SC-Epilogue, Part 6b

Note from Nick: Remember, Part 6 is a long one, so 2 more installments after this one.

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Sep 2000 – Jul 2001

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September 1, 2000, marked the beginning of the end, although the events that led to it were still months in the future.

That Friday, we flew to Boston for Nana C.’s ninetieth birthday celebration. The whole family came, and we had activities planned for Saturday and Sunday before a big party in the evening. It was a swanky black-tie affair at the Ritz-Carlton for two hundred guests. Christy’s family had always been serious drinkers, but that night took things to a new level. Rich was the only sober one of the bunch, and probably only because he had to be for some reason.

I left the ballroom early, well before midnight, and went upstairs to check on the girls. They were asleep in bed, so I paid the babysitter and let her leave early. Christy returned sometime in the early hours of the morning, but she was so drunk that she didn’t even try to wake me. I found her on the couch in the morning, still in her party dress, cradling a Veuve Clicquot bottle—empty, of course.

By then I’d begun to worry about her drinking, but I didn’t know how to talk to her about it without starting a huge fight. So we returned to Atlanta and went right back to the way things had been. In hindsight, I used work as an excuse to avoid problems at home.

Trip landed four multimillion-dollar contracts in a row, and they all needed my attention. I had to turn the design proposals into detailed plans, which was something I could control. Things continued like that through December and into 2001—we signed two or three big contracts each month. I worked eighty hours a week and only took short breaks for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Whitney worked even harder than I did, but we had so many new clients in January and February that she began to crack under the pressure. I reached out to Trip for help, and he put new work on hold. Then he took over project management for several big jobs that were nearing completion, while we worked on the new ones.

I finally started to see the light at the end of the tunnel in late March. I told Trip that I needed a break, and he agreed. I told Whitney to take one too. She was so exhausted that she didn’t even ask her usual questions. Instead, she simply packed up and left in the middle of the day. I finished out the week, just to make sure things were running smoothly. The team leaders had things under control, and Trip told me to go. He could deal with anything else without me.

I wanted to take at least a month off, so Christy and I planned a family vacation for the girls’ spring break in April. We spent eight blissful days on the beach in St. Martin, and I didn’t touch my cell phone or computer once. Unfortunately, things began to unravel soon after we returned home.

It started when I picked up the mail from the post office. I normally didn’t open anything addressed to Christy alone, but I did it accidentally that time. I discovered three credit cards in her name. I hadn’t known a thing about them. The statements had charges from the usual places, but also from one place that raised a huge red flag.

She usually shopped at the big liquor store near the house, but the charges on her private cards were a lot more frequent than they should’ve been, especially for what I knew we drank. So I started checking on her in the studio, and she always had a sports bottle nearby.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t be sure what she was drinking unless I tasted it myself. I couldn’t smell it on her breath, either, because she had a habit of chewing gum or mints while she worked. I thought about asking her apprentices, but I didn’t want it to get back to her.

In the end, I checked her studio trash cans, where I found exactly what I’d been afraid of, empty wine and liquor bottles. Worse, they were all hidden in other trash, like she knew I might see them when I took the cans to the end of the driveway.

The girls were the final straw, especially when I realized how bad things had become for them. Christy lost track of time when she was working (and probably drinking), so she wasn’t reliable as a parent. The girls were anxious and angry most of the time, and I hadn’t been around to pick up the slack.

I noticed the first changes when I started picking them up from school. They visibly relaxed when they saw my SUV in the line at the normal time. They were happy and excited to tell me about their day. Laurie gave me a hug and a kiss when we dropped her off at the pool. Emily and Susie made sure I came inside and watched them in dance class. Then all three begged me to take them for ice cream after. They did the same at home and acted like I might disappear if they let me out of their sight.

At first I told myself it was just because they didn’t get to see me as much, but deep down I knew the truth. They craved the one thing we hadn’t given them, the one thing we couldn’t buy. They needed stability. They needed parents.

✧ ✧ ✧

I decided to talk to Christy, and we’d both need to make some changes. I rehearsed a speech in my head and started gathering props: the secret credit card bills, empty liquor bottles, and a drawing that Susie had made of our family. It only included seven of us: three girls, three dogs, and Daddy. Mommy was conspicuously missing. Susie’s teacher had sent it home with a concerned note. I felt like a complete jerk for using it, but I couldn’t think of a better way to show Christy what was happening to us.

Some idealistic part of me hoped that our lives would change completely once we talked. I’d start helping around the house and with the girls. Christy would cut back on her drinking and spending. Then we’d all live happily ever after, the end.

Unfortunately, real life didn’t work that way.

