Her expression softened, turned compassionate—rather than judgmental. “Lucas, you have to know I’ve at least suspected that you’re...um…”
“An alcoholic,” I finished for her.
She nodded. “Yeah.” Her eyes pierced mine, scrutinizing. “Are you…are you in treatment of any kind?”
I fished my year coin out of my pocket and handed it to her. “Clean a year. Go to AA meetings once or twice a month, just to stay accountable.”
She nodded, examining the coin before handing it back, not looking at me, head down. “That’s good.”
I eyed her. “Don’t wimp out on me, now, Liv.”
Her head whipped up, eyes lasering on mine. “I’m not wimping out, I’m…piecing things together.”
“Piecing what together?”
“What you’ve told me, and what you haven’t.” She paused. “So the wreck…”
I nodded. “I was wasted,” I admitted, voice low and tense. “I…well, it’s a long fuckin’ story. And, if you want to talk about time sober, I was actually sober almost a year, and then I relapsed. Been another year. So two, total, just with a bit of a fuckup in there.” I growled. “One bad trip down memory lane was all it took to put me right back at the bottom of the bottle, and now…” I trailed off.
“And now, what?”
“Here I am, ground zero for memory lane. And honestly, staying sober would be a fuckuva lot easier if I wasn’t livinghere.”
“It’s hard?” she asked, her eyes softer and more understanding than my sins deserved.
I nodded. “Yeah. Every single fucking day, I think, ‘shit, I need a drink,’ just to try to stay above the memories.”
Her head tipped to one side. “Stay above the memories.”
“Yeah. I just mean—”
She cut in. “Oh, no. I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean.” She was silent a moment. “I used to be treading water in the middle of an ocean of memories, and losing the battle to stay afloat.”
“How’d you get out? I mean, you seem like you’re not in that anymore.”
“I moved here,” she said. “I was still living in the home Darren and I had built together—and I mean that literally. He and I hired a builder, but we were involved every step of the way. I helped build the frame, pour the foundation, hang the drywall, install lighting, paint, hang cabinets…everything. It wasourhome from the ground up. I hung every picture, chose every cabinet pull and light fixture, painted every wall…withhim. And then he was gone. My kids were gone, moved out and living their own lives, and I was alone in that house. Alone with the memories.”
“So you moved here?”
She shrugged. “Darren and I had gone on an Alaskan cruise, and spent a few nights here in Ketchikan. It was…it was actually the last trip he and I took together. He hadn’t really liked it here very much, but I had. He was always more of a homebody and a city sort of person. He was happiest sitting outside at a downtown cafe somewhere, sipping espresso and eating crepes. Whereas I was always more at home…” She waved a hand around us. “Out here.”
“Opposites, huh?”
She rolled a shoulder. “Sort of, in some ways.” A hesitation. “He would never have wanted to move here, but the moment we stepped off the ship I was in love with this place. I loved every single minute we spent here and was actually truly sad to get back on the ship and continue with the cruise. I just felt at home here, immediately. Eventually, of course, the cruise ended and we went back home, and I daydreamed about living here, even though I knew Darren would never go for it. Just like I would never go for his dream of getting a little condo in uptown Manhattan. He talked about that, and I talked about a little log house in the mountains somewhere, and were trying to figure out how to compromise when he retired and we were ready to sell our house and move.”
I couldn’t help a laugh of bitterness. “I have the opposite problem. My boys moved here after discovering they had family here. I…well, I had this idea of doing some traveling again. I’d gotten sober after the heart attack, and the boys actually got a little sneaky, sold the trailer and the ten and a half acres I owned out from under me, bought me a truck and a little used Airstream. I was almighty pissed at first, actually,” I said, laughing in amusement this time. “But then I hit the road and was thankful they’d forced my hand, or I’d never have left Oklahoma. I’d have been stuck there forever.”
“So they did you a favor.”
I laughed again. “Yep. I’m…well, I can be a little contrary sometimes.”
“No, really?” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
“Ha ha,” I intoned drily.
“But then?”
I lifted a shoulder, flexing my knee again. “I was on the road for most of a year, just bumming around the country. Went over through Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, up the coast to Maine, back down through New York and the Midwest, stopped for a while in Jackson Hole, and then headed up toward the Pacific Northwest. I was able to live off the proceeds of the sale of the trailer and acreage and not touch my retirement or savings, which was nice.” I paused. Thinking. Trying to avoid having to remember too much. “I, um…I was doing great, you know? Feeling good, sober, seeing the country again. Out of Oklahoma, and feeling like maybe I had a handle on life for the first time in a long time.”
