Chapter 11

11

PORTER

" I have a release date for you," Gina said, hugging her clipboard to her chest.

I looked up from the landscape I was attempting to draw with pastels. I hated to be caught doing stupid drug rehab things when she was around. Why couldn't she walk in on me in the gym, flexing my biceps? I wiped pastel dust on my pant leg and stood up.

"That's good," she said, examining the trees and the lazy river. I had been trying to copy the front of a puzzle box and had managed a fair approximation.

"I don't think this is my calling," I said ruefully.

"I heard that you de-escalated a situation with a resident."

"Yeah, I talked a guy down from attacking one of the orderlies." I shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"We're gonna miss you when you go," she said, deliberately sidestepping her real feelings.

"But will you miss me?" I said before I could stop myself.

She blushed and turned away. "I thought you might like to know when your discharge date is."

I was stunned. Of all the bold-faced questions I could have asked her, that was the most obvious, and she hadn't said "no." She hadn't said anything. She didn't try to cover it up with some platonic wheedling about how all patients were missed or how inappropriate my question had been. She didn't cast the accusation aside as if it had no merit. She was going to miss me—I heard it in her inflection when she changed the topic. I was going to miss her too, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to be released, but suddenly the game had changed.

I wasn't a hopeless case anymore. I might actually mean something to Gina, and that was all that mattered. I had to stop acting like a head case, get my act together, and land on my feet. It was the only way I could prove to her that her affection wasn't misplaced. I would show her that I could be functional and responsible. After that, I would show her that I could be gentle and sensual. I saw our future in a flash that almost sent me reeling.

"Yes." I grasped at the straw, eager to finish out my stay.

"It's Monday," she said, recovering from her revelation with finesse.

"The first thing I'm gonna do is go out for a cheeseburger," I said.

She laughed. "I know the food here is a little…"

"Substandard?" I supplied.

"Industrial," she countered.

"Do they feed you guys the same food?"

She shook her head. "We can buy it if we want, but I bring lunch from home."

"You mean they make you spend your own money on that crap?" I was appalled, beyond coming up with things to make the conversation last longer.

She laughed again. "Well, I don't think they consider it ‘crap.'"

When she left to continue her rounds, I had a lot to think about. I went back to my own room but found my roommate hosting a game of cards on his cot. There were three other patients crowded around, one of them sitting on my bunk. I went back to the arts and crafts area to clean up my pastels.

Monday was four days away. That meant I had four days guaranteed with Gina and only a short time left to make sure I was ready for the real world. I went to the nurses' station to ask if I could make a phone call. They told me the call would be recorded, just to ensure I wasn't placing an order with my dealer. I had to log each number with my name, the date, time, and my signature. After jumping through all their hoops, I put in a phone call to Mr. Matthews to let him know about my release date and to ask about my job.

"The job is still here. I said I would hold it for you, and I'm holding it," he answered.

I called my landlord to tell her that I would be moving back on Monday. I held my breath throughout the entire phone call, expecting her to say they had to hire a hazmat crew to clean up after me, but no such crisis. She told me I was already paid up for another two months, so there was no problem.

I called Mike and talked to him until the stink eye from a nurse chased me away. He was pleased that I was coming home and, typical for him, optimistic about my chances at staying clean this time. He insisted that I come over for a cookout as soon as I was able and wouldn't take no for an answer. I agreed after a lot of back-and-forth and then excused myself to go play video games.

One of the social workers came to find me later with a laundry list of things I had to accomplish before I was released. I had to sit with a therapist one-on-one to create a crisis plan that I would take with me when I left. The crisis plan would have phone numbers I could call and people I could reach out to if I found myself craving the high again. I had to pass a physical and talk to a peer counselor about my living situation.

A lot of people moved from the inpatient facility to a halfway house, where they still had direct access to counselors and social workers. I was moving out on my own, so there were all kinds of boxes they wanted checked before I left. Did I have a place to live? Did I have a support system? Did I have friends that weren't users? Did I have a job? Yes to all four, but it had to be documented in triplicate and signed before I would be able to leave.

