Chapter 27
The Magnolia Nephalist Society meetings always provided me with helpful tools to face challenges in my sobriety.
For the last few days, I kept going back to the new dream list. I even incorporated it into today’s hat design by adding a garden of moonflowers and lavender, both symbolizing dreams. Once I finished drawing the flowers with the pyro pen, I prepped a strip of lavender fabric and layered it on top of cream-colored lace, wrapping both around the bottom of the crown.
I was in the process of adding an antique gold brooch for a hat buckle when the FaceTime alert popped up on my phone.
Placing the hat on the table, I accepted the FaceTime and Dad’s face filled the screen.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
He looked to his left and then to his right. “I wanted to talk to you while your mom is at a thing.” He looked behind him, as if he expected her to accost him at any moment.
“Okay . . .”
“As you know, she turns sixty in November.”
I exaggerated a gawking face. “Sixty? How’d that happen so fast? Feels like she just turned forty.”
“I know.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I thought it would be fun to throw her a surprise party. I’ll pay for your and Cy’s plane tickets.”
I slumped in the chair, wanting to throw the danged phone across the room. “Dad, I’m on probation, remember? I can’t leave the state, much less the country.”
His smile vanished and he took on that cloudy expression. “Oh, I thought maybe you’d be done with that by then.”
“Nope. Not until next May.” The fact that he didn’t know this was enough to tick me off, but him expecting me and my brother to just drop whatever we were doing to go along with his whim had me irate. They were the ones who left us. “You’ll just have to celebrate without me. Sorry.”
I wasn’t sorry. At all. They’d missed my eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays. Clearly, my birthday milestones didn’t matter to them, so why should theirs matter to me?
“I do hate that . . . You think Cy and his family will be able to come?”
My eyes slid over to the small area by the bookcases. Since the botched trip to Columbia, I’d spent hours painting a garden of poisonous plants. Oleander, foxglove, angel’s trumpet, hemlock . . . All just as beautiful as they were deadly. I felt murderous at the moment, myself.
“I doubt it. Cy and his family will be busy getting settled in Nashville, but you’ll have to talk to him to be sure.”
“Nashville?”
“Yes, Dad. He’s been offered a job at Vanderbilt.” I huffed heavily enough to make a strip of lace ribbon sail off the table. “Do you and Mom seriously not keep up with us at all?”
“We’ve been busy, but that’s no reason for you to be disrespectful, young lady.”
Oh, the dad voice comes out now? Too late for that.
“Sorry. But like I said, you’ll have to ask Cy.” I glanced at the clock. Two hours before the Tuesday meeting. “I have to head out for my AA meeting, so I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
I punched the end button and tossed the phone to the side.
Elbows on the table, I leaned my forehead into the palms of my hands, taking several cleansing breaths to calm down.
When that didn’t work, I dropped to the floor and went through some yoga poses, but I was too keyed up for that to be effective.
Standing, I picked up the phone and called Betty.
She answered right away. “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”
“Good. And you?” I paced over to the window and gazed out at the ocean. It seemed agitated today too, choppy waves rolling in with aggression.
“Oh, I’m just dandy.”
“Great. I was wondering if I could come early to the meeting and help you.”
“I’m making spaghetti, so some extra hands would be perfect.”
“I just need to change and I’ll be on my way.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
I left the unfinished hat and the unfinished argument with my father in the workroom and hurried to change out of my sweatpants and into a pair of jeans.
I uncoiled my hair, gave it a few blasts of dry shampoo, brushed it out and retied it in a messy bun.
Good enough. I locked up the house and jogged down the steps to the Caddy parked in the driveway.
As I opened the driver’s door, a fancy silver SUV with the Porsche logo on the hood came to a stop beside me.
The window rolled down and Deaton popped his head out. “Hey you.”
“You have some nerve, showing up here after how you acted the last time I saw you.” I crossed my arms and glared.
He got out of his SUV and held up his palms, a look of pure innocence on his devilish face. “That’s why I’m here. To apologize.”
“Apologize for what?” I asked him this much in the same way Olla used to ask, to make sure we knew what we were at fault for. No sense in sayin’ you’re sorry if you don’t even accept your sorry actions, she would say. What I would give to have her still here with me.
