Chapter 23
Days had passed since my therapy session with Cy and I still hadn’t shaken the funk it had put me in. I guess that was another part of recovery, facing the hard parts no matter how painful.
As I finished tying my shoe, my phone chirped with a new text.
I pulled it from the side pocket of my leggings and read Henry’s prayer for the day.
God, please keep the taste of unhealthy out of Junie’s mouth today. Please show her she is strong enough.
“How’d you know I needed this today?” I muttered, staring at the screen. I almost texted that to him, but we didn’t do text conversations.
With the upcoming long holiday weekend, everyone wanted their dog walked this morning before heading out of town.
That meant three big dogs, three small dogs, and only one human to manage them all.
I began the morning by walking Poe separately, then went around the neighborhood and rounded up all the other dogs.
I was completely outnumbered and a fool for thinking I could walk them all at the same time.
But I somehow managed it fairly well until we reached the park and Winston decided he’d had enough exercise.
He plopped down and pretty much played dead.
I wiped my sweaty forehead on my shoulder, wishing I had a free hand.
“Come on, Winston. Let’s go.” I used my upbeat fun voice but got no response, then I made a terrible mistake.
“I’ll give you a treat!” Well, that got the stinker to his feet at the same time the other five dogs started jumping with excitement for a treat as well.
Suddenly, I found myself stuck in a game of maypole where I was the pole and the dog leashes were the ribbons.
We got all tangled up, but I refused to let one leash go. “Sit! Down! Sit!”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself in a fine mess.”
I looked up and there Deaton James stood, a lopsided smirk on his face. “Yep.” I rotated my wrist to unloop a tight leash.
“Here. Let me help.” Deaton stepped forward, picking up Oliver, the butterball Maltipoo.
He unclipped the leash long enough to unravel it from the tangle, then clipped it back on.
Then he plucked another dog from the fray and did the same thing until all the small dogs were untangled.
It freed me up enough to get Jazzy, Winston, and Beau apart.
“Thank you, Deaton.” I gave out treats as promised while I had some help. “You saved the day.”
“That’s me. Your superhero.” He looked up from rubbing Yari’s belly and winked. The miniature German Shepherd seemed smitten with him.
“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously though. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He straightened. “Are you about finished walking them?”
I checked the time on my phone. “We have another twenty minutes.” I reached for the small dogs’ leashes, but he shook his head.
“I’ll help you finish, then get them home.”
“No. I can’t ask you to do that.” I held my hand out but dropped it when he strode away with the darn dogs.
“It’s really no problem. The only thing I have to do all day is water plants and check the mail. Enjoy the pool.”
“Tough life.”
“I know, right. I’m bored by it all, but Daddy Dearest says I can’t bail.” Deaton seemed aware enough of the dogs to keep them in the shade as much as possible. At only eleven in the morning, the heat was already pushing close to unbearable.
Once we had all my furry wards back to their rightful owners, a nice long sit with the air conditioner on full blast called my name. “I gotta get out of this heat. Thanks again, Deaton.”
“I’m starving. Let’s head back up the street and grab some lunch. My treat.” Deaton looked unruffled by the humidity and exercise. Opposite of my sweaty mess.
“I don’t feel like walking all that way again.” I fished a hand wipe from the pouch and used it to mop my face.
“It’s not even a quarter mile. You walk it all the time.” Deaton scoffed, placing his hands inside the front pockets of his greenish gray shorts. I’m fairly certain the shorts and his T-shirt were designer athletic wear. The material looked buttery soft and airy, no sweat stains in sight.
I lowered the wipe and narrowed my eyes. “How do you know that?”
“It’s a small island, Junie. I see you around.”
I hesitated. “But I’m a sweaty mess and covered in dog hair.”
“We’ll walk right by your place. Just run in and grab a clean shirt.
” The man made an art of nagging until he got his way.
I’m sure his boyish good looks and that darn crooked smile allotted him quite a bit.
I knew it did back in rehab. The overseers seemed to never see any of his wrongdoing: stealing snacks out of the admin lounge, having a cell phone, sneaking out at night, coming back with little bags of uh-ohs and oh-nos. “You know you miss me. Please?”
