Catching Caitlin (13 page)

***

A
n hour or two of bad TV
shows later, Hugh came home. He was smiling when I meant him at the door, but
his expression faded when he saw me.

“Anything wrong?” He asked
as he shut the door behind him.

“What’d Scott want to see
you about?”

“Oh, nothing much. He
just wanted to bullshit a little, see if I was happy with you.”

“What’d you tell him?” I
still felt a little weird.

“I said I hadn’t been as
happy in years.” He gave me a kiss. “Do you want to go get dinner tonight?”

It was getting pretty
late in the day. I looked at the couch and coffee table, it was littered with
snack food wrappers and trash. He added, “Oh, maybe you’re not hungry enough.”

“No I’m actually really
hungry. I think that sounds really nice. What did you have in mind?”

“I know a good place
downtown. I can get us reservations,” he snapped his fingers, “like that. You
should wear your dress.”

I laughed, “I have to use
it for something I suppose. I’ll get ready.”

***

D
inner was just a little
bit across town. The building was silhouetted against the setting sun. Inside,
the atmosphere was dark but warm, a kind of nostalgic sensation pricked the
back of my neck when I stepped into the air conditioned entry. My hair was
brought up into a bun, keeping it off my sticky neck.

The host didn’t look
pleased to see us. There were already some people waiting near the front door,
albeit in comfortable seating. After Hugh told the host who we were, the host’s
expression brightened immediately.

“Right this way Mr.
Evans.” The host grabbed two menus and led us to our table, another secluded
spot near the back of the restaurant. It was a little warm to be sitting
outside.

I stared at my menu,
feeling overwhelmed with the choices. “What should I get?”

“Don’t worry about
picking, I’ll make sure it's good.” He winked at me. I sighed with relief and
gave him my menu. I just wanted to turn off for the night and enjoy. After the
waiter came back, Hugh ordered us both the bison filet.

“That’s an excellent
choice, how would you like those steaks done?”

Hugh glanced at me and
nodded. “I’ll have mine medium and she’ll have her’s medium-rare.” As the
waiter scribbled down the order and collected our menus, I grinned at Hugh.
“We’ll also have a bottle of your finest cabernet sauvignon.” Our waiter nodded
silently and left us alone.

I leaned forward. “You
remembered that I like my steak to be able to kick off the plate?”

“Of course,” he said. He
cleared his throat. “I try to remember everything.”

I mused. “That’s quite a
responsibility.”

“It doesn’t feel like
it.”

***

T
he steaks came and were
delicious. Melt-in-my-mouth delicious. I savored each bite, giving Hugh a
performance with my exaggerated moans.

“Ha-ha,” he joked. “Is it
actually good?”

I nodded hard and
swallowed. “It’s way too good honestly. You’re spoiling me.”

“Impossible.” He clenched
his hand into a fist. I noticed his breathing seemed a little shallow.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head hard,
and pushed away from the table. He moved closer to me, and knelt down on one
knee. My heart started racing, blood pounding in my ears. My hands grew clammy
and weak. I squeezed my knees together with my hands.

He pulled a small box out
of his pocket, and presented it to me. He clicked it open.

“Caitlin Winters, I know
this seems rushed and crazy, but I didn’t think I’d find happiness again.” I
gulped down another swallow of wine. My hands were shaking, so I squeezed my
thighs through my dress. “Will you marry me?”

His hand was still wearing
his wedding ring, from before, from Marcia Evans. I thought about the photo
album I found.

“Hugh... stand up.” My
voice betrayed my nervousness. I wanted to sound powerful, but I couldn’t. I
felt weak, and on the verge of tears. Wasn’t this what I wanted? What I was
dreaming of?

He stood up, slowly. His
expression changed, and he frowned heavily.

“I don’t think I can
Hugh,” I whispered. I pointed at his hand, mine shaking from the tide of
emotions I was trying to hold back. “
You’re
still wearing your wedding
band... I’ve been terrified to bring it up, but now I feel forced to.” He put
the box with the ring in it, still open, on the table. “I can’t marry you if
you’re still in love with Marcia.”

