When One Door Opens (6 page)

“Maybe you should consider making that a goal for this week,” Kathy said.

Face flushed and eyes too bright, Jeffrey said, “To fuck sober?”

Kathy winced and folded her hands in her lap. “To flirt sober.”

Several members offered to help Jeffrey practice, making him smile and roll his eyes. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur. Some of the members shared stories while others remained quiet. A lot of the same themes were repeated over and over again. The damage the addiction caused was hard to recognize in the moment. Hindsight was a bitch, but hopefully they could avoid repeating the same mistakes.

As Kathy called the meeting to a close, Stacy said, “I gotta run. Give me a call next week and we’ll go to lunch.”

Logan said good-bye and rose. As the members exited the room, he noticed Jeffrey lingering behind as he took his court voucher over for Kathy to sign.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee,” Jeffrey asked, batting his eyelashes enough to make a diva proud.

Logan barked a laugh. “An A+ effort.”

“In that case, you’ll have to say yes.”

There was one fact Logan hadn’t shared yet with anyone in the group but Stacy. Glancing at the paper in his hand, he said, “Court voucher is because I just got out of prison a few weeks ago.”

“DUI?” Jeffrey asked, sounding hopeful.

“A bar fight that turned ugly and I ended up doing a year in the pen.”

Jeffrey swallowed visibly. “I’m sorry.” He looked away. “I feel like a hypocrite but that’s scary stuff.”

“No, that’s your common sense stomping on your libido. It’s making you think.”

Jeffrey didn’t look convinced.

“Mixing two ex-drunks is like drinking that cheap Milwaukee brew and tequila in the same night. The result is bound to be messy.”

Jeffrey smiled weakly. “I’ll see you next week.”

L
OGAN
rapped his knuckles against the door and heard a muffled “It’s open.” Open? Had they been transported to the burbs? After opening the door, he paused in the threshold. He saw Caleb sitting behind the massive desk, typing away on a sleek-looking laptop. His annoyance nearly faltered at the sight, but he stayed frozen in place until Caleb finally dragged his attention away from the computer and looked up. Caleb blinked several times and cocked his head like a floppy-haired retriever.

“Is there a reason this door is unlocked?” More blinking. Logan secured the door and chain with more force than necessary.
I’m not his freaking babysitter
, he reminded himself. This was the second time in the past two weeks he had found the door either unlocked or unchained. Today, both had been true. When he turned around, he found Caleb standing in front of the desk looking like a kid who’d been caught smoking his first cigarette.

“I opened the door when Mrs. Simon brought me her garbage.” Caleb paused, as if only then realizing how strange that sounded. “Marco used to take her trash once a week too since the dumpster cover weighs more than she does.” He licked his lips. “I must’ve forgotten to lock the door again after talking to her.”

“Your uncle might’ve put up the money, but it’s your big brain bringing in the customers. If you can do all that fancy programming stuff, why can’t you remember to lock the door?”

Caleb’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes got all skittery again. “Normally, I lock the door right away, but then I started thinking about you coming by and it must have slipped my mind.”

Logan felt both flattered and horrified by the sentiment. The effect left him a little dizzy. He liked the idea of Caleb trusting him and wanting to see him, probably more than he should. But he was supposed to be helping Caleb, not making it easier for some asshole to walk in and rob the place. “Even in this neighborhood, you need to know who you’re letting inside.”

Caleb nodded distractedly and turned back toward the desk. “Since it looks like you’re keeping the job, I need you to fill out a tax document.” He grabbed a manila folder and directed Logan to take a seat.

Logan sat on the butter-soft leather couch, angling his body toward Caleb when he joined him. “Your uncle said this was off the books.”

“Tax evasion is a federal offense.” Caleb said, his voice filled with reproach. “You can’t afford to take that risk.”

The tone rather than the words catapulted Logan back to his life before prison.
He sounds like Michael.
He shook off the thought, refusing to go there. He needed to focus on the here and now. He certainly didn’t want to do anything to violate his parole agreement, but he was barely getting by now. He paid supervision fees to the state in addition to his living expenses. They had taken his truck and his savings when he’d been convicted in order to pay restitution.
God help me if Uncle Sam takes another cut.
“Can’t I put it off until April? It’s not like I’m bringing in six figures.” In six months, he’d likely have a permanent full-time shift if he managed to avoid doing something stupid.
Like jump his boss’s nephew.