I inclined my head and grumbled, “Fine. But I’m buying my own food. And I only have about an hour to spare.”
Smiling, Deaton motioned for me to lead the way. “Okay, Sassy.”
I jabbed a finger against the ticklish spot on his side, making him flinch. “And don’t call me that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled, batting my hand away.
With Deaton shadowing me, I darted up the steps and paused before entering the code. “Have a seat on the porch. I won’t be but a minute.” I glanced at him over my shoulder.
Lips pouted out, he flopped into a chair. “Southern hospitality at its finest.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I punched in the door code and went inside. I changed into a fresh shirt, retied my lopsided ponytail, and returned to the porch with the faint hope that Deaton had decided to bail. No such luck.
Deaton rose to his feet. “Where do you want to eat?”
I thought about each restaurant, weighing the prices. It was Sullivan’s Island, after all, so not many low-cost options existed. Then I remembered where to get complimentary chips and salsa. “Let’s go to Mex 1.”
“Good choice.”
We arrived at a nice quiet restaurant, a rare occurrence on the island.
“Table by the window,” Deaton told the hostess, pointing to the exact one he wanted, which was near a ceiling fan.
Before we took a seat, a young lady dropped off iced waters, chips, and salsa, promising our server would be by shortly for our orders.
I sat across from Deaton and turned my face toward the ceiling. The cool breeze from the rotating fan worked wonders for my wilted mood. “What a day.” I sighed.
“It’s not even noon.” Deaton sprawled in his chair—looking laid-back and relaxed—and swiped a chip from the basket.
“Tell me about it.” I reached for my glass and took a long gulp. The ice shifted and splashed water onto the front of my shirt. I squealed.
“Dang, girl. It’s too early in the day for wet T-shirt contests.” Deaton tossed me his napkin.
I tucked my chin and tried to inspect my shirt while dabbing it with the napkin. “You can see through my shirt?”
He roared with laughter. “Ha! Made you look!”
I threw the wet napkin and nailed him on the cheek with it. “That’s not funny!”
“Is too!” Deaton grinned, shaking his head. “Maybe I should hang out with you more often. My problem with boredom would be solved.”
I laughed it off, instead of answering. That would not be happening. I picked up the menu and scanned the options.
“Hi there. I’m Derrick. Can I get y’all something besides water to start you off?”
“Just water for me.”
“No mocktail this time?”
I looked up and found a familiar face. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you remembered that.”
The server offered a sheepish smile. “You made quite an impression that day.”
My face went up in flames, recalling how I blurted that bit about being an alcoholic. That was almost two months ago and the poor guy still remembered.
“I’ll take whatever local craft you have on draft,” Deaton spoke up, irritation sharpening his tone.
“Sure, man. Just need to see your ID.”
Deaton rolled his eyes and pulled out his thin leather wallet, then handed Derrick his driver’s license.
“I’ve never seen a driver’s license from Hawaii,” Derrick commented as he inspected it.
“Hawaii?” I asked.
Deaton handed me the card once Derrick gave it back. “It’s where my mother lives. I live there most of the time too.”
I glanced over the license with a pretty rainbow on it, noticing he was only twenty-two. Right at four years younger than me. Guess that explained the low maturity level.
“Be right back.” Derrick turned to leave.
“Actually, could I go ahead and order. I can’t stay long . . .”
Derrick nodded. “What can I get you?”
I picked the cheapest item. “I’ll take the cantina chicken taco.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. I’m not very hungry.” I smiled.
Deaton snapped his fingers to get Derrick’s attention and ordered with an air of superiority, “A Baja bowl with grilled mahi and steak. And a side of street corn.”
“Anything else?” Derrick asked politely but I could tell he had to put effort into it.
“I think we’re good. Thanks.” I collected the menus and handed them over. Once Derrick was out of earshot, I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “We’re in recovery. You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“Alcohol has never been my vice. I can take it or leave it.” Deaton pulled the saltshaker to his side of the table and twisted it circle after circle. “Now . . . if you offered me a line of coke, well, that’s another story.”
