“How can it be over for her when we’ve never even talked about it?”
“It was over for her the minute you married someone else and let her hear that from other people.”
“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
“I understand that, but it did happen, and now you have to find a way to live with the consequences.”
“I’ll never be able to live with it if I don’t get the chance to talk to her.”
“Do you understand that by continuing to reach out to her, you’re probably hurting her all over again?”
That didn’t occur to me, not in those terms, anyway.
“How long ago did you marry Ana?”
“A year.”
“Did Dee think she was probably going to be the one you married?”
“We’d talked about that happening after she moved back to Miami.”
“So Dee has had a year to pick up the pieces, to put her life back together and move on, and every time she hears from you, it has to be a reminder of what she’s overcome. You hurt her, Marcus. You maybe even devastated her, considering she expected to be your wife. By continuing to reach out to her, you’re compounding that pain for her.”
“I don’t want to hurt her. I only want the chance to explain and apologize.”
“Then write her a letter, but stop calling and texting her. That’s simply not fair to her.”
I don’t want to hear what she’s saying, even if I can see the truth in it.
“This latest incident is the second time alcohol has caused a disaster in your life. The first one resulted in broken hearts. This one nearly caused your death. You say that wasn’t intentional—”
“It wasn’t. I swear to God. I’m not suicidal. Even as bad as this last year has gotten, I’ve never once thought about ending my own life. What good would that do? It wouldn’t fix anything with Dee, which is my only goal.”
“I think it’s time for a new goal, one that focuses on you regaining your health. Would you consider in-patient rehab for thirty days or possibly longer if needed?”
“I, uh, I have to work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a branch manager at a bank.”
“I can help you complete the paperwork to take a medical leave of absence.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The chaos in my personal life has spilled over to my work, and I’m sort of on thin ice there.” Those were the words my regional manager used the last time we met after I was late on reporting some vital weekly information for the third week in a row. It’s hard to concentrate on anything when all you can think about is making things right with the one you love.
“You’re protected by federal law in this situation. If you have documentation of a medical condition, then your employer is required to protect your job.”
I didn’t know that. “Would I have to tell them what my condition is?”
“Let me ask you this… You said you’re on thin ice there. Do you think you’ve been hiding your reliance on alcohol from your colleagues? Would they be surprised to hear you were in rehab?”
“Probably not. They might even be relieved.”
“So what does it matter? If you had cancer, they’d hold fundraisers for you. Addiction is an illness, just like cancer or diabetes.”
I recoil from that term. “I’m not an addict.”
“No? Did you or did you not get married to a woman you didn’t love, breaking the heart of the woman you do love because of alcohol? Did you or did you not mix Xanax and alcohol and nearly end your life prematurely?”
“I did those things, but I’m not an addict.”
“The behaviors you’ve described are the hallmarks of someone in the grips of alcoholism, which is a form of addiction. Did your doctor talk to you about your liver numbers?”
“He said they were high.”
“They’re sky-high. Are you familiar with what liver failure is like?”
“Not really,” I say, forcing myself to sit still when I want out of there.
“I wouldn’t wish that death on my worst enemy.”
Her stark words strike a note of fear in me. It’s the first thing I’ve felt other than agony over Dee in more than a year.
“You’re twenty-eight years old, Marcus, with the liver of a seventy-five-year-old alcoholic. You’re headed for an agonizing early death if you don’t make some changes soon.” She puts her business card on my table. “Please consider getting some help. I can work with the hospital’s team to get you into treatment and would be happy to continue to work with you while you’re in rehab and after.”
I eye the card with trepidation. Nothing says I have to do anything with it.
“In the meantime, I’ll pray for you to find some peace. If I can help, don’t hesitate to reach out. My cell number is on my card. Call me anytime.”
“Thank you. Are you going to allow me to be released?”
“Not until after you complete withdrawal.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re about to find out what happens when the body suffers from alcohol withdrawal. It’s not pleasant, and you’re going to be quite ill for a few days. The doctors will want to keep a close eye on your vital signs during that time.”
I can’t believe it’s possible to feel worse than I already do.
“Thanks for coming by.”
“No problem. Be well.”
Long after she’s gone, I think about the things she said, mostly about how I’ve been hurting Dee every time I reach out to her. I didn’t think of what it would be like for her to hear from me after what I did to her. I’ve been so focused on trying to make things right with her. That’s been the only thought in my head since things with Ana blew up and she left. I was glad she was gone so I could turn my attention to trying to get back the life I lost on that fateful night in Vegas.
Dr. Stern has made me realize that in the year since then, Dee has moved on without me. Maybe she’s even seeing someone else. I’m filled with panic at the thought of her with another guy, even if I understand I have only myself to blame for this disaster.
I eye the card Dr. Stern left for a long time, thinking about what she said about my liver and the agony of liver failure. I don’t want to put another thirty days between me and making good with Dee. I feel an urgent need to take care of that before I do anything else, but I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have.
The idea of writing her a letter is a good one. I’ll give that some thought.
I reach for the business card the shrink left on the table and study the list of initials after her name. She’s probably seen hundreds of patients just like me, which means she knows what she’s talking about.
Before I can talk myself out of doing what I know I have to do, I dial her number on my cell.
“Dr. Stern.”
“This is Marcus.”
“Hi, Marcus. What can I do for you?”
“What you said about my job, how they’re required to hold it for me. That’s legit?”
“It is.”
My eyes flood with tears when I think about Dee, what I’ve done to her, to us. If I hadn’t gotten hammered in Vegas, there’s no way I would’ve ended up married to a woman I have no feelings for beyond friendship. I love Dee. I’ll always love Dee.