FACING THE PAST

Frank C. Senia
 This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all
names, characters, businesses, places, events, and inci-dents in this
book are the product of the author's imagination or used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to: To my sweet wife Saa Senia

Copyright # 1-10537849411

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 Table of Contents

Chapter One: Where Am I?.................................................1

Chapter Two: Remembering................................................7
Chapter Three: A New Day...............................................14
Chapter Four: Making the Purchase..................................35
Chapter Five: Changing my Mind.....................................56
Chapter Six: The Accident.................................................73
Chapter Seven: Learned my Lesson..................................88
Chapter Eight: Uncle Pete................................................108
Chapter Nine: The Tragedy.............................................124
Chapter Ten: Mom‟s Visit...............................................154
Chapter Eleven: Back to Work........................................177
Chapter Twelve: The Passing..........................................190
 Prologue

I
frequently get flashbacks to my childhood, vague
memories of times spent with Dad focusing on his
abuse and loathing of me. I continually see him coming
home from work and passing out on the living room sofa. He
would blend into the dark brown couch when covered with dirt.

It is a predictable sight at our home—him lying there with

one foot on the sofa and the other on the coffee table, a large piss
stain on his pants from drinking too much beer. The living room is
dark with old wood plank floors and a large red floral area rug
under the coffee table. Dad is a bum, wasted and snoring like a
howling wolf. I loathed this disgusting sight of him, a poor excuse
for a father and husband.

I still smell the stench of alcohol rising from his foul-

smelling body filling the surrounding room. He would wake up
from this drunken slumber and head straight to the bedroom to
abuse Mom, slamming the door behind him. The walls in the house
would shake, as if an earthquake was starting. Dad would accuse
her of everything that went wrong in his life. Everyone else caused
his problems, with him never taking responsibility for himself and
throwing Mom around and slapping her. I still hear Mom's screams
for him to stop, which went on into the late hours of the night.
They make the hairs on my arm stand up today when I think about
the past. As a young kid, I was shy and withdrawn, always the last
on the line and continually sitting in the back of the classroom,
hoping not to be recognized—a timid soul, tall and skinny with
pencil-thin arms and long slender legs. A strong breeze could push
me over.

I would try to step in to protect Mom, but I always ended

up with bruises and punishments from angry slaps from Dad,
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sending me the signal to back off. So, gradually, I learned not to
interfere, but I knew I would have my revenge one day.

Dad's appearance always terrified me, and he looked

perpetually livid. His skinny body, typically covered in motor oil,
grease, and dirt from work. His dark, dead-looking eyes hid under
bushy, black eyebrows, and his lips stained yellow from the
cigarettes that were always dangling from his mouth. The man was
no Clark Gable. He would put his grotesque face next to mine
when he spoke to me, locked eyes with me, and yelled. I couldn't
bear the stench of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. I wonder if
others felt that way about me?

As a young boy, I continuously kept my distance when

walking with Dad. I didn't want people to know he was my father
and always felt embarrassed when around. When Mom walked
with us, I would hold her hand and keep it away from Dad. During
my childhood, I had few friends. Other moms wanted their kids to
keep away from me, and I came from an evil family. I always
believed my day would come for revenge. Have I become my
father? Have I assumed his traits and personality? This thought
continues to dominate my thinking, after all the passing years.
Thank god I have my mom's looks. In my late teens, I was tall with
a good face, almost like a store mannequin. I have Mom's features:
light brown hair, crafted straight nose, blue eyes. Mom is an
attractive woman, and I developed into a handsome man, thanks to
her. What she saw in Dad still puzzles me to this day.

Mom is a softly spoken, sweet person, who always smiled

and hugged me. She always smelled good. When upset or hurt,
Mom was the first to comfort and heal me. She held my hand when
I was afraid, and never missed bedtime with me. I envied my
friends for their dads, who were well-dressed and clean-shaven,
and spoke politely to their families. Those dads took their sons out
to eat and play ball. I couldn't even dream of such a thing with
mine.

When Dad would yell and physically abuse Mom, she did
not raise her voice. Instead, she always apologized to him. But for
what? He was the one causing all the turmoil. Mom was a timid
person also, who hid in his shadows, frail and weak. Maybe a part
of me loathed Mom for being so pathetic and not standing up for
herself. When Dad would pass out on the couch, I would sit and
stare at him, wishing I could destroy him, perhaps even kill him.
This vision still passes through my mind many times each day. I
hated my father for many reasons.
 FACING THE PAST

Chapter One: Where Am I?

I
wake up to the sun shining directly in my eyes, blinded
for a moment by the brightness. Squinting, I turn my
head to all sides, desperate to find a clock. There's one
on the wall to my left: 6 am sharp. On my right is an enormous
window with its gray drapes drawn open, allowing the merciless
sunlight to flood in. I'm in a motel. But where?

My memory is clouded, and my head is throbbing. The

more I try to remember how I got here, the more it throbs. I look at
myself—fully dressed in a crumpled white dress shirt and black
slacks, and I'm still wearing my black loafers. These are my work
clothes. Am I here on a work trip? I raise my right hand and slide it
across my gray hair and along my neck. It feels weird touching my
body. Is this even my body? Confused, I try to stand, but my knees
are weak, my body shakes, and I sit back down on the edge of the
bed. Was I drugged the night before? So many questions in my
mind.

I reach for my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I

hurriedly look inside it. Nothing seems to be missing. Driver's
license, credit cards, a few hundred dollars in cash are still intact.
Removing my driver's license and holding it up to the light, I see
the name and photo. I look at my reflection in the motel room
mirror. Shit, it is me. How did I get the baggy eyes and puffy face?
That's me in the picture, all right. But the name—Tom Richards—
is that my name? My license has an address in San Francisco. I
suddenly remember the foggy ocean coast I call home in Northern
California, the Golden Gate Bridge, a life with excitement and risk-
taking. My mouth is parched from dehydration from last night.

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 Frank C. Senia

The nasty taste in my mouth drives me wacky, so I drag

myself to the bathroom to clean up. As I walk in, I see the usual
motel toiletries displayed on the counter. Damn—no toothbrush. I
turn on the water, squeeze some toothpaste onto my finger, and rub
it all over my teeth and gums to freshen my mouth. I take a swig of
the mini mouthwash, tasting like alcohol, to finish. Ah, much
better.

I remove my clothes and turn on the shower, ready for a

long, hot wash. The steaming hot water runs down my back,
relaxing my tight muscles and neck. The motel soap is minty and
refreshes me as I scrub myself from head to toe. I can feel my
headache disappearing. It's the fucking feel-good shower I needed.
I step out of the steam and plant my feet firmly on the small towel
by the bathtub, no more shaking. Running my hands over my chin
and cheeks, I realize I need a shave; it has been several days, but
there's no razor. Oh well. I put my wrinkled clothes back on and
walk to the door to find out where I am.

When I open the door, I'm immediately engulfed by a

blanket of sweltering heat and sun. It feels like Dante's Inferno. I
see the parking lot below, and people are walking happily in shorts,
tee shirts, and hats. I notice a cluster of palm trees and some rock
ground cover. I'm in Palm Springs? Las Vegas? A deep blue sky,
clear of clouds and fresh air.

I step back inside my room and turn on the TV. The

weather report is on for Phoenix, Arizona. Is that where I am?! The
reporter says the temperature will be 110 degrees today. Oh, shit! I
don't remember arriving at this motel last evening. However, this
Best Western Inn is not an untidy place. Bright, colorful room,
double drapes, spacious, along with a mini-refrigerator stocked
with alcohol. Sitting on the side of the bed, I remember waking up
in my San Francisco condo yesterday morning, a gloomy and

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 FACING THE PAST

overcast day. How did I arrive here? I reach for a water bottle from
the minibar and down it, eight ounces gone in four swallows. As I
sit in the gray armchair, I put my hands on my head. I've got to
remember something. Think, think, think…

What comes into my mind? The first vision is of Dad

abusing Mom. Why do I keep flashing back to this event? Is it the
one that defined my future? One night, in particular, etched into
my memory, crystal clear. Dad had thrown Mom against the wall,
and she banged her head hard, and was bleeding profusely. She
screamed for me to help and both ran out of the house. We were in
our pajamas, and she was holding a towel to her head. We caught
the bus to the local ER. Mom taken immediately into the hospital
for X-rays and stitches. I nervously waited to see her. A nurse
called me into a room, and there was Mom, sitting on the hospital
bed with a giant bandage around her head. She was happy to see
me, but visibly upset. The doctor asked her what had happened,
and Mom said she fell down the stairs. I knew the truth and wanted
to blurt it out, but I didn't. Why was Mom still protecting Dad?

The doctor recommended that Mom spend the night at the

hospital to make sure she did not have a concussion. They placed
her comfortably in a room just for herself. Mom's room was all
white with tan coverings on the bed. Two brown wood chairs sat
next to the bed on both sides. The floor covered with black and
white vinyl covering almost like a checkerboard. I said goodnight,
hugged her, and took the bus back home. I was fuming at Dad for
hurting my mom. It was 1 am now, and I was seething with anger.
The bus ride was only ten minutes, but it was enough time to make
my deadly plan.

As I walked into the house, there was my drunk and useless

dad passed out on the couch. I sat in a chair across from him in the
lightless room and stared. What could a twelve-year-old kid do for
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 Frank C. Senia

revenge? I could shoot him with a gun or stab him with a kitchen
knife, or hit him on the head with a hammer. They all sounded
workable, but how would I get away with it? Besides, I had no gun.
Then I would have had blood on myself and in the house. My
actions would incriminate me. I would be the cops' number one
suspect.

As I contemplated efficient ways to kill Dad, it oc-curred to

me I could drown him, since he was out cold. I thought through
each step carefully. Would this work? I ran up to the bathroom and
turned on the tub tap to fill it to the brim. I stood there, watching
the water rise until just before the bathtub overflowed. I crept down
the stairs, having second thoughts about what I was going to do.
Walking over to my dad's limp, skinny body dressed in work
overalls, I grabbed his arms. Fear shot through me like a lightning
strike. I stood, looking at Dad, not feeling any love—just pure hate.
It motivated me to do this vile deed. I had to protect Mom.

It took little strength to pull his drooping body off the

couch. One pull of his arm and his torso thudded to the floor. I
hauled this lifeless body to the foot of the steps. One by one, I
dragged his dead weight up the stairs, one step at a time. Pull, stop,
pull, stop. It felt like an eternity. I was sweating, not just from the
physical exertion of hauling this drunk up the stairs but from the
perpetual fear of him waking up. My sweat dripped onto Dad's
motionless face like slow raindrops. I feared this would wake him
up. Fortunately, he was too drunk to feel what was happening. He
stayed in his drunken slumber.

I eventually reached the bathroom, a small square room

with a tub, sink, and toilet—black and white squares in the vinyl
floor like a checkerboard. I was sweating and shaking. My hands
were slippery. I dragged Dad's body over the tiled floor and lifted
him onto the edge of the tub. I was trembling under the weight, but

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 FACING THE PAST

my inner voice said, "Go for it, drown the son of a bitch." With
that, I pushed Dad over the edge and into the tub. The water level
rose over the top of the bathtub onto the floor. I saw his eyes open,
startled. I quickly reached into the tub, pushing his head under the
water level with all my strength and holding it there below. He was
awake now! His arms started thrashing around as he panicked for
his life. I used my anger to push harder and harder, holding him
down. All I could see were bubbles and water splashing
everywhere. Dad tried to gasp for air but ended up gulping down
the bathwater. The moment felt like it would never end. My heart
was pounding, feeling like it would explode from my chest.

Then it stopped. Silence. Stillness. Dad was motion-less. I

felt at peace, exhausted. I sat on the adjacent toilet lid to capture
my breath. But how would I explain this scene to the police? I
repeated the story to myself: Dad came home drunk and attacked
Mom. I saw him throw her across the room. I saw her head bleed
from the impact. I took her to the hospital, and when I came back, I
found Dad dead in the bathtub. That was a wonderful story. It
checked out. But how could I explain Dad's clothes being on him?
Damn, I was going to have to undress him.

I lifted Dad's upper body to remove his shirt until he felt

like a dead fish in water. He felt manageable with the help of the
water, keeping him afloat. Item by item, I could remove his pants,
underwear, shirt, and socks. I put the wet clothes in a plastic
laundry bag. I stood there looking at this naked, skinny, hairy man
who had once been my father. A sense of relief came over me. I
had done it finally; I had stood up to this monster. I had protected
my mom and myself. I jumped down the steep steps out the back
door and placed the trash bag containing his clothes in the
dumpster and saying to myself, "What have I done? How could I

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 Frank C. Senia

have killed my father because of my anger? What kind of human

being am I?"

Returning to the bathroom, suddenly everything stopped.

The bathroom was silent. Dad and the water were motionless. I felt
at peace. But how would I explain this scene to the cops? I
repeated the story to myself. I then went downstairs and sat on the
sofa to call the police.

"911, what is your emergency?"

I sounded convincing. I told the operator, "I came home

from the hospital and found Dad dead in the bathtub."

I was confident a simple blood test would prove this was a

drunk accident. I was just a twelve-year-old kid who came home to
this horror.