"How would you feel about having your employer come by?" the social worker asked.

I frowned. I liked Old Man Matthews. I couldn't ask for a better boss, but the fewer people who saw me in this place, the better.

"I really think it might help create a bridge between where you are now and where you need to be," the young man continued.

"Okay," I relented.

We got on the phone together and called Mr. Matthews back. This time there was no protocol to follow and no stink-eyed nurse to chase us away.

Mr. Matthews got back on the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me again," I started. "You're on speakerphone. I'm here with my social worker…"

"Sean Patrick," the young man supplied. "Yes, I'm working with Mr. Hayes. He tells me you have a job waiting for him."

"That's right," Mr. Matthews confirmed.

"I wondered if you might be available to come by and talk to us about Porter's goals. I'm not asking you to take any kind of responsibility for him. Just having an ally in his daily life would be enough."

I widened my eyes at the guy, wishing that he didn't have to be so dramatic. I didn't need an "ally," and I sure as shit didn't need Mr. Matthews taking any kind of parental interest in me. But I shut my mouth and went along with it. The problem with hitting rock bottom is that you need help climbing up. And with help came vulnerability. It was a hard pill to swallow.

"Happy to," Mr. Matthews said.

I relaxed. Good old Mr. Matthews was going to spend his Saturday driving to Nashville to help me out. I realized I was going to have to work extra hard when I got back to make up for all the kindness he was showing me. I was going to have to pick up as many extra shifts as I could. And maybe, just maybe, I could fit in dinner or a movie with Gina, if I played my cards right.

She came to find me right before dinner Saturday evening. "I'm off in five minutes." I thought it was sweet how she kept me updated about her comings and goings. Without any of the traditional dating rituals, just letting me know when she was going off shift was enough to communicate that she cared.

"Say hi to Evil for me." I smiled. "Let her know I'm just waiting for her instructions."

Gina laughed. "I will definitely not tell her that. You don't want her to get any ideas."

I nodded. This was potentially one of our last conversations, and I wanted to make it count. "Your dad came by to see me today."

"Oh? How did that go?"

"He's really kind," I admitted. "He's gonna do everything he can to help me, and I'm not gonna let him down."

"He's a good man. I didn't always see that and I gave him a run for his money when I was a teenager, but I'm glad you've got him in your corner," she said. I felt bolstered by the slight glimpse of her personal life she was sharing.

"He says there's a big order coming up from a construction company that's building a few houses. I'll be right in time to help them fill that." I was just saying words, anything to lengthen the time spent in her company.

She played along, her clipboard at her side, watching me carefully. We transitioned into an awkward silence, and neither of us could fill the gap. I wanted to ask her about her plans for the night, about what shampoo she used, and how long it took to comb her hair. But none of those things was appropriate. The last thing I wanted to do was freak her out when I was so close to being available. So, I held my tongue and couldn't come up with anything better to say.

"Well, I…" she began, searching my eyes for a lifeline.

I didn't have one, because I was falling fast. "You better go. It's gonna rain."

"Is it?" she asked, as if that were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Yeah, the forecast said rain tonight."

"Then I should go," she agreed.

"Be safe," I said, wishing I could touch her.

She waved a hand in the air, as if communicating through a glass wall. I let her go, watching as long as I could without crossing into creeper territory. I followed her movements as she crossed the common area to the nurses' station, then turned my back. I deliberately hid out in the game room until I was sure she had gone. I only had one more day with her before I was discharged, and I was determined to make it count.

Sean was going to be in charge of my follow-up. He would call every day in the beginning, just to make sure I was on the right path. After a few weeks, he would scale back until he was doing weekly and then monthly check-ins. If I remained sober for two years, they would officially close my file, and I would be done.

I was required to talk about my feelings in group therapy. I started with "anxious to get out of here and eat some real food" and moved on to "worried that I might run into my dealer." It was all true. As much as I wanted to look like a real man in front of Gina, I was scared to death of a relapse.

