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“Is this a bribe?” I almost laughed.
“No, I’m assuming I don’t have to bribe you.” John frowned. “You’re not going to Dad on your own without me, are you?”
“No, I’m…not.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m just trying to understand why you don’t want to tell him.”
“TJ, listen.” John took my arm. “If we tell him, he’ll never retire, so I’ll have to leave the firm and start my own.”
“Then that’s what should happen.”
“You think that would be a friendly parting of the ways? Knowing Dad? Knowing me? It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“So be it.”
“What aboutMom?” John’s gaze connected with mine, and I knew instantly what he meant, even if he was bluffing. If he left the firm, it would kill my mother. She saw the business as a future for us. She believed in Keeping The Family Together.
I sighed, giving in.
Chapter Fourteen
I got home, dropped my keys on the counter, and crossed reflexively to the refrigerator, following a route as fixed as a flight path, a habit of coming home and getting a beer. I opened the door and stood in its cool rhomboid of light.
This was The Moment.
Rehab teaches you to watch your behavior and interrupt your triggers, and this was my moment of truth, especially in my current mood. For most people, refrigerators don’t qualify as the enemy, but mine was out to get me.
Feel bad? Have a beer.
Feel good? Have a beer.
I didn’t buy beer anymore, only green bottles of San Pellegrino water, but that didn’t matter in The Moment. I could turn around, go out again, and ruin everything. I breathed through The Moment, letting it pass over and somehow through me.
I grabbed a bottle of water, cracked the cap, and took a swig, feeling like I saved my own life, which I had in a way. Churchill said,When you’re going through hell, keep going. He was referring to World War II, but it also applied to Miller Lite.
I eyed the refrigerator shelves, stocked with healthy foods. Therewere leafy heads of romaine, strawberry yogurts, broccoli, wrapped wild-caught salmon, and fresh dill. I’d learned that I like to cook, plus it gave me something to do in the kitchen other than drink. I grabbed a yogurt, then closed the door, found a spoon, and made a point of sitting down at the table. It seemed silly, but mindfulness meant the difference between order and chaos, sobriety and drinking. The world may think I’d relapsed, but I knew I hadn’t.
I drank my water at the table and looked out the window. The lights were off in the houses across the street, all an older tract design with clapboard siding and a brick foundation. I lived on the first floor of the house, and the apartment upstairs was a pied-à-terre for a couple who visited their grandkids in town.
I ate my yogurt and hoped the sugar would improve my mood. I worried John could be in danger and I was still mad at him for the relapse story, but now I had to buy in. My mother didn’t need more heartache from me.
I looked out the window idly, then spotted something odd. There was a dark sedan parked down the street in front of my neighbors, the DeGennaros, but it wasn’t theirs. I’d never seen the car before and I knew my neighbors’ cars because everybody parked in the driveway, and if they had a second car, they parked it in front of their house. Nobody ever parked in front of somebody else’s house.
I scanned the car, maybe a Hyundai. It was parked facing me, but I couldn’t identify the model. I couldn’t see if anyone was sitting in the car because there were no streetlights or ambient lighting. I tried to remember if it had been there when I’d come home, but I didn’t know. I wondered if it had followed me home from John’s.
I slid my phone from my pocket and pretended to make a call. I faked a laugh, then started taking pictures of the Hyundai. I pretended to hang up and set the phone down, then rose with my phone and yogurt, crossed to the kitchen, and turned off the light.
I sneaked back to the window in darkness, out of sight. If the Hyundai stayed, I was paranoid. If it didn’t, I was in trouble.
I waited, watching. Five minutes passed, and I was about to shrug it off when the Hyundai started its engine and cruised down the street in my direction.
I ducked aside so its driver couldn’t see me. The Hyundai passed my house, and I started taking pictures.
It was a black Hyundai Elantra, two-door, older.
The Hyundai reached the corner and turned left, vanishing.
I hurried to my laptop to download the pictures, so I could see them better.
I hoped for a license plate.
