Page 32 of A Cure for Recovery

“I know that.” But he pouts anyway, and Tommy laughs, and sips his wine, and is pleasantly warm inside, head to toes.

Tommy orders steak, and Lawson gets the paella, despite the waiter giving him a dubious look and saying it’s meant to feed four.

After they’ve ordered, Nat tops up their glasses and turns her laser-focus on Tommy.Uh oh, he thinks, and the wine makes him bold enough not to shrink down into his seat beneath the vivid blue of her eyes.

“Tom,” she says, “you weren’t using your cane when you came in.”

Tommy thinks,aw shit. And then Lawson stiffens beside him, a judder of tension where their biceps are pressed together, and then he thinksaw shitfor a different reason.

He reaches with his other hand to squeeze Lawson’s forearm and said, “Have you seen this guy’s arms? Nobody needs a cane holding onto one of those.”

Lawson barks a startled laugh.

“Oh jeez,” Noah says, grimacing. “Marriage made you gross.”

And they don’t talk about Tommy’s legs, or his cane, or anything of the sort for the rest of the meal.

9

In the week of planning that led up to their departure, Lisa and Bill both encouraged them to see something on Broadway while they were in the city. Natalia asks them if they have tickets for any shows, or if they have any interest in this new club her friend just opened. “I can get your names on the list.”

They trade a look, and Lawson’s lips press flat in an effort not to laugh.

“We didn’t bring any clubbing clothes, but thanks,” Tommy tells her, and she throws her hands up, smiling, in mock despair.

“You’re always so boring, Tom!” But she doesn’t push.

Tommy hasplansfor their evening, and they don’t involve an overlong musical or a crowded, smelly club.

It’s almost four by the time they hug Nat and Noah goodbye on the sidewalk in front of La Historia, pleasantly full of rich food, a little too loud from the wine.

“I want to see you both again before you go home,” Nat insists. To Lawson, she says, “Good luck tomorrow. You’ll do wonderful.”

“It’s not a job interview. He either likes the book or he doesn’t,” Lawson says, but his cheeks pink prettily with bashfulness.

After Nat and Noah head for their car, Tommy loops his arm through Lawson’s again and tugs him down the sidewalk.

“Are you taking me sightseeing?”

“Yeah.”

The first stop is the bookshop where Tommy used to go to breathe the scent of crumbling pages, and old ink, and miss Lawson desperately without the eyes of his fellow officers on him.

Lawson pulls them to a stop on the sidewalk out front, where rolling carts of books have been parked in front of the shop windows. An older woman searches through them carefully, a small stack already accumulated in the crook of one arm. He looks up at the sign, and then down at Tommy. “This doesn’t look like the Statue of Liberty.”

“Nice observation, jackass,” Tommy says, grinning, and Lawson’s returning smile is blinding. “No,” he says, softer, nudging their linked arms. “I found this spot years ago and it always made me think of you. So…” He trails off as his face heats, and turns toward the window.

They don’t do the whole brushing their teeth side-by-side thing, so he doesn’t often see their joint reflections. He sees them now, in the flat glass of the window: Lawson tall, and broad-shouldered, and himself smaller than he feels, but smiling. Happy. They look good together, he thinks. Complements. Light and dark. Tall and…less tall. The way they’re leaning together, it’s impossible to tell which of them has trouble balancing; who’s the steadying presence, and who needs help.

Lawson’s legs work fine, but they bothdoneed steadying, even if it’s not of the same sort.

Tommy thought, at first, that their rings, and their vows, and their hands laced together in front of a hospital chapel altar would banish all doubts, all guilt. That each of them would be sure of the other’s commitment and love and willingness to stay and stick out the rough spots. Seven months, but most especially the past few weeks, have taught him that’s not the case. The rings, vows, and interlaced hands were a big and vital step toward the rest of their lives…but they’ve both been in recovery that whole time: from heartache, for one, and from almost dying, in Tommy’s case; in Lawson’s case, he supposes it’s a recovery from whatever future he envisioned when he thought Tommy wouldn’t pull through.

There’s not a cure for recovery. Only the slow, day in and day out work of nonlinear progress. And love. Love carries more than its fair share of weight.

“Do you wanna go in?” Tommy asks, and realizes Lawson is studying their reflection, too, expression heartbreakingly tender.

“Yeah.” His voice is a little uneven, but Tommy doesn’t comment on it; strokes his arm, instead. “Yeah, let’s go in.”

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