Tears welled up in my
eyes, exactly what I was afraid would happen. I fought to try and keep them
down, clenching my eyes shut. It only made them worse. The knotted ball in my
chest rose, and I choked it down. “I want to say yes, god knows I want to say
yes. Until I met you I thought I would be doomed to float from man to man,
never satisfied with what I found in each one. No one in college could fill the
hole you left me with, Hugh.” I pounded my fist on my leg, trying to stem back
the flow. “No one.”

He looked at his lap, and
was probably touching his wedding ring. “I thought I’d never be happy after
Marcia.” He took off his wedding band. The first time I had ever seen him do
that.

He put it on the table.
“Until I met you again.”

“You can’t do that. Put
it back on.”

He shook his head.

“Hugh. If you really were
ready to marry me, to propose to me of all things, you wouldn’t have forgotten
to take that off first. It only betrays you. I’m sorry, I can’t marry you, and
feel like I’m...” My voice cracked, “just replacing someone who isn’t here
anymore.”

He nodded slowly, and
grabbed the box. “That’s not true... you know,” he mumbled. He dragged the box
back across the table, leaving ripples in the tablecloth.

After it fell back into
his lap, he put it in his pocket.

My makeup was ruined,
black mascara smeared on my napkin. I poured another glass of wine, and sat in
silence.

I managed to finish the
bottle of wine, almost entirely by myself. I ordered another bottle and started
drinking that too. Hugh protested, but I brushed him off. I wanted it. I needed
it.

The rest of the dinner
was a wash, Hugh didn’t speak much. I almost felt bad, like I might have cut
into him too deep. But I couldn’t forgive him at that moment.

What was he thinking
anyway? What was I thinking?

***

H
ugh unlocked the door to
his condo and I stumbled in, my arm wrapped around his neck. He wasn’t as
amused as I was. Or as drunk.

“Caitlin?” He seemed
worried.

I smiled at him,
oblivious. “Hey stud.”

He seemed to be looking
through me. “Are you okay?”

I pawed at him, grabbing
his shirt. “What would make it right? What if I pretend I’m Marcia? Should I
dye my hair? Would that make you happy?”

“You’re being ridiculous.
You aren’t here to replace her.”

“Aren’t I though?” I
started unbuttoning his shirt. “How did she talk?” I adopted a bad british
accent, “How would you like it Mr. Evans?”

“Stop,” Hugh said, but he
didn’t move. I finished unbuttoning his shirt, and I started pulling it off his
shoulders. I left it gathered at his wrists.

“’Stop, you’re drunk,
you’re not replacing her,’ I mimicked him. “I thought you were the rich and
powerful Hugh Evans? The man who left me for college, who is the vice president
of a company?”

“Not tonight, I’m not.”
He wasn’t looking at me anymore. I kissed his neck, biting him a little. He
pushed into me, and I felt him growing again. His member pushed against my
thighs.

I had to hold onto his
arms to keep my balance on top of him, otherwise I’d fall over.

He stared at me, his lips
parted.

“Don’t you like me,
Hugh?” I said, “Why aren’t you taking those clothes off?”

He was growing irritated.
“Why do you think I proposed to you?”

I looked at him,
confused.

“You’ve had too much.”

I went into the kitchen,
bumping against the counter. I pulled down a bottle of rum, managing to slip
the cap off and take a swallow before Hugh seized it from me.

I glared at him. “W-What
are you doing?” I still had my hand out, as if he’d give it back to me.

He slipped his arms under
me again, jostling me. The room was spinning, and the motion sent me reeling
even more. Suddenly I felt faint and all wrong inside.

“Bathroom. I need the
bathroom.” I motioned for the bedroom. He carried me into the bathroom, and set
me down in front of the toilet. “I think if I puke I’ll feel better.”

“I think I need to take
you to the hospital.”

“God damn I won’t.
Alright?” I gripped the edges of the toilet basin. “Just get me some aspirin or
something,” I pointed at the cabinet, before losing my balance and swinging my
face down into the toilet. He moved away from me to retrieve some medicine.
Everything was numb and dark. I only knew he moved because the heat that he was
giving off vanished.

He came back after what
felt like hours. I was getting worse. Any sense of jubilation was fading
quickly. My heart was racing, and I felt like my entire body needed to curl up
and die.

“I need to take you.” He
tried to slip an arm under me and lift me.

