Scars from a Memoir (32 page)

“No, it fits my story perfectly.”

“Are you sure?”

I put my hand on his and squeezed his fingers. “I'm sure.”

My cell rang, and I glanced around the room, trying to find where I had left it.

“It's next to the fridge,” Mark said.

It was Allison. “Is everything OK?” I asked, moving into the living room for privacy.

“I've been thinking about you since you left my office, and I came up with an idea. But first I want to ask—what's keeping you in Boston? Is it this job? Because if I were you, I'd want a fresh start.”

Her question surprised me. Allison was my boss, and I didn't want to say the wrong thing. I didn't want to lie, either; I hadn't prepared an answer.

“The job is part of it, of course. I don't want to lose this opportunity because I think it's something I'd be good at. Then there's Mark. His business is here, and he can't move away. But even if I did want to leave, I don't have a place to go.”

“What if you did have a place to go? Would that change your mind?”

“It might.”

“We have a sister facility in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and they're looking to hire a housemother for a new sober living apartment. It would be free room and board, a salary, and benefits. The contract would stay the same. During the day, you would work your hours at the rehab center, and they'd hire you full-time after you receive your certificate.”

“Do they know about my relapse?” Such a position required at least two years of sobriety. Even if the basement hadn't happened, I still wasn't close to that.

“I've explained everything to them, and they're willing to make an exception. They think you'd be an incredible mentor to their patients, and I agree.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Given the recent events, I don't want you to feel stuck. You need to choose what's best for you, and having options will allow you to do that.”

“How much time do I have to decide?”

“They're opening the apartment in about a month, so I'd say a week or two. We can discuss it when you come in, if you want.”

I told her I'd see her on Monday and thanked her before she hung up. I set the phone down and glanced through the living room door at the faces around the kitchen table. No matter where I lived, Jesse would always be in my life. He had become part of my family. Asher would always be a text message away, but our friendship would never be more than that. Mark was the only thing keeping me here. We had talked about marriage and kids, and those were things we both wanted. We couldn't have that if I moved to Florida. And it wasn't fair to ask him to give up everything he had built in Boston.

I knew what would happen between us if I took the job, yet something inside me was telling me to do it. It wasn't because I didn't care about Mark or that my feelings weren't genuine. It wasn't because I'd repaired things with my parents and Bangor was only a four-hour drive from them.

The book lay in the middle of the table and caught my attention. Most of my past was written on those pages, and everywhere I went in the city, I was reminded of those days. There had been consequences for every decision I'd made. I'd served those punishments, and Allison had rewarded me. I couldn't escape the memories of the track. But I could leave those triggers behind.

-37-

MARK PULLED INTO MY PARENTS' DRIVEWAY and put the car in park. Jesse was the first to get out, and Mark met him at the trunk. Since we'd gotten off at my parents’ exit, things had been pretty quiet. I had turned down the music, and the conversation I'd been having with Jesse sort of died off. They unloaded our bags; Mark opened my door.

“I'll meet you inside,” I said.

The look he gave me told me he knew I needed a minute alone, and he pecked my lips. Jesse squeezed my shoulder, and they walked up to the front door. Mark must have said something to my mom because she closed the door behind them.

I hadn't been to my parents’ house since I'd moved to Boston nine-and-a-half years ago. I'd visited Bangor once during those years to go to Eric's funeral. I'd stayed only one night, and that short time had been one messed-up trip. I'd gotten drilled and mocked by my old high school friends, I shot up in the park with Renee, and I got into a fight with my parents at Eric's service. I deserved all that. I was sick and high, living with my dealer, and letting him screw me so I could get free dope. I was in a better place now, but that didn't make this trip any easier.

Their house looked the same: white siding that was a little aged, blue shutters that Dad had painted over the summer, a brick box on the roof for the fireplace that was never used. Dark orange and red fall flowers were planted next to the row of shrubs. The first two windows on the main floor looked into the kitchen. Jesse and Mark sat at the table, and Mom handed them something to drink. There
were three windows on the second floor; the one on the left was my parents’ bedroom, the middle one the bathroom, and the last was Michael's room.

