“But it’s over,” I told my pathetic reflection. The fluorescent light caught the glint in my eyes that was dimmed but not snuffed. “You did it, and it’s over.”
Not quite. A small voice warned that I’d have to fight against the urge to drink for the rest of my life, but for the first time in a long time, I thought I had a chance.
I shuddered as the shower loosened my stiff, aching limbs. My skin felt paper thin, my muscles weak. Dried off, I put on a fresh pair of sweatpants and the oldest, softest T-shirt I owned. I dragged a brush through my hair until my arm protested, then gave myself one last look in the bathroom mirror.
Dark circles, sallow skin, bloodshot eyes.
A definite improvement.
Theo was still asleep as I slipped past the living room to the kitchen. A glance at the stove clock said it was after eleven a.m. I began making coffee as quietly as I could, but as I flicked on the faucet, he stirred and sat up, scratching his face and blinking.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” My voice felt like sandpaper against my throat.
Theo watched me closely. “How’re you feeling?”
I forced my own small smile. “Like a truck hit me, threw it in reverse and backed over me to finish the job.”
As he stood up and stretched, I reached in a cabinet for a canister of coffee, while my mind reached into the blurry mess of the last few days, trying to sort the memories out. My hands shook as I struggled to separate one coffee filter from the stack.
“Here, let me.” Theo got up and joined me in the kitchen.
“I’m weak as hell,” I said, my cheeks burning with shame. “I wore myself out taking the shower and wrestling with my hair.”
“But you did it.”
I looked up at him. He practically filled my entire kitchen and yet I still couldn’t believe he was here. Solid and real, not a figment of my alcohol-drowned imagination.
“Sit,” he said, his large hand gentle on my shoulder. “I got this.”
I shuffled out of the kitchen and fell into the easy chair facing the couch. My body hugged around a pillow while Theo moved around my kitchen like he lived here.
“At the risk of sounding like an idiot, when did you arrive in New Orleans?”
“Five days ago,” Theo said.
I shook my head, incredulous. “Five days and they’re all a blur.” I looked over at him. “How did you know where to find me?”
“The bartender from Le Chacal called me,” Theo said, pouring water into the coffeemaker. “Mike. Big E. He overheard you talking tattoos with some guy, and you kept repeating the name Teddy.”
“And you dropped everything and flew halfway across the country.”
The first scent of brewing coffee curled around the air. I hugged the pillow tighter as Theo came to sit on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t,” he said, waving his hand.
“I have to,” I said, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand. “I have so much to be sorry for. Need to start somewhere.”
“Start later,” Theo said. “Right now, you should try to eat something. I wasn’t able to get more than a few cups of water in you all this time, which is why you feel weak. Is there a place around here you like?”
“Rooney’s Cafe. It’s a diner about a three-block walk from here. I stumbled in a couple of times when the booze made me crave greasy food.”
“I’ll get us something from there,” he said, heading back to the kitchen. “You mind if I take a quick shower first?”
“No. Go ahead.”