“Now now, I’ve been worse
off before.” I tried to wave him away. I groaned, leaning deeper into the
basin.

“No!” His voice startled
me. He looked frantic, confused, upset. “You’re blue Caitlin. I’m taking you.”

I vomited, feeling almost
nothing move. The water was tinged red.

“Oh my god,” I shook,
adrenaline coursing through me. “Is that blood?”

Hugh was already on the
phone, calling an ambulance to pick me up. I tried to focus on him, but I was
too dizzy. I collapsed on the the floor.

T
he beeping of the EKG
monitor roused me. I slowly opened my eyes, and tried to turn my head to look
around. I felt heavy, like I had been tranquilized or paralyzed.

There was a throbbing
ache in my neck, so I stopped moving. My eyes scanned the room. A sterile
hospital room, which was preferable to a disgusting one. Hugh was cradling his
forehead in his palms, his elbows planted on the bed.

“Wh-what happened?” I
said. My voice was hoarse.

“Caitlin!” Hugh said, his
voice crackly. He scooted closer to the head of the bed, and took my hand. “I
thought... I don’t know what I thought. Do you remember what happened?”

“I think so... we went to
dinner... and came home. I puked... blood?”

“Good. The doctor said
you might not remember. You had a case of alcohol poisoning. You didn’t puke
blood though, it was just the wine, thank god.”

I barely believed it. I
sighed. “I guess this was going to happen someday.”

“I’m so glad... you’re
still alive.”

“Alive? Was I not going
to be?”

“You almost died. The ER
doctor said if I wasn’t there, you would have... been gone. Your alcohol level
was getting worse by the minute after they picked you up.” He stared out the
window into the hallway. “I basically caught you just as you went unconscious.
Your breathing was extremely slow, and if there wasn’t anyone to perform
CPR...”

“Oh...” I said. I looked
at my arms that were laying on top of the sheets. They were all wired up and
filled with needles. It made me a little queasy. “Are you okay?”

“I think. I think I will
be,” he said. He was silent for a moment. I remembered the proposal. How could
I have forgotten. My chest felt tight.
How could I put him through this?

“It’s really hard for me.
I felt like I almost lost you earlier. I don’t know what I would have done if I
did.”

“You didn’t though.” I
sensed something coming from him. He was never like this before. Maybe only
when he told me about Marcia that one night. “It just feels... like it’s my
fault.”

“It wasn’t, Hugh.” I
touched his hand, but he shrunk away from me. My stomach twisted. “You can’t
control this,” I said.

“I should be able to.
What’s the point in having wealth if I can’t help people? If I can’t prevent
the people I care about from getting sick or — nearly dying?”

I was silent. I didn’t
know what to say. I could barely remember what happened, how could I expect to
really answer any of his questions. I still felt groggy too, my mouth was dry.

“Hugh, just... don’t
worry about it today okay?” He looked at me, tears coating his face. The sight
nearly made me break down. I choked up, trying to hold back my own emotions.
“Just, be with me okay?”

“I’ll try.” He swallowed
hard. “I’ll try.”

He stared into the bed
sheets. “They said if I hadn’t found you, you might’ve died.”

I squeezed my chest, the
thought of it twisting me. Tears pooled, and I started to sob.

“I don’t feel right. I
don’t know what’s right,” I said. I sniffed hard, trying to not soak my shirt
or the sheets. “I just saw my mom in a hospital, what’s wrong with me?”

A man in a white coat
approached the door and peered inside. He let himself in.

“Hi, I’m Doctor
Stephenson. I’ve been taking care of you since you came in Ms. Winters.”

I tried to smile, my damp
face embarrassing me.

“Hello Doctor.”

Hugh turned and watched
him as he sat down next to us. He swiveled toward me, and double checked my
monitors. “You look like you’re doing okay. Did Mr. Evans explain to you what
happened?”

“Yes, I had alcohol
poisoning.”

He frowned, “Severely.
Like I told him when the ambulance got here, you would have died if you didn’t
have your stomach pumped immediately. That alcohol would’ve kept festering,
eventually being absorbed by your intensities. You would’ve passed out, and
either stopped breathing, or choked to death. Maybe both.”

I held my hand to my
throat. “What do I do now?”

