Riven (39 page)

“But I wanted her to think. I didn’t expect her to be so open-minded that she changed her bedrock views. I wouldn’t have respected that. But to at least acknowledge that people who disagree have brains and hearts and souls too—was that too much to ask?”

“There’s something to be said for simple faith.”

“I’m not just talking about that. And after all that vitriol, this next isn’t going to make sense, but just bear with me and let me get it out. Where I was going with all that frustration over Mom and the way she thinks—or doesn’t think—is that I have never once questioned her motives.

“All right, as a bratty teenager, I probably did. But not once since I left home have I doubted that Mom loves me and you and God, and that with her, what you see is what you get. Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that there aren’t too many people you can say that about these days. But she’s pure gold.”

“When you talk of her like that, Rav, that’s the woman I recognize. That is the love of my life.”

And finally Ravinia broke down. “Don’t you see, Dad? I love her too! I have come to accept her just as she is—pure, selfless, loving, a servant. Maddeningly perfect. But look what’s happened to her. How does any of it make sense? If anyone deserves to be in that bed, becoming dependent on others for their very existence, it’s me! Don’t you
ever
question God? Look what He’s done to—okay, look what He’s
allowed
to happen to Mom, the love of your life.

“You have pledged your life to God, and this is what happens to your wife? I don’t get it, and frankly, I’m not going to get over it, Dad. How can I respect a God like that?”

“Please don’t say that, Rav. You know your mother and I believe we deserve nothing but death and hell, so anything short of that is a bonus. We have so much to be thankful for.”

Ravinia rose and stretched and took her cup and saucer back to the kitchen. “Thanks for hearing me out. I know it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but at least I feel like I can be honest with you.”

“You can. And you must know I’d like the opportunity to debate the point. . . .”

“Maybe someday. I’ve got to go.”

Serenity Halfway House | Addison

Brady had hoped Serenity, especially with a name like that, would look like the idyllic facilities he’d seen on TV and in movies. Maybe it would have a long, tree-lined road leading to a huge circular drive before a massive pillared colonial brick building. People in white coats would be strolling with bathrobed patients as they worked together to fix all that ailed them.

In fact, Serenity proved to be a three-story brownstone, though not the kind you’d see in the ritzier areas of New York City or Chicago. No, this was a rather stark structure with heavy-gauge steel screens on the doors and windows and a very shallow front lawn—if it even could be called that—of shrubs and sod, enclosed by a tall, heavy, black iron fence and locking gate.

As soon as the van rolled up outside, the driver chirped, “Welcome to your new home, gentlemen, and I wish each of you all the luck in the world.”

He leaped out to open the side door, and as Brady and the others got off, a couple emerged from the brownstone, went through a rather complicated procedure to unlock the gate, and held it open.

The man was tall and broad with a black goatee and curly hair to match. He wore a sleeveless denim jacket that exposed tattoos from his hands to his shoulders.

The woman was only a couple of inches shorter, also dressed in denim, and was robust with sandy blonde hair going gray.

They appeared to be in their early to midforties, and both were beaming. She did the talking. “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” she said, shaking each man’s hand. “I’m Jan and this is my husband, Bill. Introduce yourselves to him. I know even a broken-down old lady like me looks good to guys who have been locked up as long as you have, so I like to show off my guy and make it clear from the get-go that I’m not available. Everybody clear on that?”

“I am,” Bill said, and Brady got the impression that was their stock joke.

When Brady shook Bill’s hand, the man’s eyes bored into his and made him look away. “You’re welcome here,” Bill said. “You do your part, and we promise to do ours.”

The men were led inside and introduced to other staff, who appeared to be mostly just custodial or clerical. A few other men milled about, some sweeping, one mopping, and they seemed happy enough.

Brady noticed that Bill never left Jan’s side as she asked the four newcomers to follow her upstairs. “We like to give each of our new guests their own small room after you’ve been living in a steel dorm for so long,” she said. “The bathroom is down the hall. Be considerate and work out with the others when you want to use it.”

