“You’re very welcome, Tug.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
I turned and waved goodbye to Dr. Franklin and Roberta. Even though Tug wouldn’t be at Hope House after Labor Day, I’d volunteered to continue helping in whatever capacity I could.
“Could you maybe make it early in the morning when you pick me up? I hate drawn-out goodbyes, and everyone will be in group after breakfast.”
“Sure. Or you could tear up your bed sheets to make a rope and climb out your window. Then you could escape without any kind of scene at all.”
“If escape was that easy,” he said, “don’t you think I’d have done it by now?”
With a start, I met his gaze. He was kidding—I knew he was kidding—but as with all jokes there was an element of truth there.
“Did you really think about leaving?”
He eyed me. “If I said yes?”
“Any addict worth keeping is probably going to have those kinds of thoughts. You know which ones to try and which ones to walk away from.”
“I learned.”
Yeah, he’d learned. And it was a hard-won thing for him. He was going to take all the knowledge he’d gained under Dr. Franklin and Roberta and carry it to a coastal town that featured everything Hope House had sheltered him from.
As if I’d skipped the meeting about rigorous honesty, I told myself I wasn’t worried at all. He was standing by the curb as I drove away, my heart beating double time in my throat.
Chapter Sixteen
Hope House, Day 95
I took my time walking around the farm last night. The hardest part was saying goodbye to Horace the hound. We’d really bonded while I was taking care of the chickens, and I’m going to miss him when I go.
Keylan, Terrance, and John have already left. I’ll be going in the morning. I guess on Saturday, Dr. Franklin is driving Lincoln up to Medford, where he’s from. Lincoln’s family doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but he feels like he’ll do better there than anywhere else. Maybe he’ll be able to rebuild some relationships.
I’ll wish him good luck at breakfast when I say goodbye to the others. Tonight, I want to spend time alone with my thoughts.
Luke is due at 7:00 tomorrow morning. He’s bringing his dad’s Tahoe, but I don’t actually have that much to take with me. His Prius would probably be fine.
When I think about the last three months here, the emotional scenes inside the house and the peaceful countryside and long stretches of silence outside, I don’t want to leave.
I’m terrified of everything, not just the bad stuff that could happen but the good things too.
I’m terrified of making new friends, of trying to get a job when I’m not qualified for anything. I’m terrified that if—in some perfect world—I actually get a job, the normies I work with will think nothing of having a few beers to unwind after work, and I’ll just harsh their buzz.
I’m terrified I’ll make bad decisions or stupid mistakes or throw everything I’ve learned away because it’s just so hard to hold the line sometimes.
We’re supposed to live one day at a time; one minute if that’s all we can do, but I can’t help thinking that it’s way easier to live in the now if the present is comfortable and familiar and the future isn’t a giant question mark written in blood.
The only thing that makes this bearable at all is that I’ll have Luke beside me when I leave here. At the same time, I can’t make a person into my new crutch. I have to stand on my own goddamn feet. I have to learn balance without leaning on something outside myself.
Doc says I have to tell Luke he doesn’t need to make things easy for me anymore, and he’s right.
I’m already used to having Luke around, relying on him, letting him take away the uncertainty and the hurt of stretching myself so I can grow.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that without making a hard break. I don’t actually know if he’d walk away unless I made things explicit. If it was me, and Luke showed the slightest sign he needed me, I definitely wouldn’t walk away from him. I couldn’t.
I hope he’ll understand that I have to do selfish things now. That I don’t have the energy to make things easier for him.
If there was anything I could do to stand by Luke’s side forever, any quest, or contest, or test I could take, I’d do it.
The irony—would Luke agree it’s ironic?—is that in order to do that, I’ve got to get to my feet and stand by myself for an undisclosed, uncertain, but absolutely essential period of time.
Tug
Friday morning dawned with an overcast sky.
Mom and Dad arrived at my house by six thirty, determined to go along to say goodbye to Tug now that Dad was over his cold. They drove the Tahoe, and I took my car so they’d have a way to get back home once Tug and I took off.
The look on Tug’s face when he saw them rendered any inconvenience void. Mom threw her arms around him, and Dad patted him on the back. He got teary eyed.
“Oh, gosh. I was so afraid I wasn’t going to be able to say goodbye.” Mom cried as she pulled away. “We are so proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Tug squeaked like a dog toy when she grabbed him for another hug. “That’s so nice coming from you.”
“Huge congrats.” Dad took his turn for hugs. “This is a major milestone. I’m proud of you, son. You’ve got this.”
Tug simply nodded and let them fuss while I put his meager gear into the back of Dad’s SUV.
I’d picked up some snacks for the drive along with bottled water and the sports drinks I knew he enjoyed. They sat on the floor behind the driver’s seat so he could reach them easily.
“Did you get breakfast?” Mom asked anxiously. “We can go somewhere if you’re hungry.”
“I ate, thanks.” He patted his belly. “I’m good to go.”
“This feels like dropping the kids off at college. I have butterflies.” Mom stepped back and clasped her hands together. “Do you have butterflies, Tug?”
“I have flying dragons.” He gave her a sickly grin. “Flying, fire-breathing dragons the size of municipal buses.”
Dad gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll do fine. I think you’ll surprise yourself.”
“We’re here if you need us,” Mom said. “You have everyone’s number, right?”
“I do.” He patted the pocket of his tight jeans where the outline of his phone showed plainly. Goddamn. I had trouble pulling my eyes back to his face. “Dr. Franklin is my emergency contact, but I put you in my favorites list.”
Mom drew in a deep breath. “Well, we don’t want to keep you. Luke won’t give you your housewarming gift until you get to St. Nacho’s, but use it in good health.”
“Thank you.”
Dad pointed a finger at Tug’s nose. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
Dad and I switched car keys, and they drove away in my Prius. I opened the passenger door of the Tahoe for Tug.
At that moment, Dr. Franklin and Roberta came out to the porch. They waved at Tug, and he ran back for one last hug before jumping into the passenger seat. I closed the door after him. He put on his seatbelt. Heart in my throat, I waved goodbye to Dr. Franklin and Roberta, then I got into the car and we took off.