Within minutes, four police officers arrived at the door. I let

them in, and they immediately ran up to the bathroom. One officer
checked Dad's pulse at his neck and solemnly shook his head. His
partner called the coroner. Soon after, the coroner arrived, and
everyone was questioning me. I stuck to my story, and I even gave
them Mom's hospital room number. They bought my account and
sympathized with me. The police escorted me to the hospital so we
could break the news to my mom. I didn't see them remove Dad's
body. I guess they didn't want a kid to witness such a scene. At the
hospital, it surprised Mom to see me with two officers. They sat
down next to her bed and explained what had transpired. She
bawled uncontrollably. What was she upset about, I wondered?
She could answer the cops' questions accurately. Phew! Everything
was going according to plan. I stayed with Mom for the night. The
trauma of that event has stayed with me for almost forty years. A
vision burned into my brain.

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 FACING THE PAST

Chapter Two: Remembering

T
oday, at fifty years of age, I am again looking at the
ceiling in my motel room, gradually regain some
blurry visions from yesterday morning as they
come into focus. I remember waking in my small, sleek one-
bedroom condo to the sound of morning traffic outside my
window. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I've got to get ready for
work, but I can't bring myself to do so today. I have had enough,
my spirit fragmented, no motivation, no will to live. Why am I
working an unfulfilling job to pay alimony and child support to my
ex-wife, Kay? Why? "The court ordered me to do so." Fuck, this
has to stop!

I think about Kelly, my twelve-year-old daughter, a good

girl who has grown to resent me as her mom does. However, she is
the only reason I keep going. At least, that is what I tell myself.
When I have her over on the weekends, the expectation during the
weekdays keeps me going day after day. In Kelly, I find
satisfaction and fulfillment. At least I did something right and
raised her well. Since the divorce from Kay, Kelly has resented
me; hell, I resent myself.

On the weekends, we go to breakfast and lunch together,

afternoon movies, lots of walks along the San Francisco Bay
crossing the Golden Gate bridge. And visit the many seafood
restaurants along the San Francisco wharf. My ex-wife Kay brings
me nothing but anger and resentment. For years, I loved her. My
life revolved around her existence, so I thought. I felt she robbed
me of twenty years of my life. What a bitch! When I found out she
had an affair for several years while I am commuting to work every
day to support my family, it was too much for me to handle. I felt
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 Frank C. Senia

like a fool and still do. I carry this anger deep inside me. During
our twenty years of marriage, I had failed her. But why?

I know the answer. I am self-destructive and an alcoholic. I

could not stop myself, and I am both physically and verbally
abusive to Kay. I am like my father. Committing the same violent
acts on Kay and Dad did on Mom. I was coming home drunk,
shouting, and pushing Kay around until she called the police.
When the police would show up at our door, I felt the shame. They
would confront me in front of my daughter, throwing me to the
floor. I remember being pushed down and put in handcuffs in front
of Kelly. I am then driven to the local police station to spend the
night, which happened several times. I would return home the
following day as if nothing had happened. Kay would never dare
press charges. I would tell Kay I would never touch her again. I am
sorry, but it happened again and again. My words were
meaningless. I can still see the tears running down Kelly's face as
our encounters escalated. I often wonder if she has the same feeling
towards me as I have toward my dad. She must.

I have asked this question hundreds of times in my mind. I

know the answer: I drink too much. I am an alcoholic. Have I
become my father? That thought scares the hell out of me, but I can
see some common traits. As I think about Dad, all the terrible
memories come back—the horrible acts committed to Mom and
me, which Mom survived. When those visions start, I need to grab
a bottle of alcohol to suppress my thoughts, and I know no other
way. I see myself levitating above the bathroom tub and
throughout the house, the vision of committing this horrible act
over and over.

I see Mom holding a small funeral in our living room at

home after Dad's death. A small, dark room with some old wooden
furniture. They placed the casket in the center of the room, with

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Mom's friends and family attending. I heard the guests speak

several times about Dad's drinking and anger. It seems everyone
knew he was a drunk. The living room looked like a funeral parlor:
dark wood floors and a red throw rug in the center. They left the
coffin open, and Mom would stand next to it for hours, looking at
Dad's white body. That was the first time I saw him dressed in a
blue suit, cleaned up, and dead. He looked respectable. That night
he lay at rest at our home in the wooden box. I could not sleep.
Several times during the night, I would tiptoe down the stairs and
look at him lying in the coffin with his eyes shut. Finally, the
mortuary shaved him, cleaned him up, combed his hair, put a good
suit on, and he looked respectable. The following day, the funeral
director came and took him away in a black hearse. Mom and I
stayed home, and later I am told he was cremated.

After several weeks, our daily lives went back to a routine

again. However, Mom missed him greatly. She would sit in her
room and cry night after night. One good thing from Dad's death
was that Mom received some financial aid from his union and
could stay in our home. In the evenings, at supper, we would sit at
the kitchen table, not speaking. I could see the loneliness in her
eyes, looking across at the empty chair. How could she miss and
love him? She got a job as a salesperson at a local clothing store.
She found some fulfillment in working. I went on to high school
and put myself through college. In high school, I started drinking
with some of my school buddies. They drank for the enjoyment; I
drank to kill the vision of what I had done. After several drinks, the
alcohol would suppress the sight of me hovering over our bathtub,
holding my dad's head under the water, his air bubbles rising as his
skinny arms splashed around to no avail. I killed my father!

Over time, I never missed Dad, but Mom keeps several

photos of both of them around the house. When I left Brooklyn

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after high school and went off to college in Texas to study, leaving
Mom was hard for both of us. The look of sadness when I
departed, and the hug she gave me, remain in my mind and heart
today. It's been about twenty years since I have returned to see her.
The pain I put her through weighs heavily on my heart, so I avoid
her. Not out of anger but out of guilt.

No one ever suspected me of committing this crime. Life

just went on. But deep inside, I knew I had killed my father. Over
time, I regretted my actions, but it was too late to do anything
about it. I couldn't risk anyone finding out. So, it is a secret I carry
with me to my death. Sometimes I wake up in the dead of night,
terrified of getting caught. I would have nightmares of being
escorted to prison for life. The only way I can lessen the fear is to
drink until my memories of that day fade. Alcohol has been my
friend since middle school. Did I end up inheriting my dad's
abusive nature when I got together with Kay? I have been told
many times by friends and family that I abused her, physically and
verbally. But I did not see it that way. I believe I always
suppressed my feelings deep within me and never acted on them.
Was it the alcohol that brought these emotions to the surface, or
did the alcohol drown the sense? Kay said the abuse was a factor in
our divorce. Ugh! What a nightmare my life has been! What have I
accomplished in my almost fifty years?

These thoughts join me daily on the drive to work. Today is

no different. I stop for gas and decide to get two bottles of Johnnie
Walker Red to drink later in the day. The sight of the bottles in the
brown paper bag on the passenger seat takes the edge off going
into work today. It's my tranquilizer, my sedative. Why let them go
to waste? I start to drive now, reach for one bottle, turn the cap,
hold the bottle to my lips, and have several swallows, feeling the
heat in my gut elevate.

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An accountant's job is monotonous. Day in, day out, trying

to get the numbers correct, and taking shit from business people
trying to cover up their illegal actions, made me angry. The good
part is I worked alone in a small cubicle, not having to deal with
the other employees. After so many years, all the clients look the
same, and my resentment grows. I can't go on like with this crappy
life. Something has to change, besides most of my fellow
employees avoid me. I can understand why. I wouldn't want to be
around me, either. The closer I got to the office, the more I
consumed from the bottle, swallow after the swallow,
daydreaming.

The incoming, thick San Francisco fog-shrouded my

favorite part of the commute to work each morning. I look to my
left to see the beautiful Golden Gate bridge but cannot see its
majestic top. The damp August chill has made its way into the car
each day. I look to my left again and see the dense fog moving
over the Pacific Ocean, a familiar sight in my past years here. All I
remember next is driving, driving relentlessly for hours, feeling
exhausted. Was that how I ended up in this motel? As my head
clears, I step outside my room again. The Phoenix heat is vicious. I
hold on to the railing as I descend the stairs to the parking lot. I
spot my blue BMW and unlock it with a click of the remote.
Approaching the passenger seat window, I see two empty bottles of
Johnnie Walker Red on the car floor. My God. Did I drink two
entire bottles of whiskey while driving?

My body wavers in disbelief. I put a hand on the car

window to steady myself. I have to retrace my steps. When did I
drink these two bottles? Did I have a companion to help me? A
sickening feeling rises in my belly. Did I drive this entire distance
intoxicated? It's a miracle I did not kill myself or anyone else. I
could never forgive myself if I did. A guardian angel is watching

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over me. I need answers to these questions. Come on, Tom, think.
Okay, I gulped one bottle at the gas station. I may have downed the
entire bottle in one go. The gas station is just a few miles away
from my workplace. Did I show up to work drunk, or did I not
show up at all? I notice my cell phone on the car floor mat next to
the bottles. That will hold answers! I browse through the recent
calls made and see if I made any to my work yesterday morning.
But what did I say? I find a voicemail from this morning. It's from
Nancy, our receptionist.

"Where are you? You didn't show up for work yesterday.

Not a call, text, or email from you. What's going on, Tom? Call us,
please."

That's odd. My phone shows a call made at the office

yesterday at 9 am. Do I see things? I shake off the confusion and
decide to face the consequences. Here I go. I push the call-back
button—the phone rings.

"Accounting office."

"Nancy, it's Tom."

"Where are you? What happened? We didn't hear from you

yesterday, and we've been trying to reach you this whole time!"
She sounds hysterical.

"Nancy, I'm sorry. Things got a bit out of control, but I left
a message."

"Hold on. I'll recheck."

I hear the familiar sound of our office hold music.

Nancy returns and, this time, yells, "Were you drunk? Do

you remember what you said?"

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"No," I say timidly, biting my lower lip. What now? "Tom,

you told our office manager to take your job and stick it in his fat
fucking ass cause you are not coming back to work."

Oh, God. This is bad. Get on damage control, Tom. Fast!

"Nancy, I'm sorry. Can you please delete that message and
tell him I'm very ill and will be out for several days? Tell him I will
call him personally tomorrow."

"Sure, Tom," she sighs. "Take care. We miss you."

I walk back to my room. It feels like a different world in

here. The cool blast of the air conditioner welcomes me. It almost
forgives me. I lay back down in bed. What now?

I assess my situation. It's ten in the morning. I have no

clothes or toiletries. I am hungry, and the pounding headache is
back. I lay down on the unmade bed for a few moments looking at
the TV, thinking, Tom, you need to stop drinking. Make this your
number one priority and goal in life. If you don't, you will continue
to hurt the ones you love and drive others away. Telling myself
today, I will start changing my life and go cold sober, no more
drinking. This will be my mission in life from this second forward.
Tom, you need to find help along with an alternative way of life.
You can do this.

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Chapter Three: A New Day

O
ne thing at a time. First, breakfast. I head
downstairs to the Best Western's lounge for my
complimentary breakfast. But when I reach the
lobby, it's empty. I ask the front desk person if they serve
breakfast. "Yes, from seven to nine," she cheerfully replies. Great.
Sensing my disappointment, she adds, "There‟s a Denny‟s across
the street.” Well, I guess that‟s where I will eat! My headache does
not back down as I walk in the crippling heat to Denny‟s
restaurant. I decide to listen to my body‟s advice and eat light.
Denny‟s an American institution in my eyes! Perfect! I‟ll have my
usual breakfast there—pancakes and eggs with sausage and hot tea.
My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles as I walk in to be
seated.

As always, Denny‟s was bustling. I gave my name and

waited for five minutes before being seated at a booth for four. The
waitperson brought me my water and utensils. I looked at the
menu, even though I already knew my order. Trying to be friendly
when the waitperson returns, I ask her name. She tells me it is
Andy, and I ask Andy, what do you have for a hangover?

She looks at me strangely and replies, “Can I have your

order, please?” She writes my order down on her pad and walks
away. I sit, sipping my tea as my food is preparing. When
returning, she places the order on the paper napkin on Denny‟s
table and walks off quickly.

I noticed the line at the door was growing. There were now
about a dozen people waiting to be seated.

“Excuse me,” a woman‟s voice startled me.

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 FACING THE PAST

I turned to my right, and standing next to me was an

attractive young woman, no older than 40.

“Could I join you? I‟m in a rush, and they say I‟ll have to
wait thirty minutes for a table.”

At first glance, she looked stunning with large green eyes

and long, flowing reddish-brown hair tucked under a baseball cap.
She had a smile that was seductive and friendly. She wore no
makeup, not even lipstick, but was well-kept and clean.

“Sure, join me! I have plenty of room,” I said rather

eagerly. She introduced herself as Zoey as she sat down and
extended her hand. “Tom,” I said with a smile and shook her hand.

I looked into her piercing green eyes and could see that she
possessed charisma and charm. I thought she would look gorgeous
with some red lipstick.

The waitperson approached us again, this time for Zoey‟s

order. I suddenly became self-conscious about what the waitperson
thought of us. Did she assume Zoey was a friend I had been
waiting for at breakfast? Or did she see Zoey was a total stranger to
me? Oh, fuck it!

Zoey requested an English muffin and some hot coffee. We

spoke while waiting for our food. Zoey was very articulate. She
told me she was currently on the way to an appointment several
miles from here and was hungry. Not knowing what to say, I asked
her why Phoenix is hot.

She replied, “I‟m okay with the heat.”

Suddenly, red flags were going up in my mind. Was I

getting set up for something strange? My internal dialogue started.

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 Frank C. Senia

What would a respectable-looking woman want with a man like me

in wrinkled clothes? Sitting in Denny‟s with dirty clothes, I must
look like a mess. Is it sex! Was she a prostitute? I had enough
problems right now. Zoey did not look like a vagrant or homeless
person, and she had too much class and style. Our conversation
was pleasant and not deep-rooted.

