“Passed out in the shrubs.” Noise in her head was putting it mildly. So much of the noise was rage—the part that wasn’t fear, that is. It all swirled together into a butt-ugly parfait of hopelessness and despair.
“People relapse,” Luc reminded her quietly. “It happens. And it doesn’t erase all the hard work they’ve done. He’s had, what, two good months, right?”
She nodded. “Nearly three now.”
“That’s impressive. I mean, it’s not long enough if you’re Dave and you’re thinking about hooking up with him again. But if you’re Jon, and you’ve stayed sober for almost ninety days...? It’s freaking miraculous. And here’s the thing everyone needs to remember: He can and will do it again. Maybe for even longer next time. But it also helps to remember that recovery doesn’t have any kind of one-strike-you’re-out policy. It’s recovery. It’s ongoing. As in, forever.”
“I know,” she said.
Luc glanced at her again. “I know you know. Of course you know. But times like this, it helps to hear it again.”
Very true. “Thank you.”
“The point I was going the long way to get to,” he said, “was that even if he did slip—or maybe we should say if and when he does slip—he now knows he can successfully not-drink for nearly three months. That’s way better than before, when he first started recovery, and probably didn’t believe he could not-drink for three days, or Jesus, even three hours, am I right?”
He was right. No matter what he’d done, Jon hadn’t just plunged them back into their pre-rehab nightmare realm. This was a very different world.
“Uncle Joey hated the shit out of himself,” Luc continued, still in that same quiet, even voice. “I always wonder if he might still be alive if we could’ve, somehow, made him hate himself a little less.”
“But how do you make someone hate themselves less?” Casey asked.
He looked at her. “I have no fucking clue.”
It was such a Luc thing to say that she laughed, even though none of this was funny.
Except he was. Funny. And sweet. And trying so hard to help her, however he could.
“Although maybe,” he added slowly, “you start by not taking it personally when they hit a bump in the road, like this. My mother could never not take it as a personal affront, like it was something Joe did to her, to us, instead of just being something he did. And I’m not saying it was her fault—his death—it absolutely wasn’t. He made the choices he did, it’s on him. But I just don’t think shaming someone ever helps, especially when they already hate the shit out of themselves. I sometimes wonder what might’ve happened if my mom and Angie had been more... I dunno. Encouraging? It’s a fine line between that and enabling, though. You gotta be like, You got this. It’s just a blip. It happened, move on. You already did all those days, you can do it again—you know how to do it again—one day at a time. But you’re gonna have to do it someplace other than my house. Let’s touch base again when you get your two-week chip. Or, you know, if you want to go back into rehab, I’ll help you figure that out, okay?”
Casey nodded. That was so smart—to approach potentially finding her brother passed out on the lawn with a carefully worded script in place, instead of just breaking down and mindlessly screaming at him. Except she could feel herself already ramping up into mindlessly-screaming mode with each mile that passed beneath the car’s tires.
“If you want,” Luc said, somehow reading her mind. “If we get there and he’s, you know... I’ll get him up and into the car, take him over to the ER, make sure he didn’t hit his head. Let you go in and talk to your parents, maybe get something to eat...”
She looked at him. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.”
“Well, no, not of course. He’s Dave’s ex, and you just said Dave was thinking about hooking up with him again, so that can’t be easy for you.”
He winced. “Shit, yeah, I said... But no. Dave’s not... I mean, yeah, he was, but past tense. Hard past tense. Back when they broke up he was. That’s what I meant.”
She’d really rattled him. “This is harder for you than you pretend, isn’t it?”
He made a laughter-like sound that was halfway between his fake and his real laugh, and when he spoke his voice squeaked a little. “It is pretty freaking bizarre at times, but...” He took a deep breath. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Why, exactly, did you come?” Casey asked him. “I mean, to Palm Springs. I know you’re here with me now on this road trip to doom because you’re incredibly kind, but... Why spend a potentially hellish weekend with Dave’s ex?”
Luc studied the road in front of the car as he took his time to answer. “First,” he finally said, “it wasn’t about Jon, it was about you.” He glanced at her, his eyes dancing a bit as he added, “I was spending a potentially hellish weekend with you—Dave’s best friend, who was in dire need of a bodyguard.”
“Dire’s really not the word I would have—” she started.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he cut her off. “It’s not your word, but it is Dave’s. And mine. And I had the time, so... Plus, I’ve never been to a Con like that. I’m a fan of the show—I thought it’d be fun. And it was. Big bonus points for the chance to get to know you a little better—I’d say I won there, too. But at the time it seemed like—and in hindsight absolutely was—a win/win even with the heavy whiff of lose from the proximity of the Air Biscuit. Which became a non-issue when he flew north. Until it became an issue again, due to him being who he is.”
“I’m really glad I had this chance to get to know you a little better, too—well, I’d say a lot better, but yeah,” she agreed. “So thank you. I still think you’re crazy, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Luc cleared his throat and said, again, “So if we get there and he’s there, too—”
“Yes,” Casey said. “Please. Take him in the car. Even if he doesn’t need to go to the ER, just drive around with him for a bit while I get my shit together. I’d appreciate that so much.”