He leaned closer to me,
turning more serious. “Ms. Winters, would you describe yourself as having a
drinking problem?”

I looked away from him,
still wrestling with my turmoil. I barely wanted to admit I actually had some
kind of problem. I never drank that much, and I didn’t think that I would fall
into that same trap.

When I didn’t answer, he
continued. “How many drinks do you have a day?”

I clenched my jaw. “Two
or three...?”

“Are you sure? Is that
only during the weekend?”

“Weekdays...” I broke eye
contact with him. “I’ve had entire bottles of rum during the weekends. Usually
when I’m stressed.”

“I see,” he scribbled
something on his clipboard. “How often do you binge?”

“Binge? Like, black out?”

“You don’t have to black
out. How about this, do you ever wake up in the morning and crave a drink? How
often do you abstain from drinking simply because you don’t want people to
think you’re an alcoholic? Do you ever hide your drinking?”

It hit home. I shuddered
as I put my hands under the sheets, squeezing my thigh to steady myself. I
looked at Hugh, his own face betraying his realization of what I really was.

“I do. That’s me.”

He nodded thoughtfully.
“Do you want to keep that up?”

I stared through him. “Do
I even have a choice? I mean, I’m here aren’t I?”

“It’s always your choice,
Ms. Winters. I can’t make you do anything. I’ve treated you, and you’ll be free
to go later this afternoon. I only ask you these things out of medical
necessity.” He crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together. “If you are
willing to seek treatment, I can point you in the right direction and give
referrals.”

I looked at Hugh again,
who was shaking his head. I don’t know if it was because of what the doctor
said, or something I said.

“I need to think about
it.”

“Think about if you have
a problem?” Hugh burst into the conversation. He was completely silent before
then, not even mumbling. I stared at him. “The question was simple, Cay! Do you
have a problem with alcohol?”

I squeezed my eyes shut,
“Don’t — don’t yell at me. I don’t even know why you’re so mad.”

He sighed heavily, and
stood up from beside the bed. He moved towards the window and put his hand on
the wall.

“I think this might be
evidence enough that you do, Ms. Winters,” the doctor said.

I nodded slowly, letting
myself try to say the words I had been avoiding.

“I have a problem
with...” I glanced at Hugh, who was still staring out the window. “With
alcohol.”

“Good. That’s good.
Well,” the doctor paused. “It’s not
good
but it’s a start. I have a
number of clinics I can refer you to, if you’d like. There is always your own
personal choice too. I have all the brochures right here.” He lifted his
clipboard, and revealed a stack of brochures. I nodded, and he set them on the
table beside my bed. “I’ll leave these for you then. I’ll check up on you soon,
and then we’ll be able to discharge you.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” I said.

After he left, I breathed
deeply. It felt nice, good to admit something I had been trying so hard to lie
to myself about for so long. Something I had been struggling with. It already
felt like a enormous weight had been lifted off my chest.

Hugh’s eyes were still
fixed out the window, and I studied him.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, and
when he spoke, his voice threatened to crack. “A lot of things. I just have to
spend some time thinking is all.”

“Me too, it sounds like.”

I laid back into my
pillows, and realized how tired I was. There was a small clock on the opposite
wall from my bed, and I watched the second hand move around, imagining the
ticking in my head.

As it circled, my eyes
grew heavy, and I fell asleep.

***

I
was discharged from the
hospital later the next day, after they decided I was stable enough to leave.
My parting gift was a stack of brochures for rehabilitation clinics tucked
under my arm. Hugh was silent as we climbed into a cab and made it back to his
house.

He left me in his bedroom
so I could look at the brochures while he clanged around the kitchen.
Unscrewing caps and knocking glasses together as he poured drink after drink
down the drain. He was doing too much for me. I felt like a burden.

The first place I looked
at seemed nice enough, it touted a safe atmosphere with love and support. It
sounded sweet, but the pictures looked fake. Everyone’s teeth were too white
and their hair all done just right.

These people didn’t need
help. I glanced at the mirror next to Hugh’s bedroom door, and studied myself.
That’s
the face of someone who needs help
. Bags under my eyes and lines creasing
my face, my hair in disarray. I looked haggard.

Hugh appeared in the
doorway, surprising me from my trance.