As we finished our meal, the waitperson brought the check

and placed it on the table. However, we were now in no rush to
leave. We were enjoying our conversation, and now Zoey is in no
hurry to head to her appointment. Zoey asked about my family. I
gave her the details about my divorce and told her I was here on
business. I rose from the table and reached for the check.

Zoey yelled, “I‟m sorry, but I am paying for this. Thank

you for letting me sit with you.”

I replied, “Anytime.”

Next on my list is buying some weather-appropriate clothes

and toiletries. I see a Walmart across the road. Perfect! An
American institution that always delivers!

“Zoey, I need to go to Walmart and purchase some clothes.

I stick out like a sore thumb in my slacks and black shoes, while
others parade around in shorts and sandals.”

Zoey says, “I will go with you. I need some stuff too.”

All right, let‟s go shopping together. I find everything I

need in thirty minutes and line up at the register. Zoey looks at the
items I am purchasing and says, “Looks like you‟re getting ready
for some fun.”

“I just arrived last night on a last-minute trip and did not

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 FACING THE PAST
expect this Phoenix weather,” I say rather sheepishly.

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 Frank C. Senia

“Oh, you‟ll get used to it. Your first time here in the
summer?”

“Yes!”

Zoey says, “I‟m going up to Sedona tomorrow. Would you

like to accompany me and see the town?”

I stand there dumbfounded for a moment. “Yes!”

We exchange phone numbers, and Zoey says she will call

me tonight.

As Zoey walks away in her stylish shorts and a tank top, I

notice she has a fantastic figure. Nice breasts and a cute butt. I say
this is crazy! One day in this new city, and I already have a date for
sightseeing tomorrow, and I guess I‟m going to stick around for a
few days. As Zoey approaches the sliding exit doors, she stops and
looks back at me, and waits. Both walk out of Walmart while Zoey
tells me about her art gallery in Scottsdale and how she and her
family have worked in the arts for decades. Zoey represents many
local artists and sculptors. I know nothing about art, but I pretend
to listen intently, nodding at appropriate intervals. (Sometimes, I
wonder if I am full of crap.) Zoey tells me of her past failed
marriage to an unfaithful husband. I spoke of my situation.
However, I could not get a word in. When her dad passed, he left
her and her brother with a considerable amount of money. Her
mom is still alive, and she lives in Phoenix alone in her cozy home.
Zoey heads to her Range Rover. As I walk back to my Best
Western, the heat doesn‟t seem so unbearable now.

Oh nice, room service came in and freshened up my room. I

plop down on the bed, enjoying the air conditioning, and dial
Nancy at my office. She picks up after just three rings—ever the
prompt receptionist.

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“Hey, Nancy. It‟s me, Tom. Is the boss available? I want to

talk with him.”

“He‟s with a client.”

“Well, could you please tell him I need to take some

personal time off to get my life in order? He will understand. He
can call me if he wants.”

“All right, Tom. Will do.”

Another groan. Nancy doesn‟t seem pleased, but who

cares? I‟m about to have the time of my life here in Phoenix! I
walk into the bathroom to clean up using my Walmart purchases.
Finally, a shave and a toothbrush! I check myself out in the mirror.
Not bad for a fifty-year-old! And I‟ve still got a thick head of gray
hair! Respectable body weight of 170 pounds and still stand tall at
six feet.

I change into Phoenix attire: shorts and a T-shirt, and

decide to explore my surroundings while grabbing lunch today.
Scottsdale sounds like a neat place to check out and have a bite.
The motel is actually on Scottsdale Road, so all I have to do is
continue north for about five minutes. I drive along, seeing lots of
office buildings and stores. A Five Guys burger restaurant appears.
I pull into the parking lot, craving a juicy burger. As I walk in, I
notice everyone standing in line looks relaxed and happy. They‟re
not dressed to the nines and in a constant rush like San
Franciscans. I feel another smile emerging on my face.

I order a double cheeseburger, fries, and a Sprite. I find a

solo table and continue people-watching. Everyone is talking,
smiling, and enjoying themselves. They look happy on a workday
—a foreign concept to me. Halfway through my meal, I realize
I‟ve had two meals today and have enjoyed both, and I soak
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up the view of stunning landscaping with palm trees, cacti, and

desert flowers. Everything feels new and clean, and not once do I
hear anyone complain about the heat. Gosh, it feels so peaceful to
sit here with no work looming over me. I haven‟t felt this tranquil
in years.

To myself, I say, “Yes, this is the place to change my life

and rid myself of my alcohol dependence.” I will leave a job and
office I dislike, the congestion of San Francisco, and move to
Phoenix. That decision took all but a few moments. I say to myself,
“Fuck them all. I have decided. Am I having a full-blown mid-life
crisis? If I am, I want to give it a chance to change my life. I knew
the phoenix is known for rising from the ashes with renewed youth
to live through another cycle. Could this be me, a phoenix?”

I return to my car after the meal, and it feels like I‟ve

stepped inside an oven. How do people here tolerate this? I guess I
will learn. I turn on to blast the air conditioner and drive north on
Scottsdale Road. The streets lined with fashionable stores and
office buildings with dynamic architecture. I found out Phoenix is
Frank Lloyd Wright's home, a famous architect, designer, and
writer. He designed over one thousand buildings, some in Phoenix
and around the country. His residence is here in Phoenix. There‟s
even a golf course with shiny green grass! How do they keep it so
green here in the desert; it must use considerable water?

I decide to stop at a new fancy shopping mall and stroll

around in the air conditioning. I spot a Banana Republic store and
think about my date with Zoey tomorrow. Better find something
chic but casual to impress her. The Walmart shorts and T-shirt are
suitable for hanging around. After spending $375.00, I have the
perfect Phoenix date clothes. Fashionable shorts and shirts with
collars. I chitchat with the friendly cashier and can‟t help but
notice that she, too, looks tan and fit. A lot of the men and

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women here

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 Frank C. Senia

look healthy. It must be the desert sun. Maybe my physique will

improve, too, if I stay here longer?

I wander through the mall and see another American

institution—Starbucks. I order my favorite drink for a hot day, a
tall caramel Frappuccino. As I sit and sip my drink, my mind
wanders. Why can‟t I feel like this all the time? Maybe I will after
I move? Was I living in a place that made me unhappy? Why do I
commute every day in heavy traffic to a job I hate? For whom have
I been making these sacrifices? My former family? They don‟t
care about me. They just feel entitled to my financial support, a
thought that hangs over me constantly.

While exiting the busy mall, I see a prominent bill-board

sign advertising that the Chicken-Horse Casino‟s open, close by,
just outside Scottsdale. I say to myself, Tom, you have never been
to a casino. Let‟s stop in and see what it is all about. It is located
just ten minutes away on the east side of the 101, just outside
Scottsdale City limits. Approaching, I see a large high-rise hotel,
perhaps eight stories, with elaborate landscaping, all modern and
sparkling.

The parking lots jam-packed on this one-hundred-degree

day. After winding through many lanes, I find a parking space and
exit my car. Walking through the front entrance into the lobby
reminded me of the hotels I have seen in Las Vegas movies.
Everything is new and grand—fountains, ponds, chandeliers,
flashing lights, spectacular. The high stained-glass ceiling must be
a hundred feet above, shining down like sparkling diamonds on the
white marble floors.

Straight ahead was the casino with dozens of crap tables,

roulette gaming tables, and hundreds of slot machines, with
flashing lights and sounds of music and excitement. There‟s no

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chair vacant at each device, and people are just sitting and feeding

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the iron monsters their money, pushing buttons and pulling down
bars. To my right, I see a sizeable fancy bar area with ladies
walking around and serving drinks in skimpy, sexy outfits. What
should I do, try to gamble, or head to the bar? I head to the bar, sit
and order a vodka tonic and watch the customers enjoy losing their
hard-earned money. They must have it, or they could not spend it,
was my feeling. I have my second drink for the road before
departing the luxury casino. At once, realizing only several hours
ago, I set a goal to give up drinking and just had two drinks at the
casino bar.

“Oh well, I will start my self-directive sobriety program

tomorrow.”

Now the challenge, try to find my car in this crowded

parking lot. Walking in the direction I came in, pushing my remote
clicker, waiting to hear a beep back to locate my vehicle. I am in
Phoenix, just a day in, and I already feel like a new man but still
have old habits! It‟s time for a change, Tom. No more waiting or
second-guessing. Make your decision now. You can easily be an
accountant here in Phoenix, with the booming industry and thriving
population. Sell your San Francisco condo and move here; it‟s that
simple. You can have Kelly visit you when school is out for the
summer. It‟s just a one-and-a-half-hour flight, and indeed she
would love the opportunity to travel out of state for summer!

“I‟m going to do it!” I mutter under my breath.

Finding my BMW, I excitedly get into my car and drive

around looking for a real estate office. Let‟s see how much the
houses here cost. I don‟t have to look long because Scottsdale
Boulevard is bursting with real estate offices! I see a familiar
name, Century 21, and pull in.

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“Wait, what am I doing? Tom, this is crazy. It‟s too rushed!

No! It‟s now or never, Tom,” and with that, I‟m out of the car,
running toward the office.

A striking, well-dressed woman greets me. She is around

35, with a million-dollar smile, long brown hair, and large brown
eyes.

“Hi! I‟m Judy. How can I help you?”

I introduce myself and state that I am hunting for a house or

condo here.

“Well, you‟ve certainly come to the right place. I‟ve got

plenty of them available.”

We are both standing in the office lobby. The fragrant scent

of Judy‟s perfume fills my nostrils. She points to her desk.

“Please take a seat. We can discuss what you need.”

I need you, I secretly think.

“What price range are you looking at?”

I snap out of my fantasy. I told Judy of my San Francisco

condo that I can sell for $500,000. She says that kind of money
here can get me a three-bedroom house with a pool on a nicely
landscaped parcel. Wow! We decide to go viewing immediately.
Judy drives a shiny new Mercedes. Nice! There is something about
Judy that attracts me to her, but I can‟t figure it out. I stare at her
intensely, and the answer comes to mind immediately. She looks
like my ex-wife, Kay. A particular posture, articulate speech,
physical beauty, and self-assuredness. I fantasize about her
sexually for a moment.

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The first home on our list is just several miles away in a

functional area with top-rated schools. We pull up in the driveway.
I‟m shocked! In front of me is an impressive home with a large
green front yard of grass and stone. We walk to the door, Judy‟s
perfume trailing behind her, adding to my excitement. She opens
the grand entrance, and my jaw drops. An expansive, well-lit entry
greets me with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a view of the
backyard, a crystal-blue swimming pool surrounded by stone
decor. There‟s nothing to think about; I‟m buying this! As we
inspect each room, I cannot believe what I‟m seeing. This house is
a definite upgrade from my one-bedroom, 650-square-foot San
Francisco condo on a noisy corner! Judy shows me each room with
large ceramic gray tiles, lots of windows, and sunshine coming into
the home. There is an enormous stone fireplace with a wooden
shelf above to display photos in the living room. The window faces
the pool and backyard.

“I love this place! Let‟s write it up, and I want to buy it

quickly!” I blurt out.

She laughs. “You‟re a quick decision-maker.”

We hurry back to her office so she can begin the never-

ending pile of paperwork. I‟m thinking to myself, why the fuck do
they need fifty sheets of paper just to buy a house? Judy promises
to contact me later in the day with the seller‟s response. It‟s now
around three o‟clock, so I head back to my motel. I catch myself
singing on the drive back. That is a first for me! Well, don‟t I have
reason to sing? I‟m a fifty-year-old man who woke up this morning
in a new place, acquired a date with an attractive woman, buying a
new home, and is going to quit his dead-end job! Back to my motel
room to take a restful nap. The air-conditioning blasting. I stare at
the ceiling, my head on the giant pillow, and see a vision of myself
living in that house and walking around the yard and pool.

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 FACING THE PAST

While I lay there, I recollect my pasted many years since

the horrific event with Dad and the many places I had lived down
the years. In college at the dorms, I worked in my twenties at an
accounting firm, living in an apartment in Dallas, Texas, on to San
Francisco to find my love, Kay, who became my wife. I was
fortunate to see her at my job and rustle up the determination to ask
her out. Dating for six months, I knew Kay was the woman I
wanted to marry and have a family.

From twenty to forty, I had many visions of my actions

with Dad during my early years. However, the continued alcohol
intake helped diminish my guilt and images. Kay and I had what I
thought was a workable marriage. Our daughter Kelly became the
light of my life. Just hearing her call “Daddy” lit up my life, made
my heart swell, and brought me happiness. I continued my alcohol
use and felt I had it under some control; apparently not, as I think
back.

When finding out about my wife‟s affair and her wanting a

divorce, the drinking escalated. I was alone, lost my wife and
daughter. Therefore, I drank more now, suppressing my feeling,
images, and past actions. It is a rough road traveled with many
difficulties, as long as I had my tranquilizer, alcohol as my crutch.
As my thoughts dissipate, I fall off to sleep.

At 6 pm, Judy calls. “Can we meet to review the counter-

offer?
”
The Cheesecake Factory at seven-thirty it is!

Entering the restaurant, I see Judy standing and grinning. It

must be good news, I think. We are seated at a booth, and the
server takes our orders. Judy says she‟d like to have a glass of
white wine. Oh, there definitely must be good news! So, I order

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one too. Judy pulls a folder from her purse and takes out some
papers.

“You‟re going to love

this!” Oh, boy. Here it

comes.

“First, they accepted your purchase price of $500,000.