"I guess what I'm most scared of is being by myself," I said, standing beside my chair as the rest of the patients sat in circle around me. "I mean, I don't have a real great opinion of myself, so what's to stop me from going back?"

"And what is the answer to that question?" the therapist prodded gently.

"I have my crisis plan," I said.

"That's right," she approved.

"And get to a meeting," one of the other group members said.

"Yeah." I knew all that.

I knew it in my brain, but what would happen when I went home and found myself without the structure of the treatment center? Would I really be able to fight the demons at two in the morning? Could I turn my life around and continue on the path to wellness, or was I destined to fail? Then I thought of Gina, and a surge of determination gripped me. I was going to do it, if only for the opportunity to see her again.

Gina hadn't come to say goodbye. Either she had forgotten, or she didn't actually care. I had missed dinner, which wasn't a big deal. I could go hungry for one night and take myself out for a big breakfast at a real pancake house tomorrow morning. I wished I could take Gina out for pancakes, but apparently the entire friendship had been all in my head.

I had resigned myself to reading in my room, when I heard the familiar tap on the door. I set my book down, looking up to see her bathed in hallway light, looking exhausted. I sat up instinctively, making room for her to sit opposite me. She accepted the gesture with relief, sinking into the mattress and leaning against the wall for support.

"Rough night?" I asked.

She nodded. "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, we had a situation on another floor by it's been resolved."

"Is everyone alright?" I was already familiar with the hospital privacy laws that forbid me from knowing much of anything about anyone else. But that simple question seemed safe enough.

She exhaled, meaning that everyone was not entirely okay. "I'm supposed to go over your crisis plan and your support network with you one last time."

I decided to shoot my shot. "You look like you'd rather be home with your feet up. You could give me your number and we could run through it all tomorrow instead."

"Ha ha." She leaned toward me, more casually than I had ever seen her before.

"You don't have to walk home, do you?" I asked, suddenly alarmed.

"I do." She straightened.

"It's late." I didn't want her out walking the streets at night.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Let's do this."

"Do what?" I couldn't believe she was talking about the same thing I was thinking.

"Go through your crisis plan."

"My crisis plan is to call you," I said, letting subtlety be damned.

"Porter…" she objected.

"Gina," I asserted.

She laughed. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"And I'm gonna call you a ride," I said, standing up.

"How?" she demanded, looking up at me with wide eyes. "You don't have a phone."

"Just stay there," I told her.

She relaxed back into the wall in quiet defeat. I took that as an invitation and hurried to the nurses' station. One of the orderlies, Brad, had been fairly friendly throughout my stay. He and I had shared a couple games of cards, and I knew a quick ride through the city wouldn't put him out much.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I asked when I found him.

"No," he said.

"I have to get a ride," I explained.

"You're getting out tomorrow. Wait until then," he laughed.

"It's not for me," I said.

"Who's it for?" He folded his hands across his chest.

"A staff member," I answered.

"Who?"

"A young woman I don't want to see walking home at this time of night," I said finally.

Brad nodded, convinced. He opened his phone and pressed his own ride app. "Five minutes."

I hurried back to my room to find Gina right where I had left her. "Your ride will be here in five minutes."

She lifted a hand to me, and I helped her to her feet. "I don't know how you did it."

It was the first time we had ever touched, barring that one fist bump a week ago. Her hand was warm and delicate in mine, feminine but strong. When the innocent connection was broken, we both realized what had happened and turned away from each other.

"Take care, Porter," she called me back.

"You too, Gina," I responded.

And that was it. She walked out of the room, leaving nothing but the ghost of her touch against my palm. I forced myself to remain in my room and not follow her to the front door like some goddamned puppy dog. She hadn't denied her feelings for me, but she hadn't given me her number either. I was going to step out those doors tomorrow morning with no way to contact her unless I asked her father which was never going to happen in a million years. Mr. Matthews might be a great guy who was willing to help me keep my shit together, but there was no way he'd ever want me sniffing around his daughter.