Scars from a Memoir (27 page)

“Nicole is the recipient of this honor,” Dr. Cohen said. “And I'm proud to announce that she's recently enrolled at the University of Massachusetts to obtain a certificate in Addiction Studies. Once she's completed the courses, she will be working here full-time.” He turned toward me but kept his mouth close to the microphone. “I'm honored, Nicole, to have you as part of our team. In celebration of your hire, we'd like you to have this.”

Allison removed the gold chain with a matching coin, engraved with the one-year emblem, and clasped it around my neck. I held the coin, warming the metal with my fingers. As I glanced up, my mother was crying. My father was clapping. Jesse had his arm around my mom and was pounding my father's arm with his other hand. Mark was on his feet, applauding.

My gaze wandered to the back of the room, where Asher stood in the doorway. I had helped him move his stuff into Jesse's apartment, and we still checked in through texts. He had been really upset that I'd hooked up with Mark; I didn't blame him. Only a month had passed since we'd broken up, and we weren't ready to hang out as
friends yet. He tilted his head, and I smiled back before he turned around and disappeared.

I stepped off the platform as Dr. Cohen ended the ceremony and invited everyone to the cafeteria for brunch. My family and I had other plans. Mark had cooked lunch for all of us, and we were going back to his apartment. I joined them in the hallway, wrapping my arms around each of them and thanking them for coming. After a long moment, I had to pull away; it didn't seem like they wanted me to let go. And that made me happy. I kissed Mark last, just a soft peck on the lips, while my parents watched. Then we all went out to the parking lot. Jesse and my parents got into Mark's car, with Al and Jami following.

During the drive, Jesse told us about his new boyfriend. He was an environmental attorney who lived in his building.

“When do we get to meet him?” I asked.

“It's still new,” Jesse said. “I'm not ready for him to meet the family yet.”

When he said the word
family
, Jesse looked at my parents and me. Jesse was becoming my Michael. He would never be blood, and he could never take my brother's place, but he now was the closest thing I would ever have to a sibling. I didn't think a new boyfriend in his life would change that. We had all experienced something together, and even though that event was something we all wished we could forget, it had bonded us.

Mark's hand fell in my lap, and I wrapped my fingers around it. I couldn't stop my face from beaming. My parents’ voices were upbeat, and the only tears shed today were of happiness. Al knew of my plans to leave the café once I finished all my courses, and he supported my decision. He had said the coffee shop was just a starting point, that I was destined to move on to something better.

Asher's latest text said a publisher was interested in his novel and he was signing their contract in the next few days. I knew my story would help families understand addiction, but I wasn't excited that my past would be out there for everyone to read. My parents hadn't seemed surprised when I told them we'd broken up. Dad said they'd had a feeling our relationship was based on my desire to have a piece of Michael in my life…but they weren't pleased when I told
them about Asher's book. Once I explained Asher's reasoning, they understood. Nonetheless, they weren't happy about it.

My parents had heard a lot about Mark—I'd been bringing his name up since he'd gotten me a job at Al's—so they acted as though they already knew him when they finally met. They didn't think I was ready for a relationship, despite having a year of sobriety behind me, but they seemed to really like Mark. They appreciated his knowledge of addiction and the way he supported me. They weren't thrilled that he was the owner of two bars, but they were impressed with his success. As long as his work didn't interfere with my sobriety, they approved.

So many times, I had questioned whether I would make it to the one-year ceremony. Triggers had caused urges, and they had been strong, pulling my darkness to the surface. I hadn't known whether my parents would ever forgive me or if my questions about Michael would ever be answered. Ten months ago I had graduated from rehab and moved into sober living. That wasn't a long time, but over that period so much had been resolved. I had a job waiting for me once I finished my online courses. Mark and I were together. My breakup with Asher hadn't affected my relationship with Jesse; heand I spoke at least once a week, and Mark and I had dinner with him every Sunday.