Things went to hell from the start. Christy was defensive, while I was angry and demanding. I don’t have many clear memories of the argument, and none of them are worth repeating, here or anywhere.

Christy finally lost it when I showed her Susie’s drawing. She snatched it from the table and stormed out. I heard the garage door opener and then her van as she gunned the engine and drove away.

She didn’t return that afternoon, and I told the girls she was out running errands.

I expected her home by dinner, but she didn’t show.

I really began to worry when she didn’t come home that night.

She’d left her cell phone on the charger in the kitchen, so I couldn’t call her. I called everyone else, but no one had seen her. I went to bed with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The house phone rang at four o’clock in the morning. I wasn’t really asleep, so I snatched it from the cradle before the second ring. I didn’t even look at the caller ID.

“Hello! Christy?”

“No, it’s Anne. Birdy’s here, though. She’s safe.”

“Oh, thank God! Wait. She’s there? With you? In San Diego?”

“Yes. A taxi just dropped her off. She must’ve flown out. We’re still trying to get the story out of her. We wanted you to know, though. She’s okay. And… I think she needs to stay with us.”

“Okay. Thanks. I—” I sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know, dear.”

“We had a fight. Obviously. But I want to talk to her.”

“Maybe later. She’s not in any condition to talk. Have you told the girls? That she’s gone, I mean?”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” I snapped.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s all right. I understand. You’re upset.”

“Yeah.” I took a couple of deep breaths and found a sandbar of calm. It wasn’t an island, but it would have to do. “I told them she had a gallery trip,” I said to Anne. “I don’t even care about the fight. I just want her to come home.” I heard the desperation in my voice and didn’t care.

“I know, and she will,” Anne said. “In the meantime, we love you both. The girls too. We’ll call you in the morning. Well, later in the morning.”

“Thanks, Anne.”

“Mmm. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, try your best. Goodnight, dear.”

I stabbed the End button and simply dropped the handset to the floor. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

✧ ✧ ✧

My cell phone rang the next afternoon. I didn’t recognize the number, a 760 area code, but I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Paul, it’s Anne.” She sounded as exhausted as I felt. “I’m calling from Betty Ford. The clinic, I mean. Christine’s here. She’s going to stay for a while.”

“Thank you.” I inhaled through my nose and breathed out slowly. “Did she tell you what happened?”

“Enough. She was a little incoherent when she arrived. She’d been drinking. That was our second clue. Last night. Or this morning. Whichever.”

“Do I need to fly out? My parents can watch the girls.”

“Not yet. I think she needs some time alone.”

“So… she doesn’t want to come back?”

“No, no!” Anne said immediately. “Not at all. She needs to know what she’s losing. I tried to tell her, but…” Anne sighed. “She’s so stubborn.”

“No fucking kidding,” I muttered.

Anne pretended she hadn’t heard. “I gave the clinic your phone numbers, and Christine herself can call you once they finish admitting her.”

“Do you think she will?”

“I hope so. Only, she’s very angry right now.”

“I understand.” My own anger had faded, although a growing sense of dread had replaced it.

“Richard’s here with us,” Anne continued, “but he’s going to fly back tomorrow. To Atlanta, I mean.”

“Atlanta? Here?” My voice rose with alarm. Did she really mean to have me killed?

“Oh my gosh,” Anne laughed, “not that. And shame on you for thinking it.”

“Thinking what?” I lied.

“Do you really think I’d do that?”

“No?”

“Richard can help with the girls,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And then with Christine. When she comes home, I mean.”

“Comes home?”

“Honestly, dear, stop making everything sound like a question. Of course she’s coming home. Only, it might be a while.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Rich moved into the pool guest house and told the girls that he wanted to help with the household chores. He asked them about their own chores and then made a chart. He was surprisingly domestic, probably because he’d lived alone for most of his adult life. I asked him to include me in the assignments.

“Sure. What do you do now?”

“Normally? Pay the bills. Take out the trash. Take the girls to school. Tuck them in. And… uh… that’s about it.”

“I see,” he said, very diplomatically.

“Yeah, I know,” I snapped in response. “That’s part of the problem. I thought I was more egalitarian, but I guess I’m a male chauvinist after all. Happy?”

“Chill out. I’m not pointing any fingers. ‘Mistakes were made.’ Let’s move on.”

I recoiled in surprise. That wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting, especially from a guy who put the “over” in overprotective.

“Um… thanks?” I said.

“You’re welcome. Now, what do you want to do?”

“I’ll start doing the grocery shopping. And I can cook dinner.”

He shook his head. “I’ll do the cooking. It’s relaxing. And it’ll be easier if I do the shopping too. Laurie can go with me, at least until I learn what they like to eat.”

“Okay. I can help with the laundry.”

