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He whistles low under his breath. “He’s got jokes today.”
Walking out into the hall, I spin to face him, spreading my hands. “What can I say? I woke up on the right side of the bed for once.”
Hal grunts at that, fitting his baseball cap over his thick gray hair. “Yeah, and I got laid.” He takes out a pack of Camels, slaps them against his palm, before pulling out two. He hesitates, and cuts me a questioning look. “Smoke?”
I shake my head, waving him off. Reaching into my coat pocket, I grab my tooth picks. “I quit.”
“Right.” He salutes me, and pops a smoke between his lips before shoving the rest back in his pocket. “Power to you,” he mumbles.
It’s been two weeks now since I quit the shit, ever since Abby came up to me one night, shaking me awake, and with those big, blue puppy eyes of hers and told me,“Daddy, you’re gonna die.”
It was creepy, admittedly, seeing as it was after her bedtime, dark, and I’d been nodding off on the couch.
When I asked her what she meant, she pointed to the pack of smokes sitting under my wallet and keys on the coffee table.
Safe to say, I smoked my last one that night on my way home—tossed what was left in the trash. And then first thing the following morning, I drove to town, bought the patch and a surplus of toothpicks, and went to a meeting, knowing I’d need to up my quota now that I’m down another substitute.
It was after Black Diamond that I took up smoking again for the first time since my early twenties. After having spent weeks using another’s body to fulfill the hole left by my addiction, I found myself craving a drink harder than ever.
As if Skyler provided a balm to addiction’s nasty grip on me.
My therapist—the one I started seeing once I got back to Vermont—wasn’t too surprised when I told him how bad off I was. Apparently it’s common in the early days of sobriety to latch onto something new to fill the void. Logically, I knew this, but frankly, I didn’t give two shits.
He was more than that,I remember thinking.
Still, if it wasn’t for my relief over finally getting to see my baby girl, combined with the guilt I still carried like a badge of disgrace, and Mel’s and her parents’ hawk-eyed paranoia, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have ended up drowning myself in a bottle.
Losing Skyler…
It was an ache I never prepared for.
A gaping wound I don’t think I’ll ever be free of.
My newest vice, and a solace all in one.
You could’ve gone after him…
Yeah, well, hindsight’s a bitch.
But that was all then…
And now I’ve got toothpicks, a nail gun, and my grumpy ol’ sponsor to keep me in line when all else fails.
Sticky, heavy heat smacks us upside the face when we push our way outside. Popping a toothpick between my teeth, I lift a hand, blocking out the glare bouncing off a nearby car. The humidity’s been off the charts these last couple days, but they predict it’ll break up some today when it finally rains. By the swell of gray clouds moving in from the distance, it’s looking like we’ll be getting relief sooner rather than later.
“Coffee?” Hal mumbles, cupping his hand around the end of his cigarette. He lights it, puffing pungent smoke in the air. “Sorry,” he mutters, when a slight breeze blows it my way.
“Might as well get used to it.” It’s not like I’m not surrounded by it every day on the job.
He nods, pinching the cigarette before removing it from his mouth. Tipping his head back, he blows smoke up into the air.
We head down a couple blocks toward our favorite diner. Well, the only diner in downtown McKinley. Not that much makes up downtown, save for this single strip of road. McKinley is a fairly big town, spatially, but it’s made up mostly of mountains and farmland and winding backroads that make it very sparsely populated.
The diner is bustling at this time of day, but we arrive just as a family of four vacate the booth closest to the door.
From the speakers, an old folksy song plays, clamoring with the chatter and clinging of dishware.
“Hi, boys,” Tiff says, setting down a couple mugs. She pours out the coffee, smacking away at her gum. “Your usual?”
