“I’ve got no job. It looks like I’ve only got two weeks left in this paradise.” He let his gaze drift over the peeling paint, tattered carpet and water-stained ceiling in what passed for a lobby of the low-rent Philadelphia apartment complex the rehab center had located for him. What was he going to do? “I’ll think of something.”
“I can let you know if I hear about a job.” The offer was half-hearted, but Tully nodded his thanks.
Too bad his AA meeting wasn’t tonight. He could still call his sponsor and…do what? Cry on the man’s shoulder? Life was tough. Tully Lange, formerly Sergeant Lange of the United States Army, needed to be tougher.
At least no one was shooting at him.
He unlocked his mailbox and pulled out the usual junk mail along with one oversize red envelope. He smiled when he saw it was from Arnie Dawson, also formerly of the United States Army and a longtime friend. Arnie was among the few people Tully had told he was going into rehab.
He tore open the envelope. On the front of the card inside was a baby in a diaper wearing a black mortarboard cap with a gold tassel. Inside the card read, “Graduation is only the first step. Keep stepping.”
Arnie had added a handwritten note.
Couldn’t find a card that said “congrats on getting through rehab.” Thought this one had pretty much the same message. I’m real proud of you, Cowboy. I wish I had half your guts. Pop up to Maine and see me soon. We’ll swap lies about our good old army days. I might even convince an Okie like you to stay in my slice of heaven.
Arnie loved teasing Tully about his Oklahoma roots, boots and Midwestern drawl. He never called Tully anything except Cowboy. Tully turned the envelope over and studied the return address. Caribou, Maine. The place even sounded cold. Would there be snow already? Tully almost chuckled. Wouldn’t Arnie be shocked if he took him up on his offer?
“Well, why not?” he muttered to himself. What did he have to lose?
“Why not what?” Reggie asked.
Tully had forgotten the boy was still hovering nearby. “A buddy has invited me to visit him in Maine. I guess I’ve got the time. It’ll be good to see him again.”
“Maine? Nothing but lumberjacks and moose that far north, unless he lives on the coast. I hear the seafood is awesome, though. At least that’s what they say on those TV travel channels. I’ve never been there myself. I’ve never been outside Philadelphia.”
Tully stared at the envelope in his hand. If he spent the rest of his last paycheck on gas, he could make it in a day or two, provided his car had that many more miles left in it. He didn’t have much to pack. That was the upside of being homeless and living out of his car for a year. The only upside.
An unfamiliar sense of excitement began creeping in to replace the despair that always hovered at the edge of his consciousness. A road trip and a visit with a friend he hadn’t seen in more than two years. What better way to celebrate four months of sobriety and the upcoming Christmas season? He needed to go. He had to get away before his old life pulled him back down to the gutter. Maybe this was his chance to make a real change.
He tossed the junk mail in the trash can by the door and walked down the musty-smelling hall to his studio apartment. He would let his sponsor know where he was going so he didn’t think Tully had relapsed. Other than his outpatient therapist, there was no one else to tell now that his old boss was gone.
He had burned a lot of bridges with the people in his life. This was his chance to save one of the few he had left.
Now that he had a plan, he rushed to get going before he changed his mind. Before he didn’t make it past the bar on Clover Street.
How many times had his determination to get sober been derailed in the past? There had always been a bar or a liquor store between him and his commitment to quit drinking. There would be one in Caribou, Maine, too. But there would also be his friend Arnie and most likely an AA group nearby if he needed help.
He pulled himself up short. Not if. He would need help. It would never be easy.
If he had learned anything in rehab, it was that his alcoholism could be mastered but never cured.
Now that the first rush of enthusiasm was wearing off, Tully sat on the worn, lumpy gray sofa that served as his couch and bed. He pulled out his cell phone, grateful that the rehab facility had provided him with a prepaid one. It didn’t have any bells and whistles, but a fellow couldn’t get a job without a phone and an address. He punched in Arnie’s number. His buddy picked up on the third ring.
“What did you think of the card?”
Not even a hello. Tully chuckled. “I think your taste is questionable.”
“Give me the spiel.”
Tully knew what he meant. It was the way AA members introduced themselves at his local meeting. “Hello. My name is Tully Lange and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for four months and five days.”
“Man, you don’t know how good it is to hear from you, Cowboy. Have you heard from any of the other guys?” Arnie asked hopefully.
“I heard Mason reenlisted but only because O’Connor stopped by to visit me once in rehab. He didn’t know where anyone else was, but he had heard about Brian.” Saying his friend’s name still choked him. He drew a shaky breath.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Arnie said firmly.
How Tully wished that was true. “I knew how drunk Brian was. I had his car keys. Why did I give them back to him?”
It had been the last straw. The last bad decision that
