For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) (18 page)

After a hundred years, what would the world look like? Would you be so jaded and destroyed by the tragedies you’ve witnessed that you’d have no faith left in anything? Or would you be amazed at the miraculous way life goes on in spite of all the bad stuff? The way human beings continue to fall in love, have children, give of themselves day after day, century after century, no matter what setbacks they endure personally or as a race. I wish I had the strength to endure in this battle I’ve fought for nearly two years now, but I don’t.

The pain is too much, the loss too profound. I’ve yearned for an escape for so long now, and finding Tammy again has only made it worse. It’s reminded me of what I don’t have, what I can’t have any longer, and it’s like someone has gutted me with a dull blade. I want it to stop, even if just for a few hours. I want the pain to stop. I want the yearning to stop. I want my world to stop. I crack open the seal on the bottle and lift it to my lips. I can smell the pungent, burning scent of the eighty-proof alcohol. I inhale a long, calming breath, feeling better from just smelling the damn stuff. Then I tip my head back against the rough bark of the old tree, wrap my lips around the bottle, close my eyes, and finally let go.

T
HERE’S SUNLIGHT
shining in my eyes, and whatever I’m lying on is hard. I mumble and turn my head, rolling onto my side so the light isn’t as intense. I take a deep breath and smell fresh-cut grass. It’s nice. I settle in to go back to sleep. I feel fine, the constant agitation and pain that’s plagued me for months has finally receded. I’ve missed this, this feeling of good. It’s so nice not to have to experience every single fucking thing so intensely. This is much better, just easy and smooth. I think I could actually manage in the world if I could feel like this all the time. I don’t have the urge to hurt anyone or beat my head against the nearest wall. What a fucking relief.

In the distance, I can hear car doors slamming and a lawn mower somewhere too. I briefly wonder what day it is but quickly remind myself that I don’t give a shit. Days, hours, dark, light—whatever. It doesn’t matter because I feel like myself for the first time in I can’t remember when. Right now, my only complaint in life is that whatever I’m lying on is shorter than I am so I can’t stretch out fully, which kind of sucks. But I’ll take it. I’ll take all of it.

I’ll take the good. I’ve always been
good
with the good.

Tammy

M
Y PHONE
is ringing and it won’t stop. I finally rouse myself enough to reach over to the nightstand and grab it.

"Hello?" I mumble.

"Is he with you?" It’s Mike, and he’s his usual charming self.

"What?" I try to open my eyes and get my bearings.

"Walsh, dammit. Is he with you?"

I look around the room, finally remembering the night before—making love here in the darkness. I’m alone, utterly alone. My heart sinks. "No. He’s not here and his clothes are gone. He didn’t call you for a ride?"

"If he did, would I be calling you?"

Okay. Point taken.

"Do you think he tried to walk home?" I ask as I stand and look around the floor for some clothes to put on.

"I don’t know, but I don’t have a good feeling, Tam. I told you to fucking leave him alone, but would you listen? No. Because you always have to impose your damn will on everyone. If something’s happened to him, this is on you. He was getting better. Fuck."

I’ve managed to struggle into a pair of yoga pants and flip-flops now, and I huddle in the middle of the room, covering my breasts with my arms even though no one can see me. I feel the sting of Mike’s words, and I wonder if he could be right. God, if anything’s happened to Walsh, I don’t know what I’ll do.

"Look, you start on the road into town. I’ll go drive around the neighborhood and we’ll meet up here at my place in thirty minutes, all right?"

"Yeah," he snaps before he hangs up.

I scramble into a bra and t-shirt before racing down the stairs and out to my rental car, bargaining with God the whole way. I’ll agree to anything as long as Walsh is okay.

I
T’S AN
hour later when Mike and I, now both in his truck, see the figure sleeping on the bench in City Park.

"There," Mike announces, pointing.

"Is that a person?" I ask, squinting.

"It’s definitely a person.”.

Dammit.

We pull up to the curb, and Mike leaves the car in a loading zone. We jump out and speed-walk through the park. It’s a lovely day, the sun is out, and the birds are singing. People are streaming into the Baptist church across the street, all dressed in their Sunday best. It’s like a parade of pastel. Out of all that pastel, it occurs to me that this is Easter Sunday, a day of new beginnings—birth, resurrection, the resurgence of life on Earth. I’ve been so lost in all the drama in my life that I completely forgot. As we get closer to the park bench, my heart beats triple time, and as much as I try to deny it, I already know the outcome of this morning’s search.

He’s asleep, his face so peaceful and beautiful that it’s hard to believe he’s the mess he is. The bottle of Jim Beam is still lying next to the bench, and I’m crushed to see that it’s completely empty, as if that even matters. A drop, a pint, a gallon—it’s all the same to an alcoholic. He made it nearly two years. Nearly two years and now he starts at ground zero all over again. It’s more than I can take.