Second, they want to know if you would like to rent the house until
it closes in sixty days? You can start renting in a few days after the
removal of the furniture.”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “This is all working out great!”

The wine arrives almost on cue, and we toast to a

successful transaction. Over dinner, I told Judy of my past, divorce,
work, and unhappiness. She listens empathetically and offers me
sweet words of encouragement. I notice she is not wearing a
wedding ring. I ask, “Are you married?”

Judy says that she is a widow since her husband died in a

car crash several years ago. She has no children. I see her big
brown eyes well up, and I reach forward and touch the top of her
hand.

“Thank you. It has been a while,” she whispers.

We enjoyed our long, lovely meal and discussed the

tragedies in both of our lives. Realizing more now that I am not the
only person with difficulties to overcome, we all carry some cross.
We left the restaurant at 9.30.

Judy will complete the deal, and all I have to do is wait

contentedly for a few days. Back at my motel room, I put my head

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down on the pillow, cross my arms over my face, and mull over
my actions. After a few moments, I walk to the minibar

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refrigerator, open the door and take out two little bottles of vodka.
Swallow them in a flash. I lay back on the comfortable motel bed
again, staring up at the ceiling, and visualize myself looking down
at Dad, gasping for air in the bathtub. Images of this horrendous
deed will not go away. I feel myself levitating above the living
room, looking down at Dad passed out on the sofa.

Will this move to Phoenix be my defining moment in life?

Is this the opportunity I need to turn my life around? Yes, it is, but
twice today, I have failed and drank. I‟ve spent many years
carrying anger from my divorce, financial pressures, and
resentment for my life‟s failures. That burden is becoming
overwhelming. I want out from that life of hardship, depression,
and self-pity. I am not a religious man, but tonight I close my eyes
and thank God for today‟s events. I finally see the light at the end
of my dark tunnel, or so I think. I wake up, startled by the sound of
my cell phone ringing. I grab it. The screen shows 7 am. Who
could call me this early?

“Good morning, Tom. Sorry to call so early. I was

wondering if you‟d still like to go to Sedona with me today?”

“Yes, Zoey, I would love to.”

“Great! Then I‟ll see you in front of Walmart around nine?

Dress casual.”

This is what life is supposed to feel like! Feeling energetic,

I hop out of bed, turn on the TV to fill the room with voices, and
jump in the shower. All cleaned and polished, I put on my new
shorts, shirt, and sandals and head down to the breakfast area. I
will not miss my Best Western complimentary breakfast today. I
eat my fill of eggs, toast, and bacon with a large glass of juice.
Staring out the lounge window at the clean and sunny

30
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surroundings, I know I‟m making all the right decisions. Close to

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nine o‟clock, I walk across the street to Walmart with a bounce in

my step. Zoey pulls up in a fancy black SUV. Wow, women here
drive beautiful cars! I open the door and take in the sight of this
lovely creature dressed in shorts, hiking boots, a white top, and a
straw hat.

“Are you ready?” Zoey is in a perky mood.

“Yup! Let‟s go!”

As we drive, Zoey tells me everything about Sedona I need

to know. She guarantees the beauty of the red rocks will amaze me
against the blue sky. And it‟s only about one and a half hours
away, north on I-17. Zoey has a kind of heavy foot on the pedal, so
we move fast. Shit, this already feels like an adventure! It is the
first time I‟m a passenger in an auto in a long time. I usually drive,
so I chuckle to myself. Life is good. As Zoey drives again, I have a
sexual fantasy for a moment. As we approach Sedona, I see what
Zoey meant. The dark red rocks stand out from the deep blue sky,
like a 3D painting, as she said. Yes, it is breathtaking. As we are
driving closer, the mountains become taller and more colorful.
Zoey stops at a prominent red peak called Bell Rock. It has a
hiking trail winding up the side.

“We are going for a hike!” she sings. Oh, shit, dressed in
sandals, and it‟s ninety degrees out! Zoey doesn‟t care. She grabs
two bottles of water from the cooler in the backseat. We get out of
the car.

“You better keep up, or I‟ll leave you behind,” she jokes.

Little does she know, I enjoy walking behind her as I get to

see her sexy rear. The sight is spectacular. About thirty minutes
into the climb, I‟m tired. We sit down to hydrate and catch our

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breath. Well, at least mine. The view from up here is simply

amazing.

“It‟s beautiful,” Zoey

exhales. “So are you.”

“Are you flirting with me?!”

“Could be.”

She laughs. Phew! She took that well.

I am impressed by my courage to flirt. I feel good. I feel

aggressive. Phoenix has made me feel like a younger man! Perhaps
the legend is true?

I look down at my feet, covered with red dust and soil. My

feet hurt, my legs hurt, and I am getting hungry and tired. I look at
my watch and see it‟s approaching noon. I ask Zoey if she‟s
getting hungry. Thankfully, she is. We head back down the
mountain. Much easier going down than up! We get to Zoey‟s
SUV and drive to her favorite restaurant, Cafe Siena, in Sedona.
What a coincidence, because I love Italian food also! So far, this
day is going great!

Café Siena is located right by the red rock mountains. We

get a table with a fantastic view of the terrain. Zoey asks if she can
order for me. Have at it! So she calls for two pasta with scallops,
two salads, and a side of garlic bread. A woman after my heart!

Over lunch, we learn more about each other. Zoey has an

older brother, Stewart, in Phoenix. He is a part-owner of her art
gallery but never shows his face. Stewart has never married but
was engaged once. He spent several years in Paris but returned
home to Phoenix after their dad passed away. She explains Stewart
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is a very secretive person involved in many questionable business

activities, so Zoey keeps out of his life, and he stays out of hers. It
turns out Stewart also likes to gamble and spends a lot of his time
at the casinos here in Phoenix and up in Las Vegas. Fortunately, he
never seems in debt and inherited a sizeable chunk of change from
their father.

We are getting ready to leave, and they place the check on

the table. I reach for it and feel a hand slap my fingers. Zoey says,
“I invited you. It‟s my treat!” She continues to look at me in the
eyes and compliments me, “Tom, you are an extremely handsome
man, and, if I might say, a sexy one as well.”

My ego flies sky-high.

Just then, my phone rings. It‟s Judy, my real estate agent.

She wants me to come to her office. I explain that I‟m in Sedona
with a friend and will call when I‟m back. After hanging up, I tell
Zoey I‟m buying a house. It thrilled her to hear that the house is in
Scottsdale. “We can be neighbors!” she yells out.

We exit the restaurant and head to the car. Zoey showed me

downtown Sedona with the many shops and restaurants. Busy with
tourists and tour guides. Walking up and down the main street, we
start to hold hands. Zoey is a talking machine. She never stops. It‟s
hard to get a word in. Zoey tells me of the unfaithful husband she
left, describing how he would pick up ladies in clubs and bars and
continually lie to her about his affairs. She had hired a private
investigator to confirm her beliefs. I was sympathetic to her hurt.
Two years ago, she had finally mustered up the courage to pack a
bag and leave. It sounded like a movie I had seen many times. I
told her of my suffering when I left my wife. I went through hell;
how complicated the final six months were. As we walked down
Sedona avenue, passing many shops along the way, Zoey saw

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some clothes, jeans, and tops she liked, so in we went! She tried on
several items and picked a few she liked. I had seen no one this
happy in a long, long time over something so simple as an outfit!
She must be a shopper. It was approaching dinnertime, and my feet
ached. I was tired, and the temperature was warm, and I felt dirty
from the hills‟ red dust.

Zoey suggested we stay the night and drive back in the

morning. She says, “Let‟s get a room for tonight.”

Stunned, and my first reaction was, “I do not have clothes

for tomorrow.”

She says, “Don‟t be an ass, so what?”

We walk toward the car and drive down Sedona avenue to

find a motel. Several blocks away, we stop at the Sheraton. I check
us in as Mr. and Mrs. Richards. We get the two card keys and pull
up in front of the room, and park. The room is a standard king-size
bedroom. In we go.

Zoey says, “Let‟s get something to drink at the bar.”

Now that was an easy decision for me; I am ready. We sit at

a quiet table in the corner with a view of the red rocks. We both
order vodka tonics with extra lime. An excellent and refreshing
drink for a long, hot day. I tell Zoey how I will sell my condo and
hopefully purchase this home I looked at in Scottdale. Before the
story was over, her drink was gone. I order us a second round.
Now, this is my kind of lady, she drinks. We had some appetizers
from the bar and now the third round of drinks. Zoey was getting
drunk, and it was apparent she could not hold her alcohol.

While sitting at the table, I could feel my body heating and

sweating, so I suggested heading back to the room for a shower.
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Besides, I smell myself. Off we went. As we pass through the door,

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Zoey stripped down to her bra and underpants. I watched this

spectacular sight and could feel my hormones exploding. She
looked at me and said, “Well, you need to wash the dust from your
feet.”

I tell her, “You go first.”

Zoey heads straight for the minibar, takes out two small
bottles of vodka, and sits on the bed. She takes a swig. I do the
same.

“That‟s better.”

She smiles and places her firm, shapely legs on the bed to
brush off some dust. My heart beats fast. She stands up, drops her
shorts, and pulls her top off over her head. She is standing there,
butt naked. Then she strolls into the bathroom like this is no big
deal. Wow. I haven‟t seen a woman naked in actual life since my
divorce years ago. Kay shut me off sexually the second time I
pushed her around at our home. Telling me, “You will never lay a
hand on me again.” From that time on, she did not allow me to
touch her.

I hear the water running, and Zoey shouts, “Come join me!”

Oh, shit. It‟s happening. I am going to get laid. I drop my

shorts, remove my sandals, and walk to the bathroom, trying to
maintain control of my manhood. I slide back the shower curtain
and see Zoey washing her hair with the suds running down her
curvy body. I gingerly step in behind her and touch my body to
hers. I reach around her hip, place my hand on her vulva. She turns
and kisses me deeply, pressing our bodies together. She washes me
like a giant poodle dog. My manhood is erect. She grabs it and
says, let‟s go to bed. Still dripping wet from the shower, I lay on
the bed on top of her, kissing her deeply, tongues probing each
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other like kids. The excitement builds. I feel myself slipping into
her warm and wet vagina. Within seconds I feel myself climax, and
it is over. I lay on her, disappointed. Zoey realizes what happened.

She says, “Don‟t be concerned about it. Let‟s go to sleep.”

I feel like a failure, my ego crushed. I put my arm around

her naked body, pull her into the fetal position, hug her tight, and
fall off asleep almost immediately. Oh, what would tomorrow
bring! I guess it would be a real adventure.

Morning came quickly, and so did the awkwardness.

Waking up with a woman in my bed—what do you say? The first
words out of my mouth were, “Good morning.”

Zoey sleepily sat up in bed. I saw her long, flowing red hair
run down her shoulders and neck. Her large pink nipples are
swelling up. I try to look away but make a double-take. I walked
over to the window and opened it to let the fresh desert air blow
into the room. What a beautiful woman, I thought again. I slip on
my dusty clothes from yesterday as Zoey is getting ready in the
bathroom. I went to grab a bite to eat in the motel breakfast lounge,
and my head was still throbbing from the drinking last night. While
I was sitting, quietly snacking on some eggs and cereal, in walks
Zoey, looking spectacular, her long red hair neatly combed. She
had makeup on—some seductive eye shadow and red lipstick! She
was wearing her new clothes that revealed her lovely, model-like
figure.

What an improvement the new outfit and makeup had

made. Now that was an attractive woman. I could see the other
motel guests around me looking at Zoey. She sat down, oblivious
to the attention she was getting and had some muffins and coffee.
As we ate, I had to discuss last night; I could not keep it in. I told

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Zoey, “I have not been with a woman for almost two years, and the

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pleasure and excitement were more than I could control. Sorry, I

came so swiftly.”

She replied, “You‟ll do better next time.”

After we finished breakfast, we gathered our belongings

and headed to the SUV and the Phoenix ride back. I asked if I
could help drive. Zoey said, “I got it.” Zoey talks nonstop on the
way back, but I‟m not complaining. I could listen to her
entertaining stories all day! We drive without a care in the world,
with the sunroof open and the air conditioning running. Zoey‟s hair
is dancing in the wind as I steal looks at her; she is beautiful, her
face is feminine, with full lips. Her body is athletic, like a tennis
player. Her legs are lean but muscular. No wonder she loves to
hike! She has on her country music and is tapping away at the
steering wheel as she sings along.

Meanwhile, I‟m conflicted. I want to approach Zoey. I feel

attracted to her too. Well, this is certainly a problem I‟ve never had
before! I reach my hand between her legs while she is driving.
“Not yet. I‟m driving.” She is right—lousy timing. The drive was a
straight run on the-17 east on the 101 and off in ate Scottdale
Avenue. She drives me to my motel and stops in front, leans over,
kisses me. She says, “Call me tomorrow.” Now it‟s midday. I head
up to my room and lie back on the bed with two more mini bottles
of vodka. I call Judy from my cell phone and tell her I can discuss
the counter-offer this afternoon. Judy suggests the Cheesecake
Factory at 7:30 pm.

“See you there.”

I have four hours to kill. I close my eyes; the vision of Dad

drowning comes into view. I walk to the minibar and open the door
—there‟s no more vodka. I grab a tequila, and down it quickly

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to suppress my visions, then fall asleep. 6 pm comes promptly, and

I awaken. I get into the shower one more time to get ready to see if
I am purchasing a house. I felt buyer‟s remorse.