I turned around again, looking at each of the faces of my family. Jesse was sitting between my parents—a seat Michael should have been filling. But my brother was still here, floating above the car, in a cloud, or as one of the stars in the sky. Last night, after I'd closed my eyes, he'd said he was so proud of his baby sister. Then he vanished. We were all moving on, and we were finally smiling.

-32-

I HAD WRITTEN HENRY, CLAIRE'S SON, a few times since I'd gotten out of prison. One of the rules of being on probation was that we weren't allowed to visit inmates. But I had finished my year and a half just the week before, and my parole officer signed off on my release papers, reinstating my visitation rights. It was a good thing the approval process hadn't taken too long; Henry had called a day ago and asked me to visit. He was in the infirmary and didn't sound well. I told him I'd be by in the morning.

If it weren't for Henry, I would never set foot in the South Bay House of Corrections again. I had lived on the top floor; he was only four floors beneath me, but I never got to see him. Men and women didn't have yard together or eat at the same times. Still, there had been a tiny bit of comfort knowing he was so close, that I had someone with me on the inside. We'd sent each other kites—letters passed between prisoners that were considered illegal contraband—and I'd filled him in on what had happened before I'd gotten arrested—Michael's death and how the cops had busted Dustin and me. He also kept track of my progress as I completed the addiction program in jail. What I left out of the kites was I had relapsed shortly after completing the program.

I never asked how drugs got smuggled in past security; I just knew they were available. I worked in the prison laundry room, and my earnings went straight to powder. My parents added money to my account so that I could buy toiletries and food, and I traded those and canteen credits for pills. When I ran out of money, I hooked up with the dealers. The women who sold drugs were butch, not fem
like me. They looked and acted so much like men that when I closed my eyes, I couldn't tell the difference.

It was hard to feel normal in prison. I stared at steel bars until I fell asleep. When I got in trouble, I was caged like an animal, locked in the Special Housing Unit for twenty-three hours a day. But for the few minutes I snuck into the stairwell or in the linen closet to hook up with a dealer, I was in control and it gave me the tiniest sense of normalcy. I would forget about the slop I'd eaten for lunch, the cries from the neighboring cells that kept me awake, and the blood that had covered me when Michael had been shot.

*   *   *

Now, as I walked back through the metal detector at the prison's entrance, the two-and-a-half years I'd spent inside all came rushing back again. The hook-ups, the tightness of my cell, the cries that echoed at night, and the nightmares that would wake me in a cold sweat. With Henry being in the infirmary, the guards probably wouldn't let me spend too much time with him, so I could catch the morning NA meeting. I was still attending meetings; I'd found a group near Mark's place because I went to his house every afternoon after work.

I showed my ID and filled out the necessary registration forms. I had a copy of my approval letter, and they scanned it into their system. A guard escorted me upstairs and stayed by the door while a nurse brought me to Henry's bed. The infirmary looked just like a hospital but with shackles bolted into the walls above the beds, and the sick were wearing prison uniforms. Henry was by the far wall, near the only window, and I sat next to him. The nurse woke him up to let him know I was here.

His eyes opened slowly, his cracked lips parted. “You look so beautiful.”

The last time I'd visited him, I was messed up on dope. He'd given me Claire's gold band to wear and told me to put it on when I got sober. I'd stuck the ring in my pocket. At that time, I was dating Dustin, living in some nasty motel in Dorchester, and barely showering. I had probably looked worse than Henry did now.

I covered his hand with mine. The sunlight poured in through the window and shined on my fingers. The glimmer caught his attention, and he glanced down.

“You're wearing the ring.”

“I have been for a while.” I pulled out the necklace that was buried under my shirt and showed him the gold chip. “I'm fifteen months, clean and sober.”

I tried to remember the last time I'd written to Henry; it was when I'd just moved into sober living and gotten a cell phone. Too much time had passed. He should have known I was over a year sober and had moved into my own place. He definitely should have known I was wearing Claire's ring; I guess I had left that out of the letter.

“You're happy,” he said.