“That’s Laurie’s new job,” he said.

“Vacuuming? Dusting?”

“Emily. Little Miss Clean.”

“The dogs?”

“Susie.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, “then what should I do?”

“Taking care of the pool is a big one. The girls said Birdy did it before.”

“Got it. What else?”

“Keep her business and studio running,” he said. “We can handle everything else.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The next evening my cell phone rang with a 760 area code.

“Hi, it’s me,” Christy said.

She sounded resigned, but I had to stop myself from biting her head off. She’d been at the clinic for days, and this was the first time she’d called. I understood why—she’d been upset, embarrassed, and probably overwhelmed—but that didn’t change how I felt. Besides, she hadn’t even apologized.

I told myself I was being selfish. Plus irrational. And rude, especially as I let the silence drag out in a fit of pique. I still loved her, even if I didn’t like her very much at the moment. I adjusted my attitude and put a smile in my tone, although it still came across as tired.

“Hi, me. It’s good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” She told me her room number and gave me a phone number where I could reach her. “They’re still evaluating me,” she said bitterly, “so they won’t tell me how long I’ll be here.”

I nodded and felt my anger fade. “Is there anything I can do? What can I bring you?”

“Maybe some clothes. I only have what I came here with.”

“Will do. What about your cell phone? And your sketchbook?”

“My sketchbook, please. Not the cell phone. I can’t use it while I’m here. Have the girls said anything? What did you tell them?”

“That you’re in LA, at the gallery.”

“The gallery,” she snorted softly. “I don’t know if they’ll ever work with me again.”

“I’m sure they will,” I said. “Every artist has… issues.”

“Issues? Oh, boy. That’s a polite way to put it.”

“We’ll get through this.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

“We will,” I insisted. “I love you, and we’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I love you too. Only… I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”

“Nothing we can’t fix.”

“I suppose.”

“Trust me,” I said.

“You’re always Mr. Positive.” She sighed, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between us. Maybe my resentment hadn’t subsided after all. “I need to go,” she said at last. “It’s time for dinner. We’re on a strict schedule here. Another thing I hate.”

“You’ll survive,” I said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“That’s my Sunshine,” I chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If I’m still alive.”

I flew to California the next morning and rented a car when I arrived in Palm Springs. I drove straight to the clinic. Christy looked downcast when I saw her. She was wearing the same clothes as when she’d stormed out, which seemed like a lifetime ago.

We went for a walk around the lake and then found a bench. We didn’t talk about the argument or anything else that had happened. We mostly talked about her daily routine. It was a safe topic.

“Have they given you any idea how long you’ll be here?” I asked.

“Treatment isn’t defined by a number of days,” she parroted dully. “Besides, I’m supposed to take things one day at a time.”

“Okay. So… what do you want me to tell people? I mean, about why you’re gone.”

She shrugged.

“Well, I talked to Wren and Leah. I told them where you are. And I gave them your phone number. I hope that’s okay. If not, too bad.”

She nodded.

“What about Brooke? Do you want me to call her?”

A shrug and then a reluctant nod.

“I told everyone in the studio that you had an unexpected trip to LA. Gabby said they have orders to keep them busy for at least a couple of weeks. She wasn’t sure after that. I’ll take care of it, one way or the other.”

“Thank you.”

“But I need to call Fred and May. They’ll start asking if they don’t hear from you soon.”

“Tell them I died.”

My silence was a gentle rebuke.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Tell them…”

“That you’re taking a break,” I finished.

She snorted at the irony.

“We’ll get through this.” I don’t know how, but at least we’re talking about it.

✧ ✧ ✧

I returned home and found that Rich had been hard at work, cleaning.

“Most of it was in her studio,” he said. “The usual. Wine and liquor. No handles. She has— had expensive taste. I cleaned out the bar in the house, too. I hope you don’t mind that I poured it out.”

I felt a pang of loss, but it was selfish. Again. “Everything?”

“Everything. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’m sorry I left it for you.”

“Nah. I’m fine as long as I don’t start.”

“Okay, cool.”

“The girls and I went through the house itself. We made a game of it. I told them we’d bake a dozen cookies for every bottle they found.”

I glanced at him sideways with a question.

“We won’t put the Girl Scouts out of business,” he said, “but it’ll take a few weekends to bake that much.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll need to go through your bedroom. I don’t think you’ll find much—too easy for you to find by accident—but you might be surprised. Check her purses and even her shoes. Oh, and the top of the closet. She used to hide things there when she was a kid. She can’t reach that high, so she thinks no one else can either.”

“Got it,” I chuckled. “Anything else?”

“No. We didn’t find any pills or dope. Just alcohol.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Mmm. Have you decided what to tell the girls?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I’m open to suggestions, though.”