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 Frank C. Senia

Chapter Four: Making the

Purchase

O
ver to my clothes and pick out something for my
meeting with Judy tonight. I can‟t think straight,
but I am excited. At the restaurant, I see Judy
standing at the entrance, grinning. It must be good news, I guess?
We are seated at a booth, and the server takes our orders. Judy asks
to have a glass of white wine. Oh, there definitely must be good
news! So, I order one as well. Judy pulls a folder from her purse
and takes out some papers saying, “You‟re going to love this!”
“First, they accepted your purchase price of $500,000. Second,
they want to know if you would like to rent the house until it closes
in sixty days?” Tom, you can move in as a tenant in the next few
days after the sellers remove their furniture.

“Yes!” I exclaim. This is all working out great! The wine

arrives almost on cue, and we toast to a successful transaction.

Over dinner, I told Judy of my past, divorce, work, and

unhappiness. She listens empathetically and offers me sweet words
of encouragement. I notice she isn‟t wearing a wedding ring. She
explains she is a widow since her husband died in a car crash. She
has no children.

I see her big brown eyes well up, and I reach forward and
touch the top of her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

We enjoy our long, lovely meal and part ways at 9:30. Judy
will complete the deal, and all I have to do is wait happily.
However, I stop at the motel bar upon arriving for a nightcap or

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two for the evening. I talk with Alberto, the bartender, about much
I am enjoying Phoenix, and he offers a word of advice.

“Be careful, my friend. When the sun gets in your eyes, bad
things happen.”

I finish my two drinks, slap a twenty-dollar bill on the

counter, and head to the stairway. I wish to have no memories or
visions tonight. I stagger up the steps to my room.

After turning the TV off, I think about my ex-wife Kay, and

I loved her so much. The fighting and arguing were a symptom of
the alcohol. Raised with Dad abusing Mom and pushing her
around, I thought it was all right to do that to your wife. Dad was
the wrong role model. Hey, I was the king of the castle. I could not
remember how many times I returned home in the evening after a
night out with the guys drinking and would show her who was
more powerful, verbally and physically.

Well, that earned me a divorce—Goodnight, off to sleep. I

wake in a cold sweat from a dream of Dad grabbing my arm and
twisting behind me, shoving me against the kitchen wall. He did
that so many times. I saw my face and body imprints in the plaster
wall. Stepping out of bed, I head for the minibar refrigerator and
reach for a bottle of tequila, guzzle it down, return to bed for the
rest of the night.

The morning sun makes its way through my curtains and

gently nudges me awake. Today Tom, make those calls. I lie in
bed, pondering what to say to my ex-wife and daughter. I decide to
tell them the truth, and this will be new for me. I will explain how
unhappy I have been and how desperately I need a change. I need
to start my life over—new home, new location, new job, new
friends. If I don‟t do this, I will die. They can‟t argue with that,
can
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 Frank C. Senia

they? I get ready for the day and head down for my complimentary
Best Western breakfast.

I fill my plate to the brim with everything available. I need

the energy to face those phone calls! Or is this an excuse? As I eat,
I think of my dad again and start feeling the guilt of my recurring
horror. I need something to shake this off. After breakfast, I head
back to my room for a vodka bottle, and I find two more tequila
bottles. I swallow the first bottle and sip on the second as I make
my calls. I‟m ready. First up—accounting office. I take a deep
breath and dial the number. Three rings.

“Accounting, Nancy speaking.”

“Nancy, it‟s Tom. Can I speak with the

boss?” “Sure, hold on.”

A few seconds later, the man comes on. “Tom! Where the
hell are you? It‟s been three days!” I explain that I have been
suffering from depression lately and need to change my life. I tell
him I‟m in Phoenix and plan on settling down here.

Silence. Then, “Tom, I like you. You were always a good

employee. I want you to do what is best for you. I‟m sorry you are
going to leave. I wish you good luck on your new journey.”

Wow, that went surprisingly well! Thanks for

understanding my situation. I ask if Nancy can deposit my final
wages in my account.

He says, “That will be arranged immediately, and don‟t

come back!”

Guess I expected that outcome since he is such an ass.

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Next up is my ex-wife, Kay.

“Hello, Tom. What do you want?” Her typical greeting.

I tell her exactly what I said to my boss at the office.

“You‟re crazy! You drunken fuck! I don‟t want to hear

from you again! Just send the child support for Kelly!” Click.

That was easier than I thought. Great, two calls down, two
more to go. I will call Kelly, probably get the same reply as Kay.
Oh, well. For now, my next call is to Paul, the real estate agent
who helped me buy my San Francisco condo. Paul reassures me he
will handle everything. He has a moving company that can pack
and transport all my belongings. Paul will have my condo cleaned
up once everything is moved out and put the unit up for sale. He
promises I can get $500,000 for it. Boy, am I lucky! I have great
real estate agents on both sides. Thanks to technology, the
paperwork will be done over the internet on my laptop. Everything
works out smoothly. I should learn to worry less!

Next up, I call Zoey. I tell her I made all my dreaded calls,
she says, “Good, come and join my brother and me for lunch
today.”

I say, “Give me the address. I will be there.”

We say goodbye, and a text comes through with the

location. Nice. I will get to meet Zoey‟s brother Stewart. It‟s 11
am, and I am ready to go to a Mexican restaurant called Antonio‟s
for lunch with Zoey. Not realizing the cantina was just a scant mile
away, I arrived early, parked the car, proceeded in. The bar was
mostly empty, so I had a drink while I waited. The owner, Antonio,
was tending the bar. I ordered a margarita. Placing my glass and
napkin in front of me, Antonio asked, “How are you, my friend?”
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When the fuck did he become my friend?

I responded with, “Great. I am new to Phoenix,” which sent

him off on an outburst I was not expecting. “Most people call me
Antonio. I guess they like the rhythm of my nickname instead of
Anthony. I have no preference and respond to both versions. I am a
simple man with simple tastes. I have experienced complicated
situations I cannot define. One that comes to mind is driving with
my wife, Rosa, to the local shopping mall on a hot Phoenix day
and had an accident, why I don‟t know. This incident has haunted
me for many years. Let me speak of what happened, and perhaps
you can help me distinguish what is real and what is not.”

I was not expecting this fucking lecture; this guy must have
suffered brain damage.

On he goes. “As a bartender for the past twenty years, I

have encountered hundreds—or perhaps thousands—of customers
who have come in to share their stories and look for advice. They
know I am here to lessen their concern or add a helpful suggestion.
I try to connect with most patrons, and they remain in my life—
some friends, some customers. Their stories encourage me to learn
more about them and why they seek a bar and alcohol to improve
their temperament. I often wonder why some customers never
return or come into our brief lives for only a few encounters. Is the
connection made to teach a lesson or experience an emotion? Some
enter for short periods, others for a lifetime. A few meetings bring
happiness, and a few bring sorrow.”

I thought to myself, Antonio needs help and lots of support.

Here is a guy that drinks too much. I think I know why some do
not return, you‟re an asshole. They do not want this shit!

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Thank god. In walks, Zoey and Stewart both dressed

casually, as was I. We are seated. I shank hands with Stewart, and
he says, “I heard a lot about you the last few days.” Stewart
appeared to be about forty-five, well-spoken and neatly groomed.
Zoey leans over and kisses me on the cheek. The first words out of
his mouth are, “You better be taking good care of my little sister.”

I told him, “I will try my best.”

Then the small talk starts.

“What brings you to Phoenix?”

Jokingly, I say, “I had too much to drink.”

His reply was, “Speaking of drinks, let get the party

rolling!” He calls out, “Three margaritas, Antonio.”

Antonio replies, “Coming up, Mr. Stewart.”

I say to Stewart, “You‟ve been here

before?” He says, “Many times.”

Zoey says, “You guys have something in common:

drinking.”

My takeaway was that Stewart was a party guy, gambling,

drinking… why not if you can afford it? During lunch, Stewart
tells me of his overseas travels and adventures and how their
father‟s death impacted him and Zoey. Both Stewart and Zoey love
their mother, Alexis but do not share a close relationship.

Our lunch lasted around two hours, and we consumed

countless margaritas. Stewart‟s parting words were, “I will call
you. You can meet some of my friends one night.”

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“Thank you,” I replied.

Zoey left with Stewart, and I walked to my car. Starting the

motor, I receive a call from Judy. She would like to meet at the
house as she has the finished paperwork and lease. We agree on 6
pm. I arrive early as I usually do, and I sit in the driveway of my
soon-to-be residence to admire the home. Judy pulls up, grabs her
oversized purse, and hurries toward me. Once inside, she leads the
way to the chic kitchen and plops her purse on the counter. She
takes out a large brown folder.

“Congratulations! You just bought a house! And here‟s

your lease agreement. C‟mon, hug me!” I step forward and smell
that fantastic perfume as I hug her.

“Thank you,” I say. “I mean it. For me, this is life-

changing.”

She places her hand on the back of my neck and moves in

to give me an unexpected kiss on the lips. I stand there in
astonishment. I didn‟t see that coming!

“Let‟s celebrate by taking a dip in your pool. I just made a

sizable commission!” she says before I can collect my thoughts.
Now, I have been drinking all afternoon with Zoey and Stewart.
We step out the sliding doors onto the patio and remove our
clothes. Judy grabs my hand and leads me to the pool. In we go
into the lukewarm water and splash each other like kids. Judy hugs
me again. I feel her body and breasts press against me. I place both
my hands around her butt and hold it tight.

“Hello! Hello?” we hear suddenly from inside the house.

We see an older couple walk in. Oh, my God! I panic in the pool,
but Judy calmly explains, “It‟s the sellers.” I stand, frozen, in the
pool with the water up to my neck. Judy yells out, “Hey, guys! It‟s

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me, Judy, your agent. We are in the pool celebrating.” We

sheepishly step out of the water, butt naked, and quickly get
dressed. I guess I got another adventure! We meet the sellers
inside. I blush as I apologize and explain that we were just
celebrating their beautiful home. Fortunately, the older couple
doesn‟t mind our little stint in the pool, and we all laugh at the
awkwardness. We sign the lease, and they leave. Judy and I are
alone again.

“What are you going to do about furniture?” Wow, Judy is

not dwelling on our naked pool incident! I guess I should move on,
too. “I‟ll transport my stuff down once I sell the condo,” I reply.
Judy says she has a friend who does home staging for realtors and
may rent me some items until my stuff arrives. That‟s a great idea.
She makes a call to her friend and arranges for delivery for
tomorrow afternoon. Wow, she is efficient! Judy is a determined
woman. We head toward the front door and hug each other
goodbye before parting ways.

Back at the motel, I get ready for bed. I keep thinking about
how close I got today with Judy to get laid. Man, I love Phoenix!
But serious ones soon replaced my happy thoughts. I open the
minibar and remove a bottle of vodka. I down the first while
munching on some potato chips. Thinking, I need to tip the
housekeeper. She is constantly refilling my minibar. While lying
on my motel room bed, I am out of control with the room spinning.
I see myself holding Dad‟s head beneath the water and him
gasping for air. That is one ugly sight. Suddenly it finally occurred
to me after all these years. I am no better than Dad with alcohol,
and I drink too much.

If I am to make this move and life change, I am going to

need help. Alcoholics Anonymous should be on my priority list,
and I cannot make it through one day alone. I make a note to call
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 Frank C. Senia

AA tomorrow and find a location, knowing I won‟t. I am lying on

the bed. I black out... With my head pounding, feeling ready to
vomit, I open my eyes to find that I am lying on the bathroom floor
with my head next to the toilet bowl—what a fantastic way to wake
up. Holding on to the bath counter, I rise, and I start to making
coffee. Now I have hit bottom. I am drinking water and coffee for
hours, trying to clear my head. I know I have a problem. Around
midday, I make it to Denny‟s, putting some food in my gut.
Saying, “Tom, you are fucked up.”

Judy calls and tells me my furniture will arrive at the house

around three. So, I make more calls to set up the electric, phone,
internet, and gas services at my new home since I‟ll be sleeping
there tonight. Judy left me a list of the phone numbers to call for
the utilities. Just the thought of that brings me happiness. I check
out of Best Western and drive to my new home. It‟s 2:30 pm when
I arrive. I have the entire house to myself. I lay down on my new
floor, looking out at the pool. Flashbacks to last night with Judy
dance to my mind. Am I more attracted to Judy than Zoey? Yes, I
believe so. Why? Because she looks like my ex, Kay. She is a no-
nonsense, logical woman with a captivating personality.

My cell phone interrupts, and my fantasies stop. The

ringing takes my attention. It‟s Zoey. She asks if everything is
complete with the house. I tell her yes. She asks for my address; I
give it to her with no second thoughts. Right at 3 pm, the doorbell
rings, and in walks Judy with flowers and a brown paper bag.
“Happy house-warming!” she exclaims.

I thank her for this sweet gesture and open the brown bag to
find a large bottle of Patrón Silver tequila! Wow, Judy went all out.
She picks up the tequila in one hand, takes my hand in the other,
and leads me to the patio. Judy jokes about moving in with me and
all the things we would do around the pool. I secretly wish she

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would move in with me. Maybe she wasn‟t joking? Only time will
tell. Man, her perfume is intoxicating, and I finally ask her what it
is. “You‟ll find out!” she replies coyly. Oh, I can‟t wait! We both
take a swig of the Patrón and smile.

We hear a truck pulling up to the driveway. It‟s my

furniture rental. First comes a bedroom set with a king-sized bed.
Next is some living room furniture, followed by a kitchen set. It
looks like Judy‟s friend has good taste in furniture. We both get
busy unpacking and arranging the furniture, taking shots of tequila
along the way. This is the way to move in! With everything in
place, we plop down, exhausted, on my new gray sofa and gulp
down more shots. I‟m impressed by how well Judy can drink. The
doorbell rings. It‟s probably the delivery guys—maybe they forgot
something. I go to open the door and can‟t believe my eyes.