He didn't phrase it like a question. So much had changed in my life that I couldn't stop myself from smiling, and he could see that. My time in prison had been rough, but I'd deserved it—and even though those memories weren't good ones, I was a better person for the time I'd served. Being with him only reminded me of what I'd gained.

I told him about the online courses I was taking, how I had completed three out of the five, and I would be starting at the rehab center as soon as I was done. I talked about Mark, how I'd be moving into his townhouse once my lease was up, and about my relationship with Jesse and my parents. Henry appeared weak and his face barely moved, but there was a light in his eyes as I spoke. More light than I'd ever seen when visiting him in jail.

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked. “Enough to move down to general population? My visitation rights have been reinstated, so I can come see you once a week.”

“No, I'm not getting better.”

I didn't know how old Henry was, but he looked weathered and exhausted. Whenever one of the inmates got sick, the virus spread quickly throughout the cellblock. The only people who usually stayed in the infirmary were those recovering from stab wounds or self-inflicted cutting. They didn't have enough beds to keep everyone who was sick. Henry must have been really ill.

“Did you catch something from your celly?”

“No, dear. I have pancreatic cancer.”

“You have what?”

“I got sick a few months ago, and now look at me; I'm just lying here, waiting to die in this bed.”

“You're dying?”

He did look skinnier, but I'd figured the flu could do that to you. The flu didn't usually cause dark circles under your eyes and a grayish tint to your skin, though. I should have known better. What I did know was that with medicine and will, you could fight certain types of cancer. But not the kind Tiffany had.

“Pancreatic cancer isn't treatable?” I asked.

I didn't need an answer. I could tell by his voice that he didn't have the strength to fight it even if there was medicine that would help.

“I wanted you to come here so I could say good-bye,” he said.

“Good-bye?”

“The doctor says I only have a week or two left.”

A knot formed in the back of my throat and my eyes filled with tears. I should have written more. I should have begged my parole officer to grant me permission to visit the jail. Henry shouldn't be in here dying alone. Claire had been my best friend; she would be so disappointed in me for abandoning him.

“No, I'm coming back every day.”

“Nicole, I'm only going to get worse.”

“I don't care—”

“I don't want you to see me like that. I want you to remember me like I was when you visited me with my mom.”

I wiped the corners of my eyes and poured myself a cup of water from the pitcher by his bed. He didn't need to see my tears; that wasn't why he'd asked me to come here. I remembered that when I'd visited him with Claire, he'd said he didn't know anyone but her and me on the outside. I would be the last familiar face he'd see before he died. I had to be strong for him.

“I see her sometimes,” he said. “Late at night when the medicine makes me tired. She's not in my dreams. She's here with me.”

“I'm sure she's trying to keep you safe.”

Knowing Claire, that was exactly what she was doing. She had tried to do the same for me.

“I miss her.”

“I do, too,” I whispered.

The guard came over and said I had only a few minutes left. I didn't know how to say good-bye, not to someone I'd never see again.

“The nurse has your phone number,” Henry said. “She'll call you when I pass.”

I'd lost so many friends over the years, but their deaths were sudden and unexpected; they didn't have time to plan. The more I looked at Henry and his frail body, the more I realized I would choose the unknown over wasting away in a hospital bed. He could feel death approaching. I couldn't imagine how horrific that must be.

“Are you sure I can't come back?” I asked.

He shook his head; I could tell the movement caused him pain.

The infirmary wasn't like a hospital, where you could pick your meals and watch TV in bed. He ate what they served, and there wasn't even a radio. He had no rights, but he had one last wish. I would grant him that.

“Is there anything you want me to tell her?” he asked.

While I was in prison, I'd thought about Claire a lot and what I would have said if I'd had a few minutes to talk to her before she died in the hotel fire. Back then, I couldn't promise her I'd get clean because I was too deep into my addiction…and an apology wasn't worth shit.

“Tell her I love her and think about her every day.”

“She knows that.”

“Tell her again.” I smiled. “And make sure she knows I'm wearing her ring, and I don't plan to ever take it off.”