“Could I have one of those mints?” she says to me, nodding to the small tin of Altoids. Shit. I left them out. I was in too much of a hurry getting up to congratulate them.
“Sure.” As casually as I can, I bring out the other tin-the real Altoids-and open it up.
Shauna looks at me. “No, I want one from the red tin,” she says. “The peppermint.”
“What’s the difference?” I shake the blue tin in my hand for emphasis.
“I want the peppermint kind,” she says again, her eyes growing hot.
“Shauna-”
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for one of the peppermint ones that you just slipped back in your pocket.”
“What the fuck, Shauna?”
“What the fuck, Jason? I’m serious.”
We stare at each other. This isn’t going well. My cell phone buzzes-Alexa-but I let it go to voice mail. This is not the time for evasion. Shauna has busted me, and we both know it.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Now, listen to me, Jason. Are you listening? I mean, really listening?”
My face is hot, my eyes stinging. I don’t answer.
“I’m not going to let you throw your life away. You are going to get off those pills, and I’m going to be there with you. We’re going to do it together. But it doesn’t work until you admit it.”
I laugh, like the whole thing is ridiculous, but nobody in this room is fooled. “So this is, like, an intervention? Where’s my brother, on the other side of the door? Where’s Lightner? Where’s Dr. Phil?”
“It’s just me,” she says. “It’s me. The person who cares about you more than anyone in this world. It’s me, Jason.” She pats her chest for emphasis. “I’ve got all the time in the world to help you. I’ll do whatever you need.”
“There’s nothing to do, kiddo, and this is getting redundant. We’ve been over this before. If this is going to be you hectoring me about a problem I don’t have, then it’s going to be a short conversation. Go out and celebrate, and leave me alone. I’ve got enough to deal with right now,” I say, and now the emotions are starting to build. “I’ve got a damn serial killer who, as far as I know, is scouting out his next target right now, and who’s apparently setting me up for the crime. And I can’t find out who he is. I can’t, Shauna. It’s-well, it’s taking up a bit of my time right now, okay? So please, take your touchy-feely intervention and conduct it on somebody else.”
Shauna watches me, almost clinically, like she’s observing me for an objective evaluation. Then, without warning, her eyes begin to fill. Her expression doesn’t change. If anything, it grows stonier. But those eyes always give her up.
“I’m pregnant,” she says.
80
Jason
Friday, July 26
I search Shauna’s face, uncertain I heard the words correctly, but surer every second, as the tears roll down her face, as she picks at a fingernail, her eyes casting downward.
“I’m pregnant,” she says, “and I’m terrified.”
“No. No.” I am out of my chair now, coming around my desk.
I approach her, and she weeps silently, the way she always does, her shoulders bobbing, and when she looks back up at me she has to blink away tears furiously, her mouth in a scowl.
Something clears inside me, not a sudden jolt but the slow rise of the sun, something long dormant waking up and rearing its head, stretching its limbs, clearing its throat, reasserting itself. Now I remember, I realize. Now I remember.
And it surges through me, shaking me so hard that the hand I raise to her cheek is trembling. I wipe at her tears with my thumb, pull her in close to me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“No. Don’t ever-”
And then my throat chokes up, and I press against her, and everything is different, because it has to be different, I want it to be different, I’ve wanted it to be different for so long now that I’ve forgotten what it felt like, what it looked like.
“I’m addicted to OxyContin,” I say. “I don’t know how I let it happen, but I did. I thought I could take as much of it as I wanted, as often as I wanted, because I was strong. But I’m not strong. Not strong enough. I. . I want to stop, Shauna. But I need help.”
“Then you will,” she whispers. “I’ll help you. We’ll do it together.”
I press my lips into her hair, run a hand over her back. “I promise you I’ll beat it,” I say, my voice gaining strength again. “I won’t let you down. Ever, Shauna. I won’t ever let you down again.”
She slowly draws back, puts her hands on each side of my face, looking at me. “I know you won’t,” she says.
81
Jason
Friday, July 26
Alexa opens the door to her home. Her smile disappears as soon as she sees the look on my face.
Things have been on a downward slide between us, a slow and steady decline. It’s the kind of thing that neither party to a relationship openly acknowledges, but each one recognizes. This visit, this moment, can’t be entirely a surprise to her. But there is so much that goes unsaid in a relationship that sometimes you don’t know until you do it.
“Something’s wrong,” she says to me, backing up, letting me into her home, but not taking her eyes off me, her facial expression telling me that she sees it coming.
“My life has been wrong for a while now,” I say. “I have to turn it around. I’m going to turn it around. Right now.”
“You’re. . pale,” she says, reaching for me, but I recoil. “Is it your knee?”
I resist the impulse to smile. “I think we both know my knee is fine, Alexa. I’ve become a drug addict. And if I don’t change that, I’m going to wind up in the gutter.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, coming to me again. “Let me help.”
I take her by the wrists, blocking those hands that caressed me so often. “You deserve better than this. I know that. But I have to start fresh. I have to end this between us right now. I’m very sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”
She doesn’t take it well. She pulls back from me, shaking her head, breathless, wagging a finger like she’s warning me, no no no. She doesn’t speak. It’s as if the wind has been stolen from her. Like a child gearing up for a loud cry.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask, trying to strike the proper balance between concern and dispassion. I need to keep some distance now. It won’t make it any easier for her if I touch her, soothe her, take her in my arms one last time.
“Am I. . going. . am I. .” She staggers into the living room, bracing herself against the love seat.
I consider all sorts of platitudes. It’s for the best. I think you’re great. You’re going to find someone special. It’s just not the right time. Empty words, all of them. Words to ease the discomfort of the deliverer of the bad news more than the recipient. She is suffering now, and my feelings for her were genuine, too, at least on some level. But I can’t separate our relationship from the pills. I’m not sure there was a relationship without those pills. So I’m not going to coddle her with some mouth candy that I think I’m supposed to utter. I’m not going to pretend that this is going to feel better for her tomorrow.
She has made it to the couch, where she sits. I fetch a glass of water, not that she requested it, and place it on the table next to her. She is trying to breathe.
“Alexa, I’m worried about your safety,” I say. “With this killer out here who has a hard-on for me. Can I. . Would you let me buy you a plane ticket somewhere? Anywhere. You name it. I can put you up in a hotel somewhere where you’re far away-”