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“Fuck,” she said simply, and she absolutely wasn’t wrong, especially after she asked the next question. “You’ll still have enough for the jet right? With all the other sales?”
Fuck.
“Gonna level with you, Led. It’s not looking good,” I admitted. “By the time I paid off all my fucking bookies, most of that profit was gone, too. I’m not hurting or anything, I’ve still got enough to retire right now if I wanted to, but not enough to blow on a jet I don’t really need.”
The sigh she released was painfully fitting. “I’m sorry, Ol. You started with good news and then it got shitty. Want to go back to the good news? Back to Mama Mia?”
“Hey, me being responsible for once in my life is good news,” I countered. “But speaking of Mama Mia, she really is a mom. I’m crazy about her kid, too. His name is Rio and he’s got the cutest damn ears I’ve ever seen.”
“Ears?” Zeppelin repeated. “That’s so cute. How old is he? Gods, I feel like we’re missing so much. Any chance they’ll move out here? I want to meet this Mia and Rio.”
“He’s six, you are, and probably only in my dreams. Sure as shit not gonna stop me from trying, though. I’ll have to put this place on the market eventually and I’d really rather not come back without them.” I rubbed my chest as it started to ache and I knew I meant that with all of me. “Just gotta keep convincing her.”
“I have to ask. Does Rio have little curls? I won’t tell Charlie about it. I just have to know.”
I’d forgotten completely about the dream my dad had. “Yeah, he does. I don’t have any pictures of him yet but I’ll send you one if it’s okay with Mia.”
“Yeah, ask her first of course. I’m really happy for you, Ollie. Dreams aside, I have a good feeling about this. I know you don’t just fall in love with every girl you date, so I can tell she’s special.” Carl barked in the background, making her cuss like he startled her. “Dog is going to kill me, but he agrees.”
“Smart dog.” I asked for about a dozen pictures of that derpy husky then reluctantly said goodbye to her — I was starting to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to gamble, so I had work to do.
The only Gam-Anon meeting that night was the one too close to the casino and I didn’t want to risk it. I hated that after everything, I still felt this way ... but part of me knew I always would. Despite my two-year anniversary coming and going, I didn’t feel any closer to beating it than I had when Sterling finally told me enough was enough. Addiction wasn’t something with a magic cure. It wasn’t as simple as breaking a bad habit; it would stay with me forever.
But I couldn’t let it win.
Back in Brisley, when I needed help and couldn’t find a meeting, I’d find somewhere to volunteer. Shelters, dog pounds, women’s marches. I’d go read books to kids at the after-school center. Sometimes it was as simple as pulling over when I saw someone in need – changing a tire, giving them a lift, sparing a few bucks for a meal. I once spent an entire afternoon carting around a Girl Scout troupe to help them sell cookies like I was fucking Gru from Despicable Me. My motives might’ve been grey ... but my heart was always in the right place.
Empower others to empower myself.
Since I still wasn’t overly familiar with Domingo despite all the time I’d spent there, I went back to my lonely hotel and Googled events in the town. Sometimes I’d get lucky with a pro-choice rally or a protest against police brutality, or maybe a Pride parade. Something I could get invested in. I’d take water, food, towels, and as much moral support as my 6’4 frame could carry.
No such luck today.
There wasn’t anything at all like that happening in Domingo, so I switched tactics and searched for dog pounds, shelters, and missions. I ended up stumbling upon a soup kitchen within walking distance of my hotel, so I put on some comfortable clothes and my favorite, worn running shoes and jogged down there to see if they needed volunteers.
It warmed my heart a little when they said they thought they were okay, but I offered to mop floors and do dishes instead of serving food and that had them changing their tune. I wasn’t a stranger to this; I knew most people only volunteered for the facetime they’d get with people, for the photo-op. And yes, I was there for that little hit of dopamine that doing something good always gave me ... but I didn’t need to get it by flaunting the fact that I was there. Doing anything at all to help the people who ran that place was good enough to give me what I needed.
So, I mopped. I scrubbed toilets, shined mirrors, tidied the kitchen and disinfected everything in sight. I smelled like lemons, bleach, and sweat by the time that I was done, but fuck, I felt better. I didn’t feel that tug in my gut anymore, that incessant monologue in my head telling me how fun a game of poker would be or how badly I needed money for the jet. It was silent, and I was happy.
Twelve step programs worked for a lot of people.
I found something that worked for me.
“All done?”
I brushed myself off and turned to face the owner, Martin. “I think so, yeah. Got any other projects for me?”
He shook his head with a light smile as he inspected the kitchen. “It looks better in here than it has in months. When can you come back?”
My chest swelled with pride that I tried to dampen a little. “Whenever you need me to. What days are best?”
“This Saturday? We never have enough people on weekends. Might need you to clean, might need you to serve. Can you cook at all?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said quickly. “You probably wouldn’t think it by looking at me right now, but I actually do know how to cook. I can bring stuff, too. Do you need anything? Food, more cleaning supplies? Seems like they’re running a little low, but I never found a stock room or anything so you guys might be set.”
Martin’s face fell. “Donations are low these days. We’ll take anything you’re willing to bring. What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t.” I shook his hand. “I’m Oliver Bishop, but everyone just calls me Ollie. I’m only in town for another month or two, but I’m happy to help where I can.”
“We’re happy to have you. Any chance you can clone yourself?” he laughed. “Government grants dried up two months ago.”
And there it was, that tug in my gut – but not to gamble. “I can’t make any promises about cloning myself, but I’ll see what I can do.”
He saluted me with a smile and left me to finish cleaning up after giving me directions to that storage closet to put everything away, and what I found there made me sad. It was mostly cobwebs with a couple of rusty buckets and a duster that had seen better days, and I had a feeling I’d be back much sooner than Saturday.
I might’ve needed that place, but that place needed me, too.