Caleb handed him a half-sheet of paper. “All I need you to do is fill out this W4 form. My uncle promised you a hundred a week. I’ll cover the taxes.”

“More hazard pay?” Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It seemed too much like charity. He doubted Caleb had paid Marco’s taxes, since Klass hadn’t mentioned it.

“It’s not your fault my uncle didn’t think about the tax implications. I also want to give you this.” Caleb handed Logan a sealed envelope with his signature written across the back. “This is a statement of employment for your parole officer.” He handed Logan a sheet of paper. “Here’s your copy. It lets them know you work for me on a part-time basis.”

Logan hadn’t even thought about how he’d explain the job to his PO. His parole agreement required he disclose his job information, but Logan had been reluctant to tell Dabb about it, hoping to put it off until his monthly review. But his PO would likely know the package handler job wasn’t enough to survive on.
Jesus
. He could have screwed himself if Dabb thought he was bringing in money on the side.
He’d think it was drugs. No doubt about it.
Dabb had said to think of him as a stalker. He’d be watching Logan to make sure he followed the conditions of the parole. He could be lurking nearby right now. Logan cleared his throat. “My PO, John Dabb, might want to meet with you. I know he’s planning on seeing Klass this week.”

Caleb’s eyes widened, and he started chewing on a fingernail. “I c-could do that. I l-listed my c-contact information.”

Logan hated hearing how distressed Caleb sounded, knowing he was the cause. A guy trapped in his apartment 24/7 felt sorry enough for him to swallow his own fear. Damned if that didn’t sting. The thought threw him for a moment. He hadn’t realized his pride had survived prison. He hadn’t gotten a spotless record without sacrificing it on a daily basis. His pride was a big part of why he’d ended up there in the first place, refusing to ask for help when he needed it and pretending he had everything under control. He didn’t want to be that man again, but he also didn’t want to be anybody’s charity case, and least of all Caleb’s. The man in question had gone real quiet, likely confused by why his generous offer had been met with brooding. “Appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to owe what I can’t repay.”

“Oh!” Caleb’s arms flew up. “A favor. You could do me a favor, so we’d be even.”

“What favor?”

“Pizza,” he said breathlessly.

“You’re paying my taxes and vouching for me with my PO and a pizza is supposed to make us even?”

Caleb’s stomach grumbled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Not just pizza, but a pie from Nick’s.” He smiled wistfully, likely remembering a past greasy encounter. “My uncle refuses to pick one up for me. Says I have to leave to get it.”

That comment gave Logan pause. He didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of Caleb getting better.
Especially since he’s only doing it to help me.
Klass might have the right idea, seeing how much Caleb seemed to love the food at Nick’s. “Then maybe I shouldn’t either.”

“Oh,” Caleb said, his whole body slumping.

“Here.” Logan held out the envelope.

Caleb pushed the envelope toward Logan. “Keep it.”

Logan opened his mouth to object, but Caleb beat him to it. “I’m sure there’s something else you can help me with….” Logan could hear the wheels squealing in Caleb’s head as he struggled to find a way to soothe his wounded pride. It was painful to watch. Even more so because Caleb had so obviously abandoned his own disappointment, seeming to care more about figuring out a way to help Logan. He was pretty sure a puppy kicker would be giving him reproachful looks right about now. He didn’t know how the hell Klass had resisted.

“Couldn’t hurt to get pizza this one time.”

Caleb gave him a dazzling smile, leaving Logan feeling breathless.

Logan cleared his throat. “Nick’s, you said?” The name sounded familiar. “That the place where the pizza makers’ shirts are covered in sauce?”

Caleb bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s the one!”

Logan remembered going there years ago. He’d been vaguely disturbed by the place. He recalled the food being good, but the flamboyant pizza makers were a little freaky. They looked like they were murdering the pizzas instead of baking them. Of course, he had been smashed at the time, so that might have been it. “Plenty of places around here that deliver.” He wasn’t surprised when Caleb scoffed at the idea. Caleb knew his food and wouldn’t settle for what he’d deemed mediocre pizza. He pulled an advertisement from a drawer on the coffee table and Logan punched in the number.