Brady liked being called a guest. But he was getting antsier for some dope. His last taste of meth had been just before he processed out, and that was too long ago. He had come prepared to fight through his cravings and start right in on staying straight, but just then he would have done any drug in sight.

As if he could read Brady’s mind, Bill waggled a finger and beckoned him to follow. He showed Brady to his room, no bigger than a cell at County, but with a wire-meshed window, drapes, a nice pastel yellow on the walls, a single bed, and a chair and desk. There was also a small closet. “I know you haven’t got anything to store in there yet, but you will.”

Brady couldn’t stand still.

“Listen, Darby, you suffering?”

“Yeah.”

“What’ve you been on?”

“Meth.”

“At County?”

Brady nodded.

“That’s the good news. You weren’t likely getting good stuff, so you might have it a little easier. We got something that can help. You need it right now?”

“Unless you want me to go out that window, yes, sir.”

“All right, settle in here and I’ll be back to get you.”

“Settle in?”

“Just get used to your surroundings. Bet it’s been a while since you’ve been in a room by yourself.”

“Try five years.”

“There you go. Just take a breather. I’ll be right back, I promise. I know what you’re going through.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. Drugs? I did ’em all, pal.”

“You serve time?”

“Time was my middle name.”

“How long you been straight, sir?”

“Coming up on ten years. And call me Bill.”

“Thanks. And your wife? Same history?”

“Not even close. I met her in a house like this one. She’s a social worker, been straight and sober her whole life. Got me cleaned up, then got me into this work. Nothing better. This succeeds, man, if you do your part, as I say.”

“Think I can find a wife here?”

Bill laughed. “You never know. ’Course our guests are all men, but when we have group sessions, we get a mix of all kinds from the outside. Keep your eyes open. Just remember, the worst love combination of all is two addicts.”

Brady opened the drapes all the way and squinted into the sun. He raised the window. Wow. Except for the wire mesh, it was nice.

He opened his envelope and spread the contents on the desk. It was good to just sit and read something, even if it wasn’t much, just stuff about the halfway house. It said that Bill and Jan were in charge and pretty much handled everything—the counseling, the classes, all that. And they had all kinds of orbital professional personnel to help with physical and mental issues.

Brady was so used to doing what he was told, going only where he was allowed, and keeping his nose clean that he wasn’t sure he should even venture out of his room. He just wanted to wander down the hall and check out the bathroom. He hoped it had a nice shower. Did he dare?

He poked his head out and looked both ways. No one was around. He crept toward the bathroom, feeling free but also nervous. Could he get in trouble for this? Bill had told him to wait, that he would be right back. But Brady would be able to hear him coming up the stairs.

The bathroom proved plain but big, and the shower looked great. He would enjoy that.

When Brady heard footsteps on the stairs, he rushed back to his room, getting there just as Bill appeared. “Sorry, man,” Brady said. “You said to wait, but I was just—”

Bill put a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Chill, bro. It’s all right. At orientation we’ll tell you the only places around here that are off-limits. Otherwise, treat this as your home. Okay?”

“Okay, I just—”

“It’s your home, Brady. Really. Stay out of the kitchen and the medical office unless invited, and of course you can’t leave without an escort. Otherwise, inside you need to get used to coming and going as you please. Now the nurse is on duty and she has something that will help your cravings. Follow me.”

On the way down the stairs and through the large dining room, Bill told Brady, “You know, you earned your spot here. If you were doing dope inside, you couldn’t have been doing it without your sponsor’s knowledge, so it was part of whatever you were doing to cooperate. You’re here because they believe they can trust you and that you’re a good candidate for success. It’s time you started looking at yourself in that way.”

“I appreciate that. Man, something smells good.”

“Dinner is family style, and believe me, it’s always good.”

