CHAPTERONE
“They say they’re in love.” Shannon snorts. “Like they have any clue. Dee jumped from one addiction to another. She thinks your brother is going to solve her problems? She’s delusional.” -My sister, at the hospital in Chicago where I was admitted (Once Upon a Billionaire)
Dee
Outside of a beautiful home in Clear Ridge, Ohio, the snow has stopped falling. It’s crazy cold out here, but I’ve dressed for the occasion.
Overdressed, technically.
I tighten the belt on my Santa suit. The velvet-and-faux-fur outfit is darn baggy on my frame, even though I’ve gained a good twenty pounds over the last year. I used to be a rail, but skinniness is harder to maintain once you stop taking drugs, you know?
Or maybe you don’t know. I hope you don’t know.
I sniff, the cold air tickling the insides of my nostrils as I take in the clear sky above. The stars are out, twinkling in a moonless sky. The moon has to be up there somewhere. I just can’t see it.
Recovery is like that. You’re okay until you find yourself drowning in the turbulent waters of addiction. The temptation to use is there after you stop, after you leave your AA meeting. You can’t see it, but it’s there. One comment, one movie with an actor who uses drugs, or a dinner at a restaurant when someone across the way is sipping a glass of red wine could be enough to send you back to square one.
I’m not planning on returning to square one. In the year-plus since I’ve stopped using drugs or drinking alcohol, I haven’t looked back. And believe me, if last Christmas didn’t send me into a tailspin, nothing will.
My heart is in my throat as I stare at the ornate door handle. There is a window to the right of the door I’m determined not to look through. I’m out of sight of anyone inside, and I pray to God Nate and Vivian haven’t installed one of those video doorbells. They’re expecting me, so that’s not why. I’d hate for them to know I’m out here, freezing my snowballs off, trying to dredge up the courage to knock on their door.
Walt’s in there.
He used to love me. I’m not sure he loves me anymore. The most his sister, Vivian, would share with me was that he was doing well. I tried asking her to share whether or not Walt mentions me, but she ducked the question. She said something like, “I know you and I have had a couple of unpleasant run-ins, Dee, so please don’t take this as me trying to make life harder for you. Walt has asked me not to involve myself in his romantic life. I don’t want to abuse that trust.”
Fair enough.
She said that about, oh, eight months ago, so dredging up the courage to contact her for this surprise visit wasn’t easy for me. I did it, though. I texted her and told her that she didn’t have to agree, but I’d like to give Walt his Christmas present in person. All I asked to know was if he still lived in the same apartment in Chicago. In a follow-up text, I admitted I was overstepping and added that I was clean and had been for a long, long time. I told her I planned to stay that way. I told her I wanted to see Walt more than anything, even if he was married with kids, just to apologize for the way things ended between us last Christmas.
Vivian was right. We’ve had our run-ins. It’s a testament to her character that she invited me over. She responded that she’s happy for my recovery, that Walt is as far from married as the Earth from Neptune, and that he had moved. Rather than give me his address, she told me he would be at her and Nate’s house on Christmas Day. Then she texted the words You’re welcome to join us.
I could have died.
I didn’t, though. I worked up the courage to fly to Ohio from Atlanta in this ridiculous Saint Nick suit in the hopes that I could undo what was done last Christmas. I just want Walt to know that I cared about him then. I still care about him. More than care, but I’m terrified to hope he doesn’t hate me.
Honestly, I don’t know if “undoing” our past is possible. Lots of things were said by both of us, and they were unforgettable. It was a kind of last-straw fight. One you replay in your head over and over. One you wish you could take back, but by then the damage is done and you can’t take it back.
Maybe, I think as I study the dark sky, I can take it back.
I need a Christmas miracle.
At the moment those words wend through my brain, a shooting star tracks across the sky. So bright, it can be seen over the light pollution caused by festive bulbs strung on the homes in this neighborhood.
I close my eyes and say a wish that is more like a prayer.
And then I knock on the door.