“Surprise!” Zoey is standing at the door with balloons and

flowers. How does she know where I live? Shit, I told her. Oh,
God, this is bad. Is she going to suspect something between Judy
and me?

“Hey, Zoey, I‟m having a house-warming party with a

friend. C‟mon in!”

She walks in, but immediately her mood sours when she
sees the „friend‟ is another attractive woman. Judy reciprocates the
look. My head throbs. I‟m buzzed from the Patrón.

“You found Tom a delightful house.”

“I did.”

Zoey turns to me. “So, Tom, did you enjoy our date yester-
day?”

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“What. He was with you?” Judy is livid. Uh-oh. I‟m in

trouble!

I felt anger toward Zoey for her uninvited visit. And I feel
the tension building between Judy and me, all because of Zoey!
Argh! I want Zoey to go. As I continue to drink, I feel the anger
growing in my gut as it used to with my father. I remember when I
sat staring at my dad, wishing him dead and gone. I want Zoey
gone so I can have Judy for myself.

I‟m confronted by these two beautiful women—Zoey with

her athletic physique and Judy with her sophisticated
businesswoman look—arguing over me. Both want to know if the
other is going out with me.

Who can answer that? I don‟t know what to do.

Their voices get shriller by the minute and burn my ears. I

stand there drinking from the bottle, just like Dad. Zoey sees me
drinking, and she snatches the bottle. She takes several large swigs.
This evening is not going the way I expected.

The premium tequila takes over my body. Now, I am flying

pretty high and losing myself. I see objects move, and the angry
female voices grow muffled. I try to keep it together, but I am
crashing. I slip in and out of consciousness; I feel my inner rage
intensifying. I need to make Zoey disappear. Her presence is
tormenting me. I suddenly realize I have not felt this level of hate
since drowning my father. Is my mind telling me to dispose of
Zoey? As my vision fades, I see both women sitting next to each
other on the gray couch. They lean over for a hug. Then a kiss. The
kisses become intense. “Am I halluci-nating?” I try to keep my
eyes open. I see Judy and Zoey caress. I see my father‟s body
floating in the bathtub. I try to focus, but I collapse onto the living

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room floor. My head is throbbing with each heartbeat. I hear

moans as I black out!

I wake up to fierce rays of sunlight burning my skin. My

entire body aches, and I feel the soft sofa beneath me. Where am I?
I‟ve got a pounding headache. I sit up my world comes into focus.
I see my gray couch. I‟m in a sparsely furnished house.

“Hello? Hello?”

No answer. I‟m alone in this house. How did I end up here?

I vaguely recall two ladies kissing. Or were they? What does that
mean? Was it real or my drunken imagination? I stagger to the
bathroom to pee. In the mirror is a message in red lipstick. “You
are an asshole.” Shit, maybe there were two ladies last night, and I
missed out. Alcohol always gets the best of me. Ugh, the
opportunity of a lifetime just passed me.

My stomach is rumbling. I need food. There‟s no time to

shower or get dressed. I step outside and notice my car in the
driveway. Do I live here? I reassure myself, I‟ve made many calls
to two names: Judy and Zoey. Were these the ladies from last
night? I‟m confused, and I called them. I need to know what
happened last night. The curiosity is killing me! I dial Zoey, but it
goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message.

“Hi, Zoey. Please call me back. I can‟t remember what hap-

pened last night, but yours is the last number I called on my phone.
I‟m hoping you will have some answers for me.”

I then dial Judy. Strange—it goes to voicemail too. I leave

her the same message. I guess I‟ll just have to wait until one of
these women calls me back.

I will remember more once I get some food in me. I get in

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the car and find a McDonald‟s in five minutes. I sit down with a

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large glass of apple juice, some eggs, and a coffee and try to
retrace my steps. What happened last night? I realize my cell phone
is in my pants pocket. It will hold the answers! I check the
outgoing messages and calls.

I am getting some clarity back as I eat. As I check my email

on my phone, I realize the house I woke up in is mine! What? Did I
just buy a home in Phoenix, Arizona, yesterday? I scour more
emails and realize Judy is my real estate agent! Now I really can‟t
wait to know what happened last night. The blackouts are
happening more frequently. Leaving McDonald‟s, I make a quick
stop at Safeway on the way home to pick up some refrigerator
essentials. I see vodka on sale, and I pick up a large bottle along
with some tonic water. Why not? I get home and fix myself a
vodka tonic. As I walk around the house, some visions from last
night appear haphazardly in my head. I remember drinking with
Judy by the pool. I remember another woman—possibly Zoey?—
coming in and starting a fight. And then they kissed? No, that
makes little sense. I‟m not sure if Zoey was the intruder, but a
familiar sense of resentment grows in my gut. Hours pass; my
phone does not ring. I am getting frustrated, so I make another
vodka tonic to soothe my nerves.

I glance at my phone. It‟s midday. I lay down on my sofa

and think about the past few days. I remember waking up at a Best
Western motel a few days ago with this same confusion. Guess I
am blacking out often. Was this why my ex-wife divorced me? I
know I can‟t handle my liquor. I think back further to my days
with Kay. We used to attend couples counseling, and my drinking
was a hot topic. I remember the counselors saying, “Drinking too
much, too fast, can short-circuit one‟s short-term memory.” Were
they correct? But I was drinking to forget what I did when I was
twelve. I cannot get the horror of killing my father out of my mind.

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My cell

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phone‟s ringing snaps me out of my thoughts, and it‟s Judy. I

nervously answer and immediately get an earful. She tells me I
made an ass of myself last night, that I embarrassed her and Zoey
and acted like a total fool. Oh, shit. I don‟t remember any of this. I
try explaining to her that I blacked out and have zero recollection
of the night‟s events.

“Bullshit!” she yells. “I don‟t want to see you again!”

Click.

I sit there in disbelief. I drink my fourth vodka tonic. I

know of no other way to deal with this. I pray Zoey will feel
different about me when she calls. Well, if she calls. Time moves
unbearably slowly. Finally, at three, Zoey calls. I immediately
apologize for my behavior last night, although I am not sure what I
did. Judy did not give me any specifics.

“Tom, I thought you were a nice guy, but last night you
proved to be a total shit! You showed your true colors.”

“Zoey, I recall nothing. Honest to God. Please tell me what

I did. I need to know.”

“Oh, you want to know? I‟ll tell you!” She angrily spits out
that I was nasty and violent, loudly pushing myself onto her and
Judy. I treated them like I hired them as lesbian prostitutes and
forced them to kiss each other, but they refused. “You threatened
to abuse us both and scared us to death! We both grabbed our bags
and made a run for it when I passed out on the sofa. You are crazy
and out of control, Tom. This friendship is on unstable ground.”

She hangs up, and her words fuel my anger! I sink onto the
sofa and hang my head low. I hit myself on the forehead. What a
fuckup I am! Is there any way to make this right? I take a swig of
vodka straight from the bottle. You shot yourself in the foot, Tom.
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You‟re a fuck-up! Another swig. The drinking again reminds me of

my father.

I am angry, and I feel the need to punish Zoey. I can make

up a viable plan, just like I did when I was twelve for Dad. Zoey
enjoys hiking. Perfect! We can go on a hike in one of Arizona‟s
many mountain ranges, and Zoey will have an unfortunate accident
that ends her life. Yes! People will buy this story because Zoey is
open about the fact that she loves to hike. Plus, I noticed hardly
any other hikers that day we went to Sedona because of the intense
summer heat. It would be the perfect scene for a crime. But wait, I
could create the same situation for Judy. Which one do I want to
eliminate from my life? Why can‟t I break up and not see her
again? Why does my anger bring me to thinking of killing to solve
my problem? Was it because of how I handled my situation at
home with Dad? I could end the relationship. Am I becoming a
belligerent drunk? I call Zoey and leave a new message.

“Zoey, I am sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I know

you like to hike, and I enjoyed our Sedona hiking date a lot. This
time let me take you out for a walk so we can talk about this
unfortunate experience. What do you say?”

Perfect. Sounds deceptively sincere. I am good at

misleading others, now on to make amends with Judy. I‟ll go to
her office to clear this mess up even if she does not want to see me.
Showering and put on fresh clothes, I head toward the kitchen. On
my way out, I stop at the kitchen counter filled with empty glasses,
along with several empty bags of chips. I am ready for two more
shots of vodka, holding the open bottle to my lips and drain the
final remains.

“I need this drink to help me,” I say out loud to no one but
the empty room. Walking unstable out the front door, holding the

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keys in my shaking hand, I push the clicker to unlock my car. My

BMW, covered with dust and debris, I now see lipstick writing on
my passenger side window, saying, „asshole‟. Apparently, I did
not know notice this writing when driving to McDonald‟s having
breakfast. Must I be making a good impression on my new
neighbors with this? The short drive to her office felt like an hour-
long excursion, gripping the steering wheel tightly. My mind was
clouded and filled with anger.

I arrive at Judy‟s office, and I wonder if I am doing the

right thing visiting her when she just said she does not want to see
me again? As I open the door, the office filled with employees and
customers, turning their heads to look at the connotation that
follows me. I see Judy at her desk, looking as attractive as ever, her
hair up in a bun and a flowered dress. She looks up. Our eyes meet.
Her expression turns from a calm smile to stone and fear. I take a
few steps toward her. She abruptly stands up and says, “I thought I
told you I do not want to see you again!”

The other agents in the room turn and look at us both,

wondering what had happened between us. I try to speak but feel
someone grab my arm. I turn around and see a big, well-dressed
man, Judy‟s manager.

“Is there a problem here?” he asks ominously.

“No,” I plead.

Judy yells, “Yes, there is a problem! Please get this drunk

out of here!” she screams, her eyes never leaving my gaze.

The manager complies and drags me toward the door. I am

red-faced, angry, humiliated, and intoxicated. So, what do I do? I
stupidly uppercut the manager‟s chin and push him to the floor. I
topple over on him and land on the soft, plush office carpet. Trying
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to remember the last things that happen before everything goes

dark: Judy‟s big, brown eyes staring at me and her hand over her
mouth. Blackout…

I awake in the back of a police car and see two Scottsdale

police officers talking to Judy through the dirty window. We
haven‟t left the office parking lot, and I wonder if the manager is
okay. I lose focus again, lean forward, vomit on my shoes and the
floor of the police car. One officer says, “I cannot stand dealing
with drunks.” I hear the car door slam, and the engine starts. I feel
the motion of the car moving.

I wake up in a dingy jail cell with two homeless-looking

guys sleeping on small cots. I call to get the attention of the cop
standing guard outside near our cell and ask, “Why am I here?”

He looks at me with a bitter smile and says, “Disorderly

conduct, under the influence and assault.”

I do not remember my complete actions. What did I do

now, at Judy‟s office? Great. I ask out loud, “How do I get
released from jail here in Phoenix?”

One of my fellow cellmates tells me, “You‟ll need a bail

bond agent and a court appearance in the morning before they can
release you.” I assume they have traveled this road before.

How fast my life has taken a turn to shit and into the
dumpster. Just yesterday, my head was screaming how everything
is going so well, now this. I create my own fucked- up destiny.

I spend the worst night of my life, lousy accommodations,

walls covered with slang, curse words, obscene drawing along with
the smell of piss rising from the floor, and a toilet floor that looked
like a sewer explosion—given a tray of food in a paper bowl, with

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a plastic fork and bottle of water. The food is disgusting meat

ground up on top of mashed potatoes, the communal toilet in the
jail cell left unflushed with pee and crap floating on top of the dark
gray water. I lie on a dirty bed with a yellow-stained blanket and
two other roommates who speak to themselves with vomit on their
clothes. They are pissing in their pants, drunk. Finishing my food, I
lay down on my bed, cover my face with my right arm, close my
eyes as the pounding in my brain intensifies with each heartbeat.

In the morning, I awoke and handed a tray of cold

scrambled eggs and dry hard toast with a coffee through the jail
cell bars, trying to eat while watching my fellow cellmate sitting on
the crapper. For me, Such a pleasant and scenic view of life. Later
that morning, I am handcuffed and escorted to the courtroom,
where I await my turn. Looking around the room, I realize I am no
better than the other arrested drunks. Twelve cases and two hours
later, it‟s finally my turn to take the stand. I plead guilty, pay my
bail with my American Express card. I am told to return in two
weeks for my sentencing. This event is my first ever appearance in
court for drinking and assault charges. I have been very fortunate
most of my life. My X- Kay never pressed charges for battering;
however, she called the police several times for my behavior,
instructed me to stay away until I sobered up.

Welcome to Phoenix, Tom! I drive home in total

embarrassment and depression. Whom can I call for help?
Certainly not my ex-wife, Kay, ex-employer, Zoey, or Judy. I‟m
all alone in this chaos. At the house, I finish the remaining bottle of
vodka from my kitchen cabinet. I am saying to myself. “What a
fucking mess.” Is it the alcohol that‟s screwing up my life, or is it
me? Either way, something has to change. The next day, Zoey calls
to say she received my message and would love to go for a hike
and discuss what happened. I spend hours on the phone making
excuses for my behavior and apologizing. We agree on 10 am, and
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Zoey will surprise me with her choice of hiking location. Well, that
went okay. She sounds friendly again, and boy, do I have a smooth
way. Lost one to Judy, win one with Zoey, my glass is still half-
full. That evening in my living room, still sparsely furnished, I lay
on my sofa and fall off to sleep from the exhaustion of the last day
and night.

