Page 105 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“You work in a bar.”

I hold his gaze. “Got to be willing to look the devil in the eye, right?”

“But constant exposure raises your chances of drinking.”

He’s right. Some nights are harder than others. As my brain has cleared, the demons, who’d been suppressed by the booze, have crawled toward the edge of the shadows. “I thought it would get easier the longer I was sober, but it’s getting harder.”

“How so?”

My left foot jangles up and down. How much of myself am I willing to give? “I’m remembering.”

He doesn’t ask me to explain as his gaze lingers on me. He’s leaving it up to me to translate my trauma into words.

“My childhood wasn’t exactlyLeave It to Beaver.” That’s true, and if I’m going to sell myself to him, I’ll have to use some truth. This kind of guy can sniff out bullshit.

He isn’t surprised. “I’m sorry.”

“It was just my sister and me. Well, it didn’t start that way. My parents weren’t happy. Dad drank. Then he started hitting Mom. She finally threw him out. I can still remember him packing a suitcase. I asked him where he was going, and he said he was making a quick trip to see his mother. I didn’t even know he had a mother. He promised he’d be back. He didn’t come back. You’ve heard this story a million times, I bet.”

“Doesn’t make it any less painful.”

I fish a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of my jacket. It’s a nasty habit, but since I arrived at the beach, I’ve been craving them, so I’d picked up a pack at the drugstore on my way here. Now the hunger is insatiable. “Can I smoke? I know it’s not PC or allowed in most businesses.”

“Normally, no, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Why am I so special?”

“I’ve been at this long enough to know when a patient needs something extra to calm themselves.”

I was unruffled when I entered the office, and then I saw the picture. Now I’m nervous. “I bet you’ve sat in a lot of smoke-filled rooms.”

“A few.”

I raise a red plastic lighter to the raw edge. It flames. I inhale. When I’ve taken several puffs, I relax. The ritual of lighting up and the slow inhale and exhale elevate the dopamine in my brain. Smoking calms me. “Thanks. I thought you’d say no.”

“I try to be helpful.” He rises, crosses to a shelf, and retrieves a marble ashtray. He sets it on the desk in front of me.

I flick an ash into it.

He takes his seat behind the desk. “What happened after your father left?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

“I want you to tell me.”

Another pause. “I’m spilling my guts to you a lot faster than I normally do.”

What’s brewing under his calm reserve? “Because you’re ready to speak your truth.”

“Maybe.” That’s not far off the mark. It would be nice to drop the walls. Of course, I’ve chosen a potential monster as my confessor.

“Where’s your sister these days?”

“She’s doing well. Better than me. Has her life on track. Job. School. Wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up married with the white picket fence one day, two and a half kids and a dog.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.” Two more deep inhales. “If she hadn’t turned out so great, then there’d have been no point to it all.”

---