Granny.”
She smiled gently. “Ah. Yes. I always knew it was you.”
“Yep,” he said, using a reassuring tone. “You were right. Let’s get you back to bed.”
She was compliant as a baby lamb.
Doug rapped his hand against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music. Soon, the cornfields disappeared, and it was gas
stations and fast food and strip malls. On a whim, he turned into a Dunkin’ Donuts. He still had to stop by Walmart for deodorant
and the dry cleaners for his suit pants for tonight, but while he was here, he’d pick up a dozen for the office. Not that
his boss’s wife needed the calories, but . . . he was feeling celebratory. He pulled into the drive-through lane.
“Hi, yeah, can I get a dozen doughnuts? Just an assortment is fine. And a black coffee. Small.”
He was pretty sure he had a few hundred bucks of credit left on the card before it was maxed out again.
The old Doug never would have spent a dime on his coworkers or his boss.
He would have taken that money for drugs.
He grinned. Yep, this was his relaunch. This move, this job.
It was a new start, and he was succeeding, proving to Hellie that she’d been right to stick with him during the tough times.
As he inched forward toward the window to pay, his credit card between his teeth, he thought of Hellie and anticipated the
sparkly little green dress she was going to wear tonight. She’d bought it at the mall last week and kept the tags on so she
could return it.
One day, he was going to make sure she could cut the damn tags off like a normal person.
“That’ll be eleven-fifty, sir,” said the cashier, and Doug forked over his card.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said with cheerful irony as the girl handed it back.
“Real nice,” she said dryly, and he laughed.
He crept toward the next window. His phone dinged. Hellie. Like she had radar or something. But that’s how she was. Always
intuitive. Always on the mark.
Drive safe to work, love u to the moon. Moon emojis were followed by purple and black hearts.
He replied with a heart emoji, then took the doughnut box and tossed it onto the seat. The black coffee fit into the cupholder,
and he was on his way again. Sleet started falling onto the windshield, but Doug was warm and content inside the car. The
Smashing Pumpkins crooned “Tonight, Tonight,” and Doug couldn’t help but feel the song was about the New Year and this new
phase of life. Eighty-nine days, motherfuckers. And counting. He pumped his fist against the steering wheel to the rhythm
and sang at the top of his lungs, feeling as he sang that if Hellie just kept on believing in him like he believed in her,
they’d be fucking good, they’d be fucking golden.
He wasn’t at the top of the world yet, but he was headed there. This year, 2020, he vowed to himself, was his year. His and
Hellie’s. And no one was going to take that away from them.
Not even Doug.