“Don’t even joke about this.” I shook my head. “You know alcohol is one of mine. I don’t feel comfortable with you drinking.”
“Chill, Junie. It’s just a beer.” He flicked a lazy hand around the restaurant. “And people are drinking all around us. The bar isn’t even three steps away from our table.”
I scanned the room and more tables than not had adult beverages. At the bar, one of the bartenders filled a glass from the frozen margarita machine while another handed a colorful cocktail to a patron. When Deaton put it that way, I guess I was overreacting. “You’re right. Sorry.”
This was something new to deal with, alcohol within reach all the time.
It made me think of how after buying a new car, you start seeing that model everywhere.
Used to, I didn’t pay it any attention, but now, sober and trying to keep it that way, I saw the opportunity to consume everywhere.
Grocery store, gas station, restaurant, on the beach.
Deaton nudged my leg with his. “Let’s just relax and enjoy lunch, okay?”
“Okay.”
Another server dropped off Deaton’s beer, but I kept my eyes glued on the chips and salsa as I shoveled them in.
“I didn’t think you were all that hungry,” Deaton commented with his signature teasing tone.
“I’m trying to enjoy my lunch over here, sir. Now leave me to it.” I chomped down loudly on a chip and began smacking.
He responded by making a goofy face, the one with lips twisted and eyes crossed. The same face he used to make every time I beat him in a game of King’s Corners or reprimanded him about one of his crude jokes.
Derrick delivered our food. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Maybe more chips.”
“Sure thing.”
“Another beer for me.” Deaton shoved his empty glass dangerously close to the edge of the table, but Derrick had quick reflexes and caught it in the nick of time. The guys’ eyes met in some challenge and Derrick broke first and walked away. Deaton smirked as if he’d won some great battle.
Another beer arrived and Deaton wasted no time tucking into it. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable with that beer close enough I could smell it, I averted my eyes from the frosty mug and tried my darnedest to focus on my taco. Eat your food, then leave. You can do this.
“This fish is overcooked and dry,” Deaton grumbled. He set his fork down and picked up his beer.
I surveyed his artfully arranged bowl. “It looks fine to me.”
Deaton waved Derrick over and complained, asking for another bowl. “And another beer while I’m having to wait.”
“Sorry about that.” He picked up the bowl and asked me, “Is your food okay?”
“Yes. It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“I’ll put a rush on this.” Derrick held the bowl a little higher and rushed off.
I turned to meet Deaton’s eyes, which were starting to take on a glassy appearance. “Another beer?”
“It’s hot and I’m thirsty.”
I gave his untouched water glass a measured look while taking a bite of my chicken taco.
Rolling his eyes, Deaton picked up the glass and chugged the entire thing in one shot.
He did it to make a point, but it made me feel better, nonetheless.
Or it did, until he approached his third beer in the same manner as the water.
By then, his voice grew louder and his guffaws turned ridiculous, drawing the attention of other diners.
When Deaton went to the restroom, I waved Derrick over. “May I pay my bill?”
Derrick handed me the receipt. “That guy bothering you?”
I waved off his concerns. “No. He’s just having one of those days . . .” I scrunched my nose.
“Okay.”
I paid for my lunch plus a twenty-dollar tip. I hated to part with it, but felt like it was the least I could do. The poor guy had earned it for having to put up with Deaton.
I stood just as Deaton returned to the table. “I’ll see you around.”
“What?” He sat up straighter. “Where you going?”
“I have work to do. I already told you that.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s a holiday weekend. Let’s have some fun today.” He started waving for Derrick again. “Let’s get you one of those cocktails he was flirting with you about.”
Just one to calm your nerves wouldn’t hurt.
“No!” I said to both Deaton and the maddening voice in my head.
“No. I . . . I gotta go.” I hurried around the table, knocking into it.
Something clattered to the floor, but I didn’t slow my escape to see what it was.
The whole darn table could have crashed to the floor and it still wouldn’t have slowed me down.