The Ninth Step (17 page)

“Stella. She was just a baby when--”

Livie’s eyes narrowed.

Cotton shifted his glance remembering Stella, the times he’d walked with her and rocked her, the endless games of peek-a-boo. One starry night at Kat’s house, they’d had Sinatra on the stereo and Cotton had put his arms around both Stella and Livie and twirled with them outside on the patio. He remembered Stella’s giggles, her chubby-fisted kisses to “Mr. Moon”. She had loved “Mr. Moon”.

“How old is she now?” he asked Livie and nearly lost himself in the sudden surprise of her smile, in the way he felt redeemed by its light.

“Seven going on seventeen,” Livie answered, the smile fading as quickly as it had come. “She has a brother, Zachary, who’s three. Kat has her hands full.” Livie stood, purposefully, as if she’d had enough of small talk.

Cotton stood too, somehow keeping her gaze. Her eyes seemed full of conflict and shadow, as if she wanted to say a hundred things; she was so much the image of his memory, so much the source of the ache in his heart. He touched two fingertips to the back of her hand, unable to keep from it and when she allowed it, he thought his heart might stop. The space they shared became charged, electric. Cotton knew Livie felt it, too, that she had to.

“Livie--” Her name shaped his breath.

“I hope Delia will be okay.”

“She’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“I’m glad I could be there for her.”

“When I remember how she treated you, it really pisses me off.”

Livie recoiled. “How
she
treated me?”  

Cotton saw his mistake and tried to backpedal, mouthing, “No I--” mouthing, “I don’t mean to minimize my--” Finally saying, “Look, it’s going to be a while until she’s moved. Can’t we talk?”

“You should call your brother, Scott. In Seattle, right?” Livie’s voice was whip-thin and as brittle with accusation as her gaze. He felt flayed by it, felt his face burning.

But he was confused about this further source of her anger, what Scott had to do with it. “What are you getting at?”

“You told me he took off when you were in high school and you didn’t know where he’d gone--”

“I did?”
Had he told her about that?

“--that you didn’t care if you never spoke to him again. But you did know where he lived. You went there.”

Cotton looked away.

“It wasn’t him you never wanted to see again, was it? It was me. Your mother’s right.”

 He began a protest.

She put up her hand. “No. Don’t say anything else. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does. This is why I stayed away because I didn’t want you to be hurt by me any more than you already were. I know what you think, that I couldn’t commit, that I didn’t love you, but you’re wrong. So wrong. If you would only listen, let me expl--”

“No,” she repeated. “It’s too late,” she said and his knees almost buckled.

She went to the entrance door and he waited for her to go through it, wild to stop her, thinking if he tried, he risked making it worse when she stopped of her own accord and faced him.

“Do you know I waited for you to turn around and you didn’t.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m not following--”

“In the driveway at your mom’s house, before the ambulance left, you never once looked to see if I was still there. You assumed I would do what I said even after everything that’s happened, you never doubted I would come here and wait with you.” She advanced on him, one step, two. “It would never occur to you that you couldn’t trust me, would it? You don’t have any idea what that feels like.”

His mouth worked; words collided in his brain, but before he could put them together she was gone. He felt jolted by her absence. His ears rang. The doors opened and a nurse rushed past him making a wind that ruffled his clothes. What had happened? What had just fucking happened here? He backed to a chair, sank into it, dropped his head into his hands.

He’d failed her again, but he didn’t know how.

#

“I don’t know what she wants from me, what else I can do,” he told Anita. He was sitting in the parking lot of the hospital in the Mercedes with his cell phone. “All I want is to make it right, but no matter what I say, she takes it the wrong way. She won’t listen; she won’t let me--”

“Geez, Cotton, I can’t believe you’re still so damn clueless.”

“What?”

“You blame everyone but yourself. It’s all about how your mother lied to Livie, put ideas in her head, and now Livie won’t give you a chance. It’s your mother’s fault; it’s Livie’s fault. The devil made you do it.” Anita sighed. “Are you really going to make me repeat what, why and who created this situation? Are you really going to make me say that none of these circumstances you’re whining about would even exist if you hadn’t been boozing it up on your wedding day? Or how about if you’d just stayed put after the accident instead of running?”

Cotton curled his hand around the steering wheel, balanced his forehead on his knuckles.