“Are you hungry at all?”
he asked, but without the same level of enthusiasm he had yesterday. Could I
expect any different?

“A little. Just a snack
or something would be good.”

He vanished without a
word. I heard him moving again, with a silent ferocity built inside him.

I would have to try and
talk to him, but it felt impossible. How could I? What right did I have?

He came back. “I don’t
have anything snacky here, so I’m going to go run up to the store real quick,
what would you like?”

I stared past him, “I
don’t know, anything.” I swallowed my spit. “I’m sorry Hugh. Thanks for...
being there for me.”

“It’s nothing.” He
disappeared through the door. I heard the front door open and close.

Alone again. How could he
not even invite me? I fumed and crossed my arms, squeezing myself too tightly.
I tried to regain my composure.
We both went through a lot...
I wanted a
drink, and that made me even more angry. I felt like I was already a failure at
this. I threw the stack of brochures on the floor, scattering them across the
room.

I walked into the living
room and looked around. I caught a glimpse of the picture of Marcia and Hugh
again, and I remembered a bit more about last night.

I knelt down and slid the
blue binder free, and spread it open. Wedding pictures.
I was digging
through... this photo album.

I flipped to the end,
mostly by gut feeling, and read the back of the picture again, feeling very
familiar with it all. My stomach knotted. It felt like I was less present than
her, with her decorations and pictures all over the place. I was the ghost, not
her.

I slumped down onto the
floor, my throat rising. I burst into tears and sobbed, holding the picture
against my chest. I didn’t want to feel this way. I didn’t want to feel angry
and resentful, pissed and mean. I didn’t want to feel any of it.

It was like I was
trapped, spiraling without control over anything.

I let the tears flow, big
gasps of air making me as noisy as possible. The tears rolled off my chin and
started spotting my thighs.

Another thing to add to
my shitty day. All I wanted was to live a normal life, a life I dreamed of. To
be in love, that freeing feeling.

I thought about Hugh and
I. This wasn’t normal, was it? The baggage, the anxiety. It felt like a rehash
of our last relationship, which is maybe why I felt so raw when I saw him
again. This couldn’t be right. How could it ever be normal? If I got sober? If
he moved on?

Did I rely on him too
much to fix me? Hope too much I could fix him?

My mind flashed. I had
some rum stashed away in my luggage.

How could I forget?

My palms started to sweat
as I thought about it, how I could just sneak a little bit. That couldn’t hurt
could it? I mean, I was only at the hospital because I got out of control. If I
had a shot or two, that should be fine, right? Just to wean myself off it, just
to wind down.

I tore open the bag and
retrieved the half empty bottle. I squeezed it in my hands, holding it tight,
staring into the caramel colored liquid.

Then a key scraped the
lock and I froze up, the bottle still in my hands. I couldn’t let him see me
like this.

“I’m back,” Hugh
announced as he walked in. He sounded more cheerful. I heard him moving through
the entryway and set a bunch of groceries down on the counter.

I felt like I was stuck,
I was still kneeling over my bag, the rum sloshing in the bottle. Then it was
too late. Hugh walked in and saw me.

“Caitlin?” Hugh’s voice
hardened. “What the hell are you doing?” I spun on my feet and faced him. He
was holding the picture of Marcia in his hand.

I scrambled to try and do
damage control. “Hugh, what...?”

“Are you drinking?” He
rushed up to me and yanked the bottle from my hands. I tried to fight to keep
it from him. He stared at it in disbelief. “What are you doing? Why?”

“No! I was just...
thinking about it.”

“I don’t believe you.” He
looked away from me, staring at the bottle as if he’d never seen it before.
Like he blamed it.

“No! You have to believe
me! I hadn’t taken a single sip! You can smell me!”

“I shouldn’t have to.
It’s bad enough you had to hide it from me, you had to lie to me.” His voice
was rising and his face was turning red. Not so much in anger, but confusion
and frustration.

I stood up and faced him.
“I’m not lying.”

“I’ve been trying my best
to give you space, to help you. I’m sorry if I’ve been off. I’ve been
thinking.” He held up the picture, “Why was this on the floor?”

“Why was it in this
house?”

“You’re being ridiculous.
This can be in my house, she was my wife for fuck’s sake!”