“What do you want?”

“A large—no, make that an extra-large pepperoni pizza.” He tugged Logan’s arm. “Do you like pepperoni?”

Logan grinned in response. The restaurant answered the call, and he placed Caleb’s order. He snapped the phone closed. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.”

“Thank you.” Caleb looked at his lap. “I know my uncle means well, but he acts like I can just flip a switch and turn the panic off.” He removed a piece of lint off his sweatpants. “Like I’m just being stubborn or something. I know I’m not doing as much as I should to get better, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make the fear disappear.”

“Do they really have agoraphobic group meetings?”

Caleb looked puzzled for a moment and then gave a sad smile. “I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing they do. Most people with the phobia have trouble going out or to certain places alone, but refusing to go out at all is pretty rare.”

Logan sometimes forgot Caleb never went out. Stupid, considering it was why he had a job. Caleb acted normal for the most part, but staying inside for three years wasn’t normal. The glassy-eyed head cases that lived in Logan’s complex seemed to have more obvious problems, but he wondered if that was true. They, at least, were trying to recover as a condition of living at the halfway house.

“Can I ask what an AA meeting is like?”

“There’s different formats, but the one I go to is about twenty people, all guys except for my sponsor, Stacy, and this perky soccer mom I never woulda pegged as an alky. We sit in a big circle and the leader has us go through the AA literature. Then people take turns talking about what’s going on in their lives. The successes and the stumbles.”

“Does everybody talk?”

“You don’t have to, but it helps. They understand in a way no one else can. You ever talk to another agoraphobic before?”

Caleb shook his head. “I’ve gone to an online bulletin board a few times, but never posted.” He looked at his clenched hands. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“In AA, they always want to know your story. Can you tell me how it started? Or would that freak you out?” When Caleb narrowed his eyes, Logan covered his face with his hands. “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”

Pulling his hands from his face, Caleb said, “You really are,” but his voice was light and teasing.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Caleb made his way into the kitchen and pulled two bottles of water from the fridge. He settled back on the couch and handed Logan a drink. “The first time it happened was during my freshman year at college. I’d been marathon studying, guzzling coffee, and stressing out about final exams. One minute I was sitting in the library with a calculus book on my lap and in the next, I was huddled under a desk, feeling more afraid than I had in my whole life.” He unscrewed the top of his bottle and took a sip of water. “My heart felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. I clung to that book, thinking that if I started going crazy, I’d hit myself over the head to knock myself out. Somehow that was a comforting thought because it meant I might be able to stop those awful feelings.” He looked at the bottle and started peeling off the label. “I shook off the experience and the concerned library aide, telling her and myself I wouldn’t put my body through that kind of physical stress again. A month later, it happened again. I stopped going to the library.”

“Did you get any help?”

“Not until my junior year.” His eyes grew distant like he was being sucked back to that time. “I’d go to the cafeteria and see students standing in line and sitting at tables and I just couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I tried going during off times and that helped sometimes but not enough. I couldn’t afford to buy my own food, so I started losing weight.” His hand moved to his stomach, rubbing back and forth seemingly unconsciously. The ill-fitting sweats and T-shirts were starting to make sense. The thought of Caleb being skinny enough for them to fit made Logan’s gut clench.

“One of the lunch ladies followed me back to my dorm room after an aborted attempt to go into the cafeteria. This old lady in a hairnet muscled her way into my room and started talking about how anorexia wasn’t just for girls.” He rolled his eyes, but his expression was fond. “She was the first person I told and she was really great about it. She arranged to have meals bagged for me and I could pick them up at the back entrance to the cafeteria. She slipped in pamphlets from the campus wellness center. It was a while before I could bring myself to see the counselors. They sent me straight to the hospital when they learned my mother had had heart problems all her life. When the tests all came back normal, I almost didn’t go back to the wellness center, but I knew I needed help if I was going to graduate. I couldn’t face the idea of telling my mom I’d failed because I was too afraid to go to class. They helped me enough to graduate.”