The following morning, straight from the sofa, I walk over

to the pool and jump in. The cool water refreshes me and brings me
back to life. Now what? While drying off in the sun-soaked
poolside lounge chair, it occurs to me; I need to find work, but now
I have a drunken arrest record. House payments and child support
are coming up soon. My savings have dwindled. “Tom, what are
you going to do?” I ask myself. I clear my head with two dark
coffees from the trusted Mr. Coffee machine. First, I have to deal
with Zoey. She will be here in a few hours. I am now having
second thoughts about pushing her off the cliff. Why would I do
that? There must be a better way to break up? Zoey is the only
person willing to spend time with me. Last night my head was
clouded with alcohol. Let‟s see how today goes, and maybe she‟ll
push me off the cliff.

When the time for our date approaches, I hear honks

outside. It‟s Zoey. I walk out to meet her as though nothing
happened. I get in the car, Zoey says, "You know, Tom, you are a
strange guy, but I‟m finding I like your ways. Trying to get Judy
and me to kiss was kinky. I liked it."

Zoey drives us to a place called Camelback Mountain in the

Phoenix area. We have fun chitchatting and flirting with each other
on the ride, as the other night has not come up yet. Feeling
confident, I place my hand on her thigh. She snaps, "Watch it, bub,
you‟re not out of the doghouse yet," Guess Zoey is a look-but-
don‟t-touch kind of gal. We arrive at Camelback Mountain. She

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happily announces that “It‟s about a three-hour walking trail,

several thousand feet above sea level, called Cliff-Walk.” She
parks her car, and off we go.

“Why do Phoenix residents like to hike in hundred-degree

weather?” I ask her. “What is wrong with them?” We walk in
single file, and I, of course, trail behind Zoey for two reasons: one,
because she is a more vigorous walker than me, and two, because I
get to watch her cute butt sashay from side to side. Yes, it sure
looks adorable in those hiking shorts! Halfway to the top, I need a
break. We sit on a ledge and look out over the Phoenix area.

I did not know Phoenix was such a sprawling city of five or

four million residents. Rows of cookie-cutter homes built
symmetrically as far as the eye can see. Zoey gets straight to the
point. “Okay, Tom, enough with the view. You‟re here to address
what happened the other night, so start talking. You have one
chance!”

I explain to Zoey how my drinking affects my behavior and

how I experience blackouts, after which I can‟t recall anything that
happens. Zoey advises me to stop drinking or drink less, two
excellent suggestions for an average person. But I am not your
average Joe; I‟m a killer and an alcoholic. She tells me she is a
social drinker and can take or leave alcohol whenever she wants.
She says her brother Stewart likes to drink, but she has never seen
him out of control. He falls asleep.

As we sit and gaze out at the city, I look down at the

ground below. If I am going to push Zoey off the cliff, now is the
time and place. Zoey then asks me, “Have I ever been in love since
my divorce?” A strange question at the moment.

I tell her, “No, I have had no interest in any woman since

my divorce.”
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She asked back, “Are you partially gay?”

I quickly reply, “No, I just have not had the time or desire
to become involved.”

I notice she is looking at me intensely, and her mouth

cracks a sexy smile. A loaded question out next, “Do you
masturbate often? I do.”

I sit there in complete silence, not know how to reply to

anything she has just asked.

I focused my mind back on the real reason we are up here

on this mountain today.

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Chapter Five: Changing my Mind

W
e must be a hundred feet up with masses of rock
below. I look around and do not see other
hikers. I thought this is the perfect opportunity
to eliminate Zoey from my life, but why do it? My mind says,
“Yes, do it, do it!” I am overwhelmed with the urge to push Zoey
off this ledge. I gingerly put my arm around her waist and run my
hand up her back to between her shoulder blades—the perfect
position for a good shove. My heart races as I feel her body heat on
my palm. I count to myself. One… two…

Suddenly, Zoey leans forward, kisses me on the lips, and

sticks her tongue deep into my dry mouth. My hand drops from her
back. Where did this behavior change just come from? She places
both her soft hands on my face and continues this long kiss. My
thoughts of pushing her off the ledge dissipate. Wow, what an
intense feeling this kiss has! It feels like it continues for eternity.
Her tongue is like a rattlesnake winding through the brush in my
mouth. Finally, Zoey pulls away. “I‟m glad I did that,” she
whispers.

“Me too!”

Zoey says, “I think I am falling in love with you, Tom.”

I kiss her once again, saying, “I feel the same way.”

We stand up and resume our hike, holding hands, as I‟m

thinking to myself, This is crazy. Now we are both walking like
lovers, on the way up, I was plotting to push her off the cliff. We
hug and kiss throughout the hike and discuss my drinking. I tell
Zoey I am considering going to Alcoholics Anonymous for help.

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She agrees it would be a good start. Then she asked me a question

that lets the air out from my balloon, and my knees get weak.

“Tom, the other night at your home, when you were out of
control, you kept mentioning your dad. What happened to him?”

I rapidly snap back. “What did I say?”

“You spoke of being sorry for what you did, and you never
really hated him, just his actions.”

“Zoey, my dad was an abusive drunk who met with an

accident in our bathtub when I was a kid.”

Zoey says, “And perhaps you inherited his drinking traits

and abusive behavior. That‟s what came out the other night?”

This conversation terrified me, knowing that when I lose

control, I speak about my horrible deed.

Zoey says that if I want this relationship to continue, I need

to get help immediately, and she will support me to get through
this addiction.

I stand there quietly, looking out at the vast Sun Valley, my

mind spinning round and round. No one has ever asked to help me
with my drinking problem. I tell Zoey I would love for her to help
me, that I say I will do something and always find an excuse.

We find a large rock with a view and sit. I kiss her again,
feeling my manhood expanding with desire intensifying to escape
my shorts. I tell Zoey I am becoming very aroused. She replies,
“You are not the only one.” I reach into her pants pleasurably,
finding her panties are moist. As I rub her clitoris from outside her
panties, she slivers her hand down my shorts to grab my enlarged

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penis. She gives it several strokes, and I ejaculate in my pants like

a high school kid. Removing her wet hand and wiping it on my
pants, she stares at me and says, “Tom, we need to get you under
control. Strike two,” and laughs.

We speak of future adventures on the drive home, and she

invites me to see her gallery in downtown Scottsdale next week,
saying Stewart will be there. This relationship is developing fast!
We head home for the day. Zoey drops me off and says she
enjoyed our date. We promise to call each other, and I turn around
to enter my house. As soon as I step inside, it is about 2 pm, and I
remember I have not eaten lunch. So, I grab my keys for the car
from the kitchen counter and head back out the door. I drive to the
first local deli I see and have a turkey sandwich and coke. I
mindlessly chew and swallow, contemplating the turn of events
that just occurred today. The sandwich goes down fast, now back
to the house. As I exit the deli, I spot a sports bar two doors down.
I succumb to my weakness and walk over. Inside is a crowded,
bustling bar with baseball on all the overhead screens. I sit down,
and the bartender promptly asks for my order.

“A double vodka, straight.”

Here we go again. I am enjoying myself. Who knows how

long this moment will last? I make temporary friends with the guys
sitting next to me and converse about baseball. Intermittently, I
flashback to my father, gasping for air as I hold him underwater.
For almost forty years, these images still haunt me. I should talk to
someone about it, but how can I tell anyone I killed my father? I‟ll
be committed or imprisoned. Maybe I deserve to suffer in prison
for this horrible act. On around my third or fourth drink, sitting on
the stool quietly and staring at myself in the bar mirror, I think
about Dad. When I was a young kid, I heard some conversations
about Dad being in the Korean War, but he never spoke of it. Mom
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had a photo, just one of him in an army uniform on her dresser.

Was he in battle or the motor pool? He became an auto mechanic. I
will have to find out more whenever I speak to Mom again.

All the while, the vodka keeps flowing, providing me

temporary relief. Hours pass; I decide to head home. I step out of
the bar. It‟s dark outside. How long did I spend there? At least I
had fun. I get in my car, start the engine, pull out of the shopping
center, and Bam!!! Red lights and a siren behind me. What luck
I‟m having. I pull to the side, and the officer approaches my car,
flashlight in hand.

“License and registration, please.”

I hand them over without a word.

“Remain in your car,” he orders as he walks back to his

police car. Be calm, Tom. Be calm. You didn‟t have that much to
drink. My mind is going crazy. I feel beads of sweat form on my
upper lip. The cop returns and asks me to step out of the car.

“Officer, may I know what I did?”

“No left turns on that driveway.”

Now, this should mark the end of our exchange, but I panic
and start to ramble on about some bullshit story.

“Are you intoxicated?” He peers into my face and sniffs.

Shit. The next thing I know, I‟m blowing into a

breathalyzer and walking a straight line while touching my nose or
only trying to. I‟m handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police
car—twice in the past week, now. I‟m setting records! Back at the
Scottsdale station, I‟m fingerprinted again and pushed into a cell.
At least there‟s only one smelly cellmate for me tonight. The

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following day, I go through the same ritual. Coincidentally, I get

the same judge. He recognizes me.

“Welcome back, Mr. Richards. You must enjoy our

accommodations.”

I stand, listening to the judge roll off several charges.

When he is finished, he leans in and says somberly, “Mr.

Richards, this is your second offense this week, both alcohol-
related. And this latest charge is a DUI. You know this carries a
one-week to a six-month jail sentence and a hefty fine, right?”

My jaw drops to the floor. My heart pounds. “No, I did not

know that, Your Honor!”

He looks disappointedly at me and says, “Scottsdale will

have the pleasure of your company for the next seven days. Then
you may be released on bond.” He bangs his gavel, taken to my
cell.

Oh, fuck, what now? Things are not going well for me!

I ask for my phone call and dial my ex-wife, Kay.

“Please don‟t hang up! I‟m in trouble. I need your

help.” I hear a long silence, then a click.

So much for marriage and family. I waited until the next

day when I‟m allowed another call. But who can I call? Maybe
Judy, since I still need help with the house escrow and lease? She
may answer if it‟s work-related. It‟s worth a shot. I want to keep
this arrest from Zoey after yesterday‟s AA discussion and her
wanting to help me stop drinking. My commitment did not last one
day. I am such a fuck-up.

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The following day, I call Judy‟s office and have the

receptionist put me through to her. As soon as she answers, I blurt
out, “Please don‟t hang up! I need your help with my house
purchase.”

That got her attention. “Okay, make it quick.”

I explain that I‟m in jail for a DUI offense and won‟t close
on the house. With two arrest violations against me, it will be hard
to find work. So, I want to cancel the purchase and terminate the
lease. Judy explains that I will lose my $10,000 deposit for the
purchase and my $2,000 security deposit on the lease. Fuck, that‟s
an enormous amount of money for me to lose. Guess I dug myself
into this hole again. There‟s nothing I can do now but terminate the
lease. So, I ask Judy to bring me the papers so I can sign whatever
she needs.

“Judy, I‟m so sorry for

everything.” She hangs up.

Next, I call Zoey. She lets loose like an exploding cannon.

“Where the fuck have you been the last two days you don‟t answer
your phone?”

I explain the DUI arrest.

“Tom, I thought we talked about that.” Goodbye. She hangs

up abruptly.

Sulking, I have lost the two women in my life the last few
weeks over my stupidity. Ugh, this aggravating bitch. I should
have just pushed her off the cliff that day! No, Tom. Calm down.
You‟re a toxic person to all you come in contact with. I thought it
was just my father who was a terrible drunk. Guess the apple

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doesn‟t fall far from the tree. Now I am a full-time jailbird. I spend
my days watching TV, playing cards, and occasionally chatting
with a fellow inmate. I get three shit meals a day and not even a
lick of liquor. Perhaps because of this, I feel my mind clearing up
and my body feeling healthy. However, I get sudden cravings for
alcohol, and they are unbearable. I wind up lying in my jailhouse
cot and sweating them out, and then I am notified that I have a
visitor. It must be Judy, with the paperwork for the house. I am
escorted to the visitor area to wait. At least I get to see her
gorgeous face one last time, I think happily. My happiness soon
escalates as the lady walking toward me comes into focus.

It is Zoey. “How are you, Tom?” she calmly says as she

reaches for a hug and the guard stops her. She says, “I love you,
Tom.” I‟m at a loss for words. Sheer embarrassment rises from my
toes to my head. I say, “Why are you here?” It turns out Judy
called Zoey and explained the whole situation.

Tears come to my eyes. I break down and cry like a little

boy, my face in my hands. I apologize for all the hurt and anger I
have caused. Zoey reaches out and touches my hand. I look up and
see the beauty and compassion that attracted me to her. It‟s like
falling in love again. I feel saved. Zoey says she is going to move
in with me until this alcohol condition is under control.

“But in one strict condition, Tom. No alcohol.”

At this moment, hearing all this, I feel like I won‟t need

another bottle ever again. My life is turning around! You better not
screw this up, I tell myself. I‟m flabbergasted! Does she mean we
live there like a husband and wife? Heck, yes! Zoey is already one
step ahead. She has already called Judy and asked her not to cancel
the purchase and lease.

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“Tom, this is your last chance. Enroll in AA and stay in it.

Otherwise, this whole deal is off. Understood?”

“I promise.” I mean it.

“By the way, your agent Judy is such a wonderful person.

So helpful, or I would not be here!”

I bite my lip, and we hug each other goodbye. I walk back

to my cell in joy. My life has just taken another turn, but this time
for the best!

