“I can arrange that. Do I work with you?”
Enrique nodded. “Yes. Maybe next Tuesday. I’ll put the word out. You can come to the Trading Post before then and we can talk about what you might want to teach.”
Sweat broke out on the back of Devon’s neck and his mouth went dry. Just like that he wanted a drink, and he was pretty sure the nearest AA meeting was in Wasilla or Anchorage. He would have to check. “Can we meet at Dad’s?” He hauled in a deep breath and willed the craving to pass. “I….” He had learned that he needed to be able to be honest about his needs. “I’m in recovery. I have been for two years now. I don’t drink, and….”
“I see,” Enrique said. “Then I can come to your dad’s.” He seemed to hesitate. “There are other people who are in the same situation.” His gaze held Devon’s.
“You?” he asked quietly, and Enrique nodded.
“I work at the bar sometimes and I mix drinks for people, but I never have any myself.” He shrugged. “I tell myself I don’t like the taste. That I’m serving walrus piss or something like that.” He grinned brightly. “It gets me through.”
“Why do you do it?” Devon asked.
“Because it’s what I have to do to make a living, and when you own the business, you do what you have to in order to make it work. I have a bartender and she’s real good, but she has issues the same as all of us, and I sometimes have to take over for her. The last time sucked, but I made it through.” He put his arms around himself. Devon understood. He had done that more times than he could count over the past two years.
“I don’t know if I would be able to do that. Mostly I avoid situations where alcohol is prevalent. Sometimes I can’t, but I make sure I have something there that I can drink.” He also thought about drinking so often. “It’s always in my mind.”
“Yes, I know.” Enrique turned out the lights, and they left the art room. He closed the door after them, and they walked together out toward the main library door. “It’s in mine too. But I refuse to let it win. The alcohol and my need for it ruled my life for a long time. I don’t see my parents or the rest of my family since they moved down below and because of how I acted, and….”
“Yeah. You wonder how much of who you are was the booze and what’s really you,” Devon supplied. Enrique nodded. “I’m trying to figure that out.”
“So am I.” Enrique pulled open the door, and Devon stepped out into the night. There was a light in the parking area outside the library, and the lights in the cabin shone between the trees. “I think I will be for probably the rest of my life.”
Devon could agree with that. One of the things he had had to learn was that this was going to be with him for the rest of his life. It might get easier over time, but it was never going to go away. “Yes.” He still wondered almost constantly if when he’d stopped drinking, he had also put a lid on his soul. That was the million-dollar question, and there were no quick answers to that one. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned toward the cabin. “I need to get back and check on Dad, help him into bed. But come on over sometime. We can work on a lesson, and you can visit with Dad. I know he’d like that.” Devon waved and started walking.
His dad was asleep when he came into the house. Devon checked the schedule for his medications and got a glass of water as well as a small snack. “Dad,” he said gently, “you should go to bed.” His dad’s eyes slid open. “You need to eat a little and take your pills.”
He ate the crackers with a little cheese, drank some water, and took the pills. Then he got up off the sofa and slowly shuffled toward his bedroom. “Good night, son. I’m glad you’re here.” He went inside, and Devon turned out the lights and headed down to his own room, used the bathroom, and fell into bed. But he didn’t sleep. A certain face kept running through his head until he grew too tired to stay awake any longer.
Chapter 3
THE WILLOW Trading Post had been in the same location for decades, though Enrique had remodeled the inside. In a town this size, without even a stoplight, the Trading Post was the store, restaurant, bar, and even hotel for the entire town. Enrique liked to think that his business was the town center. He carried some basic grocery items as well. Up and down the highways, there were roadhouses and trading posts that served their area of the Alaska wilderness, and this was his little piece of the interior.
“You got someplace you need to be?” Angie asked as he finished up the books for the month, looking at him with huge brown eyes and her round Aleut face, pushing her straight jet-black hair behind her ear.
Enrique glared at her the way he did when she was ramping up to stick her nose in his business. “I got a meeting.” Angie was a nice enough person, but she talked, and Enrique wasn’t having everyone in his business all the damned time. The people on the lake all seemed joined at the hip most of the time already, and that was a little closer than he was comfortable with. “Are you heading to Anchorage like you planned?”
“You want me to pick up some things?” she asked.
Enrique passed her a list. “There’s also an order at the food service supplier on Northern Lights. Can you stop there as well? The coolers for the frozen foods are out back.” He went to get up, but she shook her head.
“I know where everything is. I’ll be leaving at four and will be back tomorrow morning. I’ll get the frozen stuff last, so you don’t have to worry.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. They had had this conversation before. “Now go on to your meeting and have a good time.” She winked.
Enrique chose to ignore her. Sometimes she was just a huge pain in the ass.
Enrique put away his books and closed up the office, grabbing his notebook and materials on the art program. Then he strode out of the Trading Post and to his car and made the short drive to Charles’s place.
Charles met him at the door, which was surprising. “I’m meeting with Devon.”
“He’s down by the lake. I expect him back in a minute.” He motioned, and Enrique followed him inside. Charles shuffled when he walked, but it was good to see him up and about anyway.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. Though I suspect my energy will be gone in an hour or so, but at least I’m up and about.” He pulled out a chair at the table.
“Why don’t I help you to a more comfortable seat? Devon and I can talk here if you like.” Enrique guided Charles to the comfortable recliner, and he sat down with a soft sigh, as though the exertion was all he could take.
Devon came in the front door, stepping right into the living room, and got his dad some water before he and Enrique settled at the table. “I was thinking about talking about the light and how it changes. Maybe have people paint something simple, like the sky over the lake. The kids could do something basic, and maybe the adults could take the lesson to a deeper level. What do you think?”
Enrique nodded. “Just don’t talk down to the kids.”
“Of course not. This is art. It has to be an expression of each person.” He smirked and looked over at Charles, who had fallen asleep. “I assume we’re using acrylic paints, things like that.”