The driver's side opened and Mom got in. She placed a bottle of water on my lap and put her arm around me. “Thanks for coming, pumpkin; it means so much to Daddy and me.”

I took off my seatbelt and moved closer, resting my head against her chest. “This is a lot.”

“I know, baby, but you need this. We all need this.”

This trip wasn't just for my dad's retirement party. It was also about visiting Eric's parents and his grave. Michael's grave as well. I'd been putting it off since I'd gotten off probation. I wasn't ready to see where he had been put to rest. But because of Allison's offer, whichever one I chose, I didn't know when I'd have the time off to come here again.

“I offered the boys lunch, but they want to wait for you,” she said. “Why don't you come inside and have some of the hot clam chowder I made. Then you can get unpacked and take a nice, long bath before the party tonight.”

She kissed me on the forehead, and I followed her up the path to the front door. The furniture in the entryway and living room hadn't changed: Nana's old couches that my mom had reupholstered, and a cabinet where they used to keep all our school projects.

Dad stood from the table, and I walked into his arms. “We're so happy you're here, baby.”

I squeezed even tighter.

Mom moved over to the stovetop and began to scoop chowder into three bowls.

“None for me, thanks,” I said.

“You're not hungry, Cole?” Mom asked.

I shook my head. “I think I'm going to take a nap. I'll eat when I wake up.”

She nodded, and I knew she understood. Before any food hit my stomach, there was something I needed to do.

“I'll come check on you after I eat,” Mark said.

Jesse winked at me, and I walked up the stairs. The first door at the top was the bathroom. Mom had placed three hand towels next
to the sinks, three toothbrushes in their plastic wrapping, mini-bottles of mouthwash and floss. She had always done that whenever guests stayed at our house. Without looking in Michael's bedroom, I stepped into mine. She had redone everything: replaced the pink carpeting with a medium blue and painted the walls a light yellow. My posters, pictures, and framed certificates were gone, and canvases of flowers hung instead. The only piece of furniture that had stayed was my old bed, but a yellow-and-blue comforter took the place of my pink-and-black one.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and backed up into the hallway. My fingers clasped the doorframe, and I leaned against the wood. Michael's room had been completely redone too. Once, it had been painted red and navy, the colors of the Boston Red Sox, and his comforter and drapes were tiled with their logo. Now the paint and decorations matched those of my room, and all his furniture was gone.

The window seat was filled with pillows, but when Michael and I were young, he had built an army of figurines on that ledge. Once in a while, he'd let me clear off the seat, and we'd peg water balloons at the neighborhood kids. At the far end of his room was a door that led to the attic. We used to play up there on the weekends—set up a tent and camp out, pretending it was our own apartment. We'd even cooked on a little oven that I'd gotten for Christmas one year.

When Dad would get home from work, we used to hide behind Michael's pants and surprise him as he opened the door. We did it every night for a whole year. We had so much fun covering ourselves with his clothes and trying not to laugh and give away our hideout.

“It's changed a lot, hasn't it?” Dad asked from behind me. I moved over so he could stand next to me in the doorway.

“There's nothing left of him.”

That was, except for a few framed pictures on the dresser. There was one of the two of us at his college graduation and another of him and my parents.

“Your mother thought it would be easier that way. He's in all our hearts, Cole, and that's the most important place for him to be.”

“I hear him, Dad, all the time. His voice has helped me get out of some dark places.”

“He talks to me, too.” He rested his arms around my neck, and I leaned into him. “I'm glad he's here to help you. We're so proud of you, baby, and we're excited for all the things you have coming up.”

I hadn't told anyone about Florida. I didn't want to be influenced. I wanted the decision to be my own, and I had to make it soon; I was supposed to meet with Allison in three days. My parents were really happy when I went back to school and finished my courses after the basement. They said this career was the best thing for me.

“You're going to make a difference in a lot of people's lives,” Dad had said.