“Well, I think Laurie’s figured it out. I’m not surprised. I wasn’t thinking ahead when I cleaned the bar out. She saw me pouring everything down the drain. Then we searched the rest of the house, and she connected the dots.”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t think she understands exactly what’s going on, but she’s pretty upset about it. She’s a quiet one, though. She just kinda shuts down.”

“Yeah. That’s her way of dealing with it. I wish I’d realized sooner.”

“It affects people in different ways,” Rich said. “My ex and I used to fight.”

I nodded, although I knew very little about his ex-wife. I’d only met her a couple of times, and he didn’t talk about her much. Christy and I had privately suspected it was a marriage of convenience more than anything—they both wanted to appease their families.

Rich drew me back with a chuckle. “Em’s a little Birdy, isn’t she?”

“Her looks, for sure,” I agreed.

“Her personality too. She’s a bossy little thing.”

“You can say that again.”

“Susie reminds me of me. Looks-wise, I mean. She’s a hundred percent you otherwise.” He grinned. “Like if you and I had a kid.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide a grin.

“Back to the original question,” Rich said. “What do you want to tell them?”

“For now, only that she’s sick, but she’s getting help.”

“It’s a disease,” he corrected calmly. “She’ll need to deal with it for the rest of her life. So will you. And… I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but the clinic should have a program for dependents. Families and children, I mean.”

“Yeah, they gave me a bunch of brochures. I haven’t had a chance to go through them yet.”

“Let me know what you decide, and I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks.”

We fell silent and gazed across the pool and into the gathering twilight. The lake was high enough that we could see it through the trees. It had rained heavily the day before.

“I think Mom was right,” Rich said at last. “This is where I’m supposed to be.”

He was in the mood to share, so I let him.

“I love being around the girls. And I like the area. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I love San Diego, but… too many memories. You know?”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe time for a change of scenery. Do you know anyone who needs a security consultant?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah, I do.”

“Who? You? Seriously?”

I nodded. “I designed a house for a jeweler, about a year ago. She wanted a bunch of home security. Not just alarms and cameras, but intrusion deterrents, a hidden safe, and a panic room.”

Rich nodded slowly as I spoke.

“I had to contract it out. Cost a small fortune, too. It ate up most of our profit on the job.”

“Hooyah.”

“We’re also bidding on an aerospace job in Denver. They do defense work, so half of the building is high security.”

“Want me to take a look?”

“Have you done that kind of thing before?”

“Security? Sure. We didn’t just shoot things, you know.”

“Mmm.”

“Although,” he mused, “I have more experience with physical security, especially breaching it. We didn’t worry too much about electronic security. Well, we did,” he amended, “but not the type of thing you need. We usually blew shit up and went in strong. The SMU guys did the sneak and peek jobs, the intrusion and intel-gathering.”

“Lemme guess,” I said, only mildly sarcastic, “SMU isn’t Southern Methodist University?”

“No. Special Missions. The kind of thing I still can’t talk about.”

“Gotcha.”

“I know a few guys, though.” He rolled his hand in a “move along” gesture.

“Right. So, you can get up to speed.”

“Yeah. Corporate security’s more about preventing theft and espionage. You normally don’t have to worry about guys like me with weapons and explosives.”

“No,” I chuckled.

“Still, my background should help with that kind of business in the future. What’s so funny?”

“It’s another quote,” I warned.

He sighed. “Go ahead.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

He snorted but didn’t deny it.

✧ ✧ ✧

The girls and I flew out to Palm Springs a couple of weeks after they finished school for the year. I’d taken Rich’s suggestion and signed up for the clinic’s family program, which taught spouses and children how to cope with alcoholic family members. Susie was still too young, but Laurie and Emily were old enough.

Christy’s mother wanted to join us as well—she had two children who were alcoholics, after all—but Harold resisted. I privately suspected that he didn’t want to admit that he might have a drinking problem too. His attitude had always been “out of sight, out of mind.” And he wasn’t above playing the age and granddad cards, either.

“I’m too old to learn new tricks. Besides, who’s going to look after Susie?”

“I’m sure they have day care,” I said.

“Of course. But we never get to spend time with just her.”

We argued politely, but he had an excuse for everything. Anne eventually gave up. She and Harold could watch Susie while the rest of us were in class, although she gave him a look that didn’t bode well for his future drinking.

“See?” he said, a touch uncertainly. “I knew we’d find a solution.”

“Mmm. Yes, dear.”

I piled on. “Is this what they call a ‘fighting retreat’?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Besides, it’s called a ‘tactical withdrawal’ these days. We don’t say ‘retreat.’ It’s bad for morale.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you have a class to go to?”

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