"Oh God, no," I sob. "Oh, Walsh. Why?"

Mike actually looks at me with some sympathy. "Let’s get him sobered up, and then we can talk about the whys and what to do next."

I nod, tears running down my face.

Mike leans down and shakes Walsh. "Walsh. Rise and shine, buddy."

Walsh mumbles something and tries to shake Mike off.

"Nope. Come on, dude. Time to get up. You’ve fucked up and now you have to face the music. Up and at ‘em."

Walsh opens one eye and squints at Mike. "I’m doing good, thanks. Now fuck off."

"Nope. Get up," Mike continues as he yanks on Walsh’s arm and pulls him into a sitting position.

Walsh leans back against the bench and rubs his eyes. When he opens them again, he sees me, and I can tell he’s trying to remember what happened.

The moment it all clicks, his expression darkens and he puts his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. "Fuck," he mutters.

Not exactly the reaction a girl hopes for when a guy realizes he slept with her.

"Let’s go, dude," Mike says as he leans down and takes a hold of Walsh’s arm again. "Time to hit the diner and sober up."

Walsh nods. "I fucked up, man."

"Yeah, we know."

"I really fucked up."

Walsh

I
GAZE
across the little patch of lawn at Tammy’s tear-streaked face, and my heart shatters. Everything I’ve worked for, all the time I’ve spent fighting this fucking demon that lives inside me—wasted, blown to hell, burned to ashes in one incredibly fucked-up ball of flames.

I’m so ashamed that I can’t even look at her. My disappointment in her, in me, in the complete clusterfuck that is my life took me back to the one thing I vowed I’d never give in to again. I’ve failed at the only thing I was succeeding at in the last twelve months. I’m not a musician anymore. I’m barely a friend. I’m not a fiancé or a lover. But goddammit, I was at least Walsh Clark, the recovering alcoholic, and now I’m not even him. Now I’m Walsh Clark, the drunk again, and I am eviscerated. Sliced in half, from dick to heart, my ugly underbelly flayed open for the world to see. For Tammy to see.

For me to see.

Tammy

M
IKE TAKES
Walsh into the diner to eat and clean up a little. Meanwhile, I do what I always do—make the arrangements. I call Ronny and Leanne from the parking lot to tell them what’s happened. Technically, anyone who wants to stay at the Double A needs to have been dry for at least ninety days. Walsh no longer meets those parameters. Ronny’s going to think about what he’s willing to do, and he’ll talk to Walsh when Walsh gets back to the ranch.

Everyone agrees that I can’t come back to work at the Double A. It’s pretty obvious that I’m detrimental to Walsh’s recovery. My heart is breaking into a million pieces, but I know I have to leave town. I can’t bear the idea of going back to Portland though. I don’t know where my life should be right now, or what it should be, but Portland isn’t it.

When Mike and Walsh come out an hour later, Walsh is subdued, his disappointment in himself written all over his face. He stands a few yards away as Mike and I talk about what happens next.

I tell Mike about the conversation with Ronny.

"If Ronny won’t take him back I’ll take him to Cedar Valley and we’ll put him back in rehab. He can’t go to Portland and he can’t be by himself," Mike says decisively.

I nod, the threat of tears lingering behind my eyes again. "I’ll pay for whatever he needs. It’s his money anyway. And I’ll stay out of the way completely. I mean it, Mike. Anything he needs." I choke up at the next words. "You’re in charge. You’re who he needs. Please just tell me how I can help."

He nods, his face grim but determined.

"Can I talk to you about
my
plans?" I ask.

Mike nods at me although his body language says that he doesn’t particularly want to listen.

"I can’t go back to Portland. Not right now. But I know I need to stay clear of Walsh. I want to take Jenny to Dallas and Austin and see if I can get her booked into some venues. I’ve got plenty of contacts I can start calling to get hooked up with club managers. They’ll want to hear her sing and see her first, so I need her with me."

Mike glances over at Walsh, who’s now lying down on the hood of my rental car, which we picked up on our way over here. He’s on his back, arms thrown out to the sides in a gesture of complete hopelessness.

"No," he growls. "I don’t want you involved in Jenny’s career. Your habit of steamrolling everything and everyone is dangerous. I don’t trust your judgment at this point. Jenny’s got a really bright future, and I want to make sure there aren’t any bumps on the road for her. You’re a risk. One I’m not willing to let her take."

The after-church crowd is starting to show up for Easter brunch, and I see the townspeople looking suspiciously at the three of us as they walk through the parking lot on their way into the diner.