Bill introduced Brady to a plump young nurse he guessed to be Italian or Greek. If he hadn’t been so strung out, he might have concentrated on her. On the other hand, despite all the talk about trust and coming and going as he pleased, it was not lost on Brady that there was at least one sweeping camera in a corner of the ceiling of every room. No one was getting away with a thing in here.

The nurse proved efficient. She shook his hand and pointed to a chair. Once he was seated, she pulled out a card. “Methamphetamine?”

He nodded. “Not good stuff, though,” he said.

“Of course not. Not inside. Pill or powder?”

“Just pills.”

“So, no snorting or injecting.”

“No, ma’am.”

“How long?”

“About three years.”

“How dependent?”

Brady shrugged. “I need it and want it; that’s all I know.”

“What’s it like when you don’t get it?”

“Like now. Anxious, irritable, want it more than I want anything else.”

“Your release physical shows you in fair health despite the dependence. That’s good. We have medication for you. It’ll help, but you’re going to go through withdrawal for about forty-eight hours.”

“Really? That’s all? I can handle that; I know I can.”

44

Adamsville

Thomas assiduously avoided burdening Grace with his troubles. But she didn’t appear to need him to keep up her spirits. While her body deteriorated, her mind seemed sharp and her interests keen. She always wanted the latest news from the church, from the family, and from his work.

The women’s missionary society had taken on what they called the privilege of attending to Grace during the day when Thomas was at work. He took over later in the afternoon, and of course Ravinia spelled him Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Needless to say, it fell to him to be with her the rest of the night until a volunteer arrived at dawn. Though by nature a private person, Thomas couldn’t imagine being able to cope without the help.

He had traded his and Grace’s old double bed for a single he pushed to the wall to allow plenty of room to come and go from her bedside. The doctor urged him to use the bedpan only as a last resort and to help her to the bathroom at least twice every twenty-four hours, averring that even that little exercise would do wonders for her circulation, her soft tissue, and—as important—her state of mind.

Thomas was amazed at the latter, as she never seemed to complain except to rue that she had become so dependent on so many people. “Oh, to be able to simply do things for myself again,” she would say.

Thomas fought to hide his despair over her condition. It did her no good to see it in him, and he could tell that his discomfort troubled her more than her own. Her voice was weak and she spoke softly, often seeming to have to recover and build strength before speaking again. But she loved to ask questions and seemed fascinated—and hopeful—about his frequent conversations with Ravinia. “I keep praying,” she said.

“I know you do.”

“I pray for you all day. Do you feel it?”

Thomas hesitated in spite of himself. He wanted to tell her that yes, of course he felt her prayers, was buoyed by them, energized, encouraged, uplifted. “I, uh, know you pray for me, Gracie, and I appreciate it more than I can say.”

That was hardly convincing, and he knew it. And if he wasn’t sure, he could see it in her face. “Don’t spare me, Thomas. You’re still struggling in your work, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and nodded. “I know I’m doing what I have been called to do, so I have not lost any of my resolve.”

“But you have lost the joy.”

How he wanted to deny that. She didn’t need this burden. “I just want to reach someone,” he said. “Anyone.”

He lowered his head, then had to cover his eyes when she began to sing, slowly and softly:

Sometimes I feel discouraged,

And think my work’s in vain,

But then the Holy Spirit

Revives my soul again.

If you cannot preach like Peter,

If you cannot pray like Paul,

Just tell the love of Jesus,

And say, “He died for all.”

There is a balm in Gilead

To make the wounded whole;

There is a balm in Gilead

To heal the sin-sick soul.

Serenity Halfway House

A week into Brady Darby’s time at Serenity, he noticed a new spring in his step, and for the first time in years he believed he understood what hope was.

At orientation, he and the other newbies were treated like men, like adults, like the responsible citizens they were expected to become. Brady learned he would be required to be up at a certain time every day, to be showered and shaved and dressed and ready for chores immediately after breakfast. He would sweep and mop and do yard work, as well as take his turn doing kitchen duty and even laundry.