Day number seven, I am released on bond. Freedom at last!

Time to turn over a new leaf. Zoey came to pick me up and
informed me she had found an attorney to help with my case. I felt
like a Phoenix—I‟m rising from my ashes. But as soon as I feel
gratitude, I feel guilty about my father. Zoey drops me at the
impound lot to pick up my car and says, “See you at home!”

Those words lift my spirits sky-high. They are an

affirmation that my life is turning around. When I get home,
there‟s another surprise waiting for me: Judy is standing at the
door, smiling at the sight of us together. She looks happy as we
walk in. I see the kitchen decorated with balloons, flowers, and
plates of food. Now, this is a housewarming party!

Judy says, “Congratulations on getting your life in order.”

She comes over and gives me a sweet hug. Then she whispers in
my ear, “What happened between us is confidential. I just want to
help you and your family.” Man, Phoenix real estate agents are
skilled! We all gather at the dinner table for a meal, and Zoey
suggests prayer is in order. We all agree.

She says grace, “Thanking the Lord for keeping me safe

and reunifying all of us together and staying healthy.”

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My eyes become a little wet as I hear this. Several tears run

slowly down my cheeks. Guess I feel gloomy. I am filled with bliss
and blessed. Judy leaves a few hours later. Upon her leaving, I
sensed a wave of anger in her tone. Was Judy jealous, hurt,
disappointed that I chose Zoey over her? Judy does not realize I did
her a favor not having her involved in my life. I know I am no box
of chocolates.

Relaxing by the pool with Zoey, we change into our

swimwear and jump into the refreshing pool, splashing and
laughing like kids at the park. That evening, Zoey and I discuss my
new AA membership. We find a nearby group online called
Fellowship Organization. They have a meeting in two days at 7
pm. I am determined to go but also a little nervous. I sign up for it
online. That‟s one step in the right direction. It‟s now close to 10
pm.

“Let‟s go to bed,” Zoey announces.

I stand there, confused. Is she inviting me to my bed? Zoey

grabs my hand and leads me to the master bedroom. I stand there,
not knowing what to do.

“Go to bed. You‟ll find this more comfortable than a jail

cot.”

Zoey goes into the bathroom to change, and I strip down to

my boxer shorts. Zoey has taken over my house. She comes out of
the toilet, takes one look at me, and scoffs. “You‟re pathetic.”

I smile.

We both get into bed.

“May I hold you?” I ask timidly.

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She nods, and I wrap my arm around her. Morning comes,

and I can‟t believe Zoey is still here with me. We go to the kitchen
for a delicious breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and coffee prepared by
Zoey. I see happiness all around. Today is a big day for all of us:

Around midday, I check all the online job sites and find
plenty of opportunities in my accounting field. I apply to each one.
Fingers crossed, something works out. A few hours later, while
puttering about the house, my cell phone rings. It‟s a job interview!
A certain Mr. Quackenbush Accounting Firm wants to meet me at
two o‟clock this afternoon. Wow, that was fast. And best of all, the
office is only ten minutes away in downtown Scottsdale. I share the
good and get cracking with interview prep. I have to nail this
interview! God, I could do with a drink. No, Tom! Remember what
all this is hanging on. At 2 pm on the dot, I‟m in the Accounting
office. Business must be booming here because I see many
employees. The receptionist asks me to wait while she gets Mr.
Quackenbush. To myself, I say, “This receptionist is a fashion
model. She is attractive and sexy. I hope I get this job so that I can
look at her.”

Out walks a textbook mad scientist type of guy, his hand

outstretched toward me. This must be him. Now his name makes
sense. He‟s got hair that sticks out on all sides like he stuck his
finger in an electric outlet, big round glasses, and a confused look
on his face. I would recognize this guy anywhere with that name.

We sit in his cluttered office and talk. It isn‟t much of an

interview. He is so short-staffed; he needs someone as early as
tomorrow. Well, he‟s met the perfect guy! I agree to start at eight-
thirty tomorrow morning, and we don‟t even discuss a salary.
Judging by how well his business is doing, I assume he will pay
well, and I need a job pronto. Back in my car, I take a moment to
myself. I‟m in awe of how quickly and smoothly things are

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working out again. It must be that Phoenix sun. God, I wish I had a
drink to celebrate all this. No, Tom, no. I stop at a men‟s boutique
on the way home to pick up some new work clothes, slacks, and
shirts. When I get home, I break the good news to Zoey. Now, I
have two things to conquer tomorrow, a new job in the morning
and the evening of my first AA meeting. Part nervous, part excited.
I am praying I can handle this load without a drink. However, I
have to.

Up at 7 am, I hit the shower, clean up, dress in my new

clothes. Zoey has breakfast on the table nervously. I rush the food
down, out to the car, and off I go. The accounting office is just
several miles away from Scottsdale Avenue. Arriving at 8:30
sharp, I park my car in the lot walk with a bounce to the elevator
up to the third floor. As I enter the small air-conditioned elevator, I
hear the background of typical classical music. The door opens,
and sitting at the reception desk is the most beautiful woman I have
ever encountered; her blonde hair and red lipstick define her looks.

“Hi, I am Tom Richards. Mr. Quackenbush asked me to

start today”. She stands and reaches her hand out, and we both say
hello. While both standing, my eyes are overwhelmed with a skin-
tight short red dress and a model figure. She replies, “My name is
Candy. Mr. Quackenbush asked me to show you around and escort
you to your desk. He will join you later, follow me.” Not only was
she created like a goddess, her sex appeal filled the room. The
Phoenix sun grows beautiful creatures. I walk with her through a
hallway with several occupied offices filled with computers and
employees. We stop at a small cubicle, and she tells me, this is
your desk, ext. 3033, your computer password is the same. Candy
turns and walks away, leaving a scent of a perfume trail. “I say to
her, „Duly noted.‟” Wow, she is all business, no conversation here.

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I turn on the computer and log in and follow the de-tailed

questions programmed into the introduction. Name, social security
number, contacts, etc., then pick up my phone and punch the
reception button. On comes Candy.

“Can I help you?”

“I am just checking how everything works.”

She hangs up. Shortly after that, Mr. Quackenbush arrives

with another gentleman about my age. He says this is William, and
you will work with him. We greet, and the boss leaves. William
asks if I am new to Phoenix and about my background. We talk for
a bit, he says, let get to it. He logs me into an account, says, "Let‟s
get this balance up,” and walks away. We seem to get along fine.

Before I know it, 5 pm was rolling around. William says,

“catch you in the morning,” and leaves. I walk to the elevator,
approaching it as the doors open, and enter with Candy by my side.
She says, “How was your first day?”

I replied, “Great!”

As the doors close and we started moving down to the first

floor. Close-up, I could see Candy was around twenty-five years
old, half my age. The elevator door opens. I let her exit first so I
could watch that perfect ass jiggle as she walks toward her car.

That evening I drive with Zoey to the Fellowship

Organization AA meeting at 7:30 pm. The summer weather is hot
and dry, the sky clear. It‟s my first night. Zoey waits patiently in
the lobby and car, pacing back and fighting, like an expectant
father, until I finish my meeting, making sure I stay. “What a
loving woman!” The gathering is going better than I expect.
Everyone seems committed to change, and there‟s a genuine sense

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of support and community in the room. I start to feel some anxiety,

knowing that soon it will be my turn to stand and speak about
myself. “Maybe I will make some lifelong friends here?”

We listen to each other‟s triumphs and failures as I look

around the room, watching the expressions of each participant
closely, anticipating it will be my turn to share soon. Drops of
sweat start to form on my forehead, feeling the wetness under my
arms and on my shirt. Finally, it‟s my turn to share. I stand, walk
up to the front of the room, look out at all the unhappy faces while
thinking, What a sad group of fuck-ups. Realizing I am no better
than they are, we are all in the same struggle, and I feel like I have
the power to uplift the group since I have been clearheaded for a
short period. I am taking out the crumpled sheet of paper that I
jotted down my thoughts earlier at work to read from it.

“This is the most vulnerable I‟ve ever been.”

Embarrassed, I tell the onlooking members, “I have had a

drunken journey most of my life dealing with depression and
alcohol addiction. I have hurt many friends and family members
from my teen years along the way, disappointing them and myself.
I have alienated my family, spent most of my money on alcohol,
disappoint my employers, and failed my daughter. I make
commitments to stop drinking and throw the promise away almost
instantly, and I am a weak person lacking a backbone.” “I drove
drunk from Northern California to Phoenix, putting many innocent
drivers in danger carelessly.

I woke up in a Best Western motel room several weeks ago

not knowing where I was and lying on the bathroom floor passed
out cold. I lust after things I cannot have to destroy them when I
gain some. My daughter dislikes me as I have hated my father. I
have been arrested twice since my arrival here in Phoenix. My wife
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divorced me, she afraid of my presents and got a restraining order

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against me. At my age, I am tired of my continuous failure and

want to set a new goal and path to stop drinking.”

“The only friend I have is the new woman in my life that

loves me now and wants to help my recovery from this addiction,
and I pray that my fellow members sitting here can help me as
well.” I stop speaking. The feeling of self-pity comes over me, and
I can‟t hold back my tears as I lay my heart out in front of the
group. Looking around the room, I notice some of my peers are
teary-eyed as well. I am sweating from head to toe, but my heart
feels light. I end with a standing ovation from some members.
Wow! I guess my story has touched these members, and some
come up to congratulate me afterward on my confession. Feels
good, like a confession, and lifting the burden I carry each day, and
I will reach my goal.

I‟m overcome by gratitude as we drive home. I tell Zoey,

“My next goal is the thirty-day chip.” We both enjoy some food at
home, clean up Zoey asked about the meeting, and I explain that
members do not discuss others‟ problems. But I tell her I am
shaken and embarrassed, telling the group how I wound up here.
That night, while trying to fall asleep and gazing at the ceiling
again, I did not see myself holding Dad‟s head underwater.
Instead, I fantasize about Candy. I turn and put my arm around
Zoey, and the anxious stops.

Before I knew it, the alarm rings to rise. Arriving at work

the second morning, the first friendly face I see is Candy, and she
becomes more attractive each time I see her. I have become more
obsessed with seeing her on the second day. I am some twenty-five
years older, but my imagination was looking at her through young
eyes. I did not have to look in the mirror to see I am not a young
stud anymore. While at work, when she walked by, I could see

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Candy had that excellent firm rounded butt, strong and well-shaped
muscular legs, and exceptional breasts.

Suddenly I caught myself. Why am I thinking of Candy at

work? I slowly come out of my daydream, back to realism, back to
my work! That evening at supper, Judy calls and tells me that her
manager will drop the charges against me for assault and drunken
behavior. She has spoken to him. He was sympathetic to my
current problems. Still, Judy sounded cold and short. Why? What a
blessing. I tell Zoey the excellent news, now one burden removed
while on the phone with Judy. No court day next week. Judy
reminds me that she has not heard from my real estate agent
concerning the sale of my condo.

“Tom, you need to decide what you‟re doing and what your
plan is for this house.” I sit down at the table with the phone
speaker on and dial his number. He greets me with, “Tom, where
the hell have you been? I have a contract for your condo purchase,
and he wants to close in a few weeks.”

Zoey hears him on the speakerphone, and a smile comes to

her face. I tell him to email me the paperwork. I will sign it all
upon receipt. Everyone‟s problems solved. Zoey and I sit back in a
state of relief. I call Judy back; we go through the details and
coordinate both sales to close in two weeks. Judy says, “Tom, I
want you to have a good life with your family. I‟m happy for you.
Keep up the excellent work.”

Each day is healthier for Zoey and me. We are on a

righteous path and working on my problems, hoping for a
resolution. I am staying on my guarded behavior, focusing on work
and Zoey, fighting the temptations of alcohol. It is not an easy
road, but I am determined to make my goal. Time moves quickly.

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I have finished my second week at the accounting firm.

Tonight will be day thirty of being sober, and it is my thirty-day
chip night. After dinner, I tell Zoey I want to drive alone to this
meeting, as I feel substantial. There will be lots of excitement for
me to receive my thirty-day chip and many congratulations from
my fellow members. It is a good night. This goal has become my
most prolonged alcohol-free period ever. Many congratulations and
handshakes go on.

After the meeting, I walk out to my car with great pride and
accomplishment. I start the motor and see the red gas light come
on, low fuel. Guess I will stop and fill her up. I find a gas station
on the way home. It‟s dark, and I‟m about fifteen minutes from
home. I better hurry. I walk inside to prepay for the fuel. There‟s
no one here except one young cashier and me. I see a counter full
of alcohol behind them. Saying to myself, “Tom, you deserve a
treat for how well your program is going. You‟ve gone weeks with
no alcohol. If you can do four weeks, you can start another week
quickly.” My internal monologue doesn‟t stop. I feel myself going
mad. Yes? No. Yes? No. I pay the clerk for the gas and hurry back
to the car with a bottle of vodka in hand. No one will know. I sit in
my car, staring out the front window, thinking of Zoey. What if she
catches me? I‟ll lose her. I can‟t handle that. I place the bottle on
the passenger seat and stare at this mistress of temptation. My body
yearns for the sweet serenity of alcohol. Beads of sweat roll down
and drip from my forehead.

I surrender, grab the bottle, and open it. I hold it to my lips.

Ah, that familiar smell! I press the mouth of the bottle to my lips
and tilt it up. Swig, swig. It goes down my throat smoothly, like
honey. I can‟t stop. It‟s like cold water on a hot summer day. I
finally lower the bottle and see it‟s half-empty.

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