“Cotton?” Anita said his name softly.

“Have I ever told you how much you piss me off?” he asked her.

“I’m really sorry about your mom. Have they let you in to see her?”

“Yeah. For a couple minutes. She’s in a coma. They said the next seventy-two hours are critical.”

“Have you called your brother? Is he coming? Do you have a sponsor there? You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m okay. Not thinking of drinking.”

“Like hell.”

Cotton laughed. He told Anita about Sonny Bozeman.

“He needs to know what’s going on. I mean everything, Cotton, the whole story. Did you--?”

“No,” Cotton said. “I didn’t see Latimer on Sunday. I didn’t tell him.”

“Well, I guess I figured that since you’re still breathing, but this situation-- Cotton, it’s not good, not legally or ethically, you know? It scares me to think how it could backfire on you.”

“Everything’ll be fine.” Cotton offered his usual ten cent reassurance.

“I called the sheriff’s department there.” Anita spoke into the pause.

Cotton’s feet hit the pavement. “You did what?”

“I was worried on Sunday, the way you were talking, the way you took off. Cotton, that man has a gun. He’s evidently unstable, at least when it comes to settling a score. I just don’t think you realize--”

“Geezus, Anita. Are you crazy?”

“The sheriff already knew you were there.”

“Which department? Where did you call?

“Lincoln County. Isn’t that where the accident happened?”

Cotton wondered how she remembered. Must be the lawyer in her, he thought. “He knows I’m here? How?”

“Evidently Livie’s family is pretty concerned. The sheriff said he’d heard from them too. I’d quit going by her house if I was you.”

“What exactly did you tell the sheriff? The accident--did you--?”

“No. That’s not for me to tell. I don’t think they’ve connected your disappearance to that. The sheriff didn’t mention anything except Livie and her family. He kept asking who I was, where I was calling from, how I knew you, what my concern was. I didn’t give him any details. I just said there could be trouble.”

“Damn it, Anita. I wish you hadn’t--”

“Don’t lecture me, Cotton. I called them and if you don’t get in there and talk to them yourself pretty quick, I’ll call them again and I’ll give them details, chapter and verse. You may not care about your life, but I do.”

“Ah, Christ, Anita.” Cotton bent his head back, blinking. He told her he was sorry. “I wish you weren’t involved, that I hadn’t told you. That’s the trouble with this AA shit.”

“Just promise you’ll get with your sponsor.” Her voice was still shaky. He heard her sniffing into a tissue.

What else could he do but say yes?

#

Delia improved enough that by Tuesday, they’d moved her out of ICU and into a semi-private room.

“Doc Hoffman says she could be home in a week,” Cotton told Scott. “She’s gonna need help though.”

“Drying out, you mean.”

Cotton brought his shaving gear out of the bathroom and shoved it into a canvas duffel. “Yeah. She drinks again, she’s dead.”

“And you think if you move home, you can stop her.”  

“Who else is there? I don’t see you here.”

“Like sacrificing the first seventeen years of my life wasn’t enough? Anyway, I told you, I’ve got a business to run.”

“She’s our mom, Scott. We lose her, that’s it. We’ve got nobody.”

“You can’t lose what you never had.”

“If you could see her--”

“I don’t want to.”

“She’s scared out of her mind. She thinks you hate her.”

“She’s right.”

“But she’s sober now; she’s not the way you remember. It’s like, I dunno, like she’s had an epiphany or something. You don’t think she deserves a chance?”

“She never gave a damn about either of us, Cotton, and you know it. All she cares about is her bottle and if you think she’s gonna give it up, you’re a bigger lunatic than she is.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t just walk out on her.”

“Why not? You’ve sure walked out on a lot better people.”

“Thanks, asshole.” Cotton shoved the tote off the bed onto the floor and sat down. “That’s just what I need, a little more fucking guilt crammed down my throat.”

“C’mon, Cotton, use your damn head for once. Delia’s a drunk. She’s been a drunk most of her life. She’s not gonna reform. She’s not gonna pony up and go to AA with you or do any of that damn shit and you know it. When she tanks, which she will, you’ll go with her. You ever think of that?”