Deaton sighed dramatically. “I was having a bad day, drank too much, and acted like a jerk. I’m really sorry, okay? Can you forgive me?”
I could forgive him, but I wouldn’t be forgetting. “Apology accepted. Now if you don’t mind, I have somewhere I need to be.” I motioned for him to move.
“Where you heading?”
“I have an appointment.”
His eyes narrowed. “Kinda late for an appointment.”
I laughed but it sounded nervous and unsure, exactly how this guy always made me feel. I hated that feeling. “I meant a meeting.”
“Oh, you mean AA?”
“Yep.” I placed a foot inside the vehicle, hoping he’d take the hint.
“Can I go with you?”
That totally threw me off. Deaton James wanting to go to a meeting? I remembered he hated group therapy in rehab, to the point of defiantly lying on the floor and taking a nap during sessions. “Why?”
He frowned. “You were right the other day at lunch. I shouldn’t have been drinking. It’s a slippery slope and now I’m craving things I shouldn’t.”
“You should probably find an NA meeting.” I smoothed my thumb over my nails. “Didn’t you say your problem is with drugs?”
“I haven’t had time to find one.”
“You know there’s an NA and AA app that’ll show you all the meetings in your area. You can download it for free.”
“I’ll look into it, but I’d like to go with you tonight.”
Realistically, I couldn’t prevent Deaton from going and I should be encouraging him in his sobriety, but darned if I didn’t want to. “It’s at the Methodist church right off the island. I’m going early to help set up. I can give you the address, that way you can go later.”
“Nah. I don’t have anything going on. I can go now too.”
My shoulders slumped. “Fine. You want to follow me then?”
His frown eased into a small smile, one that seemed on the sly side. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. “Follow you? Yeah, sure. I can do that.” He returned to his SUV and backed out of the driveway, giving me enough space to back out too.
The fellowship hall smelled like an Italian restaurant, but the succulent aroma of garlic and herbs did nothing for me tonight. Dealing with Dad earlier and now Deaton, left me feeling queasy.
“Hey, sweetie.” Betty waved me over. “You want to mix the tea?”
“Sure.” I looked over my shoulder. “Deaton, just have a seat at one of those two tables.”
Staring at the screen on his phone, he strode to the table like an obedient child.
Relieved he didn’t want to stick to me like usual, I washed my hands and got to work, remaining busy until the meeting began.
It didn’t seem to bother him, though. I glanced one time and found that he’d had the attention of the entire table while he told some lively story.
Enthusiastic facial expressions, talking with his hands.
By the laughter, he was keeping himself in check as well as keeping the story clean.
After we recited the Serenity Prayer, an older gentleman with stark white hair and a long beard volunteered to speak. I’d noticed him at all the meetings, but he’d never spoken before now. With the aid of a cane, he shuffled up to the small podium. “My name is Lorenzo. I’m thirty-six days sober.”
We clapped, but I was a bit confused.
“Yes, that means what you think it means.” His voice sounded paper-thin and raspy.
“I slipped after nineteen years without a drop of whiskey.” Clutching the podium with his gnarled hands, he cleared his throat.
“I lost my son forty-nine days ago. He was seventy years old. Not a spring chicken, but he was still my son. And my best friend. We went fishing every Saturday. Rain or shine. We had breakfast together most every day of the week. Heck, we did most everything together since we were both widowers. Losing him . . . I didn’t handle it well.
Figured I’d drink myself to death so I could join him.
” Fat tears trekked down his weathered face and disappeared into the cloud of his beard.
“I’m not sure why God didn’t take me, but after a week of it, I gave up and tossed the bottles.
My boy would have been so disappointed in me.
” Lorenzo placed a shaky palm over his mouth and heaved a suppressed sob.
“I hurt every day, but when I come to this meeting it’s more bearable.
I’ll turn ninety in two weeks. My time on this earth is limited, but I want to finish it out in a way that’ll make my boy proud.
” Lorenzo started to walk back to his seat.
Reggie jumped up to help him as we clapped once again.
