He surprises me by turning back at the last minute. “Come on down when you’re ready and help yourself to some food. I don’t have time to wait on a nonpaying customer, but you can make yourself a sandwich. I keep all the fixings on hand.”
It’s the most words he’s spoken to me. I wonder if Piper received the same offer when she showed up. Maybe Stoney has a thing for strays. Or maybe, like most bartenders, he recognizes a lost soul when he sees one.
I nod my thanks. He leaves. I remain standing in the middle of my new home. For weeks? Months? I have no idea. Beginning is the hardest part. And though I’ve done this before, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed.
Which makes the dark beast of my addiction stir in my belly, opening a single eye to survey the opportunity. While I’m downstairs making a sandwich, I could pour a beer. Or even better, vodka, tequila, whiskey straight up. Something potent and searing that would turn my muscles into liquid and chase all my fears away.
I think of Paul. I feel the familiar pain squeezing my chest. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Then, I leave my suitcase to the mercy of a feral cat and, as long as it’s still light out, head back to the street, where I consult my printed map again, and the red X that marks Angelique’s aunt’s house.
I resume walking, aware once more of all the eyes falling upon me, and the deepening chill whispering up my neck. I keep my head up, my shoulders back. I smile in greeting. I tell myself I’m strong enough.
And I pray this time that I really am.