Page 54 of Gideon's Gratitude

“I woke up, and you were gone. It’s almost time for the video chat, and you were gone.”

“Gideon, take a breath. It’s barely two o’clock.” I handed the leash over, hoping the dog’s presence would calm him. The panic was disproportionate to the situation, but I couldn’t point that out. No, I had to respect my friend and what he was enduring.

Gideon unclipped the leash, and Lucky headed over to his water bowl.

I removed my coat after stepping inside and closing the door.

The room was darker than before as the skies overhead had grayed further.

As if reading my unspoken thought, Gideon flipped on an overhead light. The glare was bright, and he blinked.

The video camera sat on the table next to my laptop. I sat and worked diligently to set everything up. When I turned on the camera and checked the laptop, the overhead light cast an odd shadow. “Do you think we can turn off the light and turn on several lamps?”

He hustled to follow the instructions.

I rose and held out the chair.

He sat and adjusted himself as he stared at his image. “I look too pale.”

He did, so I didn’t argue. “I don’t suppose you have concealer or foundation?”

The look of incredulity he gave me was priceless.

“Well, I have some for certain situations when I’m on camera.”

“I don’t. I never needed to. No one cares what I look like.”

“Now, I’m certain that’s not the case. Your children will care. They want you looking healthy. And you want to show Leo that you’re doing well. And how he made a mistake letting you go.” Even as I said the words, they resonated hollowly within me.

“He didn’t make the wrong decision.” Gideon rose abruptly. “You don’t know all the facts.”

And I didn’t like not knowing all the facts, but was it my place to ask? To insist? To demand? “Do you want to tell me?” Soft, coaxing.

“I’m an addict.” Blurted out.

He didn’t meet my gaze. Not what I expected. But nothing about this man ever did. “What are you addicted to?”

“Opioids. Pain killers.”

Common enough these days. “Did you move on to heroin or Fentanyl?”

His jaw dropped in horror. “No, absolutely not.”

“Is this why you don’t have painkillers in the house? I mean, not even acetaminophen?”

A vigorous nod.

“If you’re no longer on the drugs, how is this an issue?”

“Because I was on them, and Leo believed I didn’t need them. He came home one day and found me passed out. The kids were down for their naps, but Leo couldn’t rouse me. If the kids had needed me…”

A picture coalesced. “He was worried about the children.”

“And he has the right to be. I stopped. That day. I went to a rehab clinic. I detoxed, and I did the stint, and I haven’t touched a pill since.”

“But you’re in constant pain.”

His wince was all the confirmation I needed. “And if you’re still in pain, there’s always a chance you can start using again.”

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