“What I think,” Cotton said, making each syllable distinct, “what I can’t get out of my mind is how Livie took on the responsibility--for our mother, Scott. For six years, she kept tabs on Delia. After all the shit Delia gave her, in spite of how I treated her, Livie still--”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful? Did I ask for Livie’s help? No. And I’m not asking you either. Here’s what you don’t understand, I don’t give a fuck what happens to Delia. I gave up giving a fuck the last time I cleaned the puke off her and put her in bed. Or how about the times we came home from school and had to scrape her up off the front lawn while all the neighbors goggled out their windows? Or what about when she’d just up and take off for days and the cops would bring her--”

“Shut up. I get it. I lived it too.”

“Yeah, beats the shit out of me why you want to do it again.”

#

He was on his way back to the hospital when he got hold of Wes and once he’d explained the situation with his mom, Cotton said he wasn’t sure how quickly he could get back to work. “If you want to find someone else--”

“Hell, no. What’s left anyway? A bunch of little stuff. We’ll manage. You just take care of your family.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Before you go, did Nikki tell you they got the punks who’ve been working the neighborhood?”

“No. When?”

“A couple of days ago. A homeowner caught them in his house, held a gun on them while his wife called the sheriff.”

“You and Nikki can finally get some sleep,” said Cotton.

“Yeah,” Wes said. “You, too. Keep me posted, will you? And don’t worry about the job, man. It’ll wait.”

Cotton thanked Wes and tried to pretend he deserved Wes’s kindness.

#

 “Maybe it’s penance,” Cotton said to Sonny over coffee at Starbucks.

“You play nursemaid to your mom, you rack up the brownie points. Is that how it works?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“If I had the answer to that, I’d be rich and not just good looking.”

Cotton snorted.

“Seriously, this deal with your mom, is it some kind of pay it forward scheme? Like if you can keep her sober, it’ll make up for what you put Livie through?”

“Would that be so wrong?”

“Not in theory, not if your mom’s sobriety was up to you. But it isn’t. It has to be her choice not to drink and no amount of you wanting to save her or wanting to look like Christ Almighty to your former fiancé is going to make it happen.” Sonny bent his head until Cotton met his eye. “You do know that, right? Because you’ve put yourself at risk by moving home.”

“So everybody says, but it’s different this time.” Cotton repeated what he’d told Scott. “Mom’s different. She’s actually seeing a counselor at the hospital.” He knew it didn’t count for much, that if Delia could get her hands on a bottle, she’d drink. It was up to him to make sure she couldn’t. That was his job now, to keep her dry until she could do it for herself.

He said, “I want this to work, for her to be, you know--”

“Okay. Sober. Alive.”

“I know it’s crazy.”

Laughter broke from the group at the table behind them. Somebody’s cell phone went off.

Cotton bent his weight on his elbows. “I’m thinking about fixing up the house. It needs painting, maybe a new roof.”

“More penance?”

Cotton shot Sonny a look.

He put up his hands. “I’m joking,” he said. “I’d like to help. I bet some of the other guys would, too.”

Cotton thanked him.

“So, what about Livie? Have you been able to speak to her again since your mom got sick?”

“No. I’ve emailed, but she doesn’t answer.”

“You think there’s any chance she’d turn you in to the cops?--if she knew the truth, I mean.”

“Anybody could. You could.”

“But I won’t.” Sonny wasn’t offended.

Cotton shifted his feet. “I guess where Livie’s concerned, I think more in terms of hate, that once she knows the whole story, she’ll hate me. More than now, I mean. Wes Latimer is the one who’ll turn me in. Or worse,” Cotton added, and when Sonny asked, Cotton told him about the Glock Wes had borrowed for protection.

Sonny turned his cup in circles. “You ever hear of the castle doctrine?”

Cotton shook his head.

“It’s a law Texas enacted after nine-one-one. It says a man’s got a right to use deadly force to protect his property. You get what I’m saying? It’s like a license to kill. You can murder somebody and make it look like you had a legal right.”

“That’s heartwarming.”

“I heard a story from a guy I did time with--his brother lured some jerk who was screwing his wife over to his house and then--” Sonny made a gun with his index finger-- “pow, capped him right in his balls. Severed his femoral artery, made sure the guy bled out before the cops got there. Our boy claimed he walked in on a robbery and took care of business. He was never charged.”