“I hope so.”

I took a final look around Michael's room before my dad closed the door.

*   *   *

I lay in my old bed, Mark sleeping next to me, and I counted the popcorn on the ceiling. The streetlamp shone through the blinds and off the mirrored doors of the closet. The light wasn't keeping me awake; neither was my father's snoring, which I could hear through the wall. My body was tired, but I couldn't shut my brain off.

Dad's retirement party had lasted until midnight, and I'd eaten more there than I had in the past week. He had worked at the
Bangor Daily News
for over forty years, and they threw him a really nice celebration, with catered food and champagne. It was a relief to have the attention off me, for someone else in my family to be recognized in a ceremony. I had expected nasty glares from Dad's coworkers; everyone in town knew about Michael's death and my arrest. What I didn't expect were hugs and words of congratulations on my sobriety; I got plenty of that. Some people even shared stories with me about their kids and other family members in Acadia Hospital for addiction. Weed had always been big in Bangor, but the harder drugs had moved in and were doing damage. I listened and gave the best advice I could. Besides staying strong, not enabling, and joining a support group, there wasn't anything they could do. It was up to the addict. I was proof of that.

Mom had gotten rid of the TV in my room, and I couldn't take all the quiet. When I was a kid and had a hard time sleeping, I'd
wake Michael up and we'd go down to the basement. There was something about that room that always gave me comfort. It was cozy, the blanket Mom had knitted was snug, and we got every channel on the big-screen TV. Sleep wasn't coming anytime soon, so I gently climbed out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Jesse sat at the table holding a mug of tea.

“Take a seat,” he said. “I'll make you a cup.”

When we had gotten back from the party, Mom had offered to make up a bed on the couch downstairs so Jesse didn't have to sleep in Michael's room. Jesse had said he would be fine. Clearly, he wasn't.

He handed me a mug and sat down next to me. “Feel like talking about it?”

“Not really; do you?”

He shook his head. Neither of us could wait for this trip to be over.

“Something else is bothering you,” he said. “You've been a little off since Asher showed you the book cover.”

Jesse was right, but it wasn't the book cover that was bothering me. It was what had happened right after—the phone call. Even though something was telling me to take the job in Florida, I couldn't make a decision. I didn't know what was best for me. But maybe he would. Michael had always given me good advice, and he and Jesse were so much alike. I told him everything about the meeting I'd had with Allison and our phone conversation the next day.

“I think you should go,” he said.

“Just like that?”

“I know why you've stayed in Boston for this long, but you have to get out. Besides Mark, Asher, and me, nothing good has happened to you there.”

“But what about Mark?”

“I'm not telling you to give up your relationship. I think Mark is perfect for you, but you can't stay because of him.”

“I would stay for both of you.”

He smiled and brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “You're not going to lose me; you know that. As for Mark, he knows your past is holding on to you, preventing you from being the woman we both know you can be.”

I took a sip of the tea. The knot in my throat was making it hard to swallow, so I swished it around in my mouth.

“Allison is offering a place for you to stay, a salary, and benefits, and you're going to have a counseling job once you're done with your hours. You're getting everything you want, Cole.”

“Everything except Mark.”

“Who says you can't have him too?”

“He's not going to leave Boston.”

“Maybe not now, but that doesn't mean he won't leave in the future. Have you asked him?”

I shook my head. “I haven't told anyone but you. I planned on telling him this weekend, but I have to get through today first.”

He stuck out his hand, and I grabbed it. “It's time you do something for
you
.”

*   *   *

The five of us got out of my dad's car and followed the sidewalk behind the line of trees. Past the entrance, there were more trees scattered throughout the grass and a light blanket of leaves on the ground. I shivered from the breeze and pulled my jacket tighter. I'd had a sweater on this morning, but changed into a button-down; then I put on a cotton long-sleeve. I couldn't decide what to wear, and everyone had been waiting for me downstairs. This wasn't Michael's funeral, but I'd been in jail for the real one; it was his funeral to me.