Sniffling, I batted a tear off my cheek. Fern had only been in my life for close to three years, but I already considered her my best friend. I wanted to look back in my old age and be able to say I made her proud.
At the end of the meeting, we all took turns giving Lorenzo a hug and offering condolences for his son and words of encouragement.
During the short drive home, my eyes wandered to the rearview mirror, watching Deaton follow closely behind me.
That saying you draw more bees with honey than vinegar came to mind.
Perhaps the time had come to bring out some vinegar.
I didn’t even want to admit how close I’d gotten to giving in and indulging with him at the restaurant.
My counselor stressed the importance of surrounding myself with people who advocated for my sobriety.
And that meant having to let some people go. Deaton had to go.
I parked in my driveway, and before I even turned the engine off, Deaton pulled in behind me. “Go away,” I muttered, staring at his headlights in my rearview mirror. This was getting ridiculous. I got out and he joined me in the driveway. “Deaton, it’s late and I’m tired.”
“Could you just give me like ten minutes? Would that be too much to ask?” Deaton held his palms up.
I crossed my arms and made no move toward the porch. “Why do you need ten minutes? We just spent over a few hours together.”
“That was a few hours of you playing keep-away.” He huffed a laugh. “I think we need to clear the air between us.”
Rolling my neck, I stared at the star-studded sky for a moment. Deaton, and the mistake I made with him, had haunted me all summer and I was ready to be exorcised of it once and for all. If we cleared the air, then maybe he’d realize the best thing for him to do was move on.
“Okay.” I moved up the porch stairs and sat in the chair by the door, offering him the other on the opposite side. I expected him to give me a hard time and want to go inside, but he didn’t, thank goodness.
“I thought we connected that first night—” Deaton started, but I interrupted.
“We were both high.” I refrained from rolling my eyes. It seemed in my best interest not to bruise his ego. “You reminded me of my late husband. I was lonely. That’s why I let you kiss me.”
“We did more than kiss.” He smirked, totally overlooking my mention of a dead husband.
Cringing, I shook my head. “Not much more.” The choppy images of that night flickered through my mind, the two of us hiding in a cleaning supply closet, making out like the world was about to end.
I guess at the time it felt that way, believing nothing would change so why keep trying.
I had absolutely zero faith in getting my life sorted when I arrived that night from prison.
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t pick up where we left off.” Deaton gave me a salacious grin, one that made me feel sick.
“We can’t.” I sliced a hand through the air, reinforcing my statement. “I don’t know if you remember from our group therapy sessions, but I have a daughter and I’m working on regaining custody of her. I don’t have any space in my life for a relationship.”
Deaton frowned, his eyes moving to look next door. “What about your neighbor?”
I gripped the armrests with sweaty hands, wondering if his ten minutes were up yet. “What about him?”
“I see you over there a lot.”
“How do you see that?”
“When I go for walks on the beach. What’s up with the two of you?”
“Nothing more than neighbors, I promise you that.” I stood, ready to end this. “I really don’t have time in my life for unnecessary drama, Deaton. So . . . I’d like for you to leave and not come back. Please.” I motioned toward the yard, but he didn’t budge.
His defiant expression morphed to one of hurt. “But . . . I thought we were friends.”
“Deaton . . . we were there for each other during a difficult time in rehab. I’m grateful for that, but we both know anything now would just end up toxic.
You almost peer pressured me into drinking the other day.
I almost gave in.” I shook my head. “I can’t chance ruining all the progress I’ve made.
That means we can’t be friends. I’m sorry. ”
“What’s so wrong with me?” His frown deepened to something dark. “Not good enough for ya?”
Did the guy not hear a word I just said?!
“No. Not at all.” I flicked my wrist to shoo that notion away. “You’re out of my league, by miles. And I’m complicated. I have a dead husband I’m still mourning. A daughter I’ve lost custody of. And I’m an alcoholic. You’re better off finding someone with less baggage, trust me.”
Deaton stood and peered down at me with his lips firmly pressed together. Did he finally get it? That what we did had been a mistake and it was time to move on?
I waited, wondering how he would respond, but he only gave me a slow resigned nod. Without another word, he simply left. Could it be that easy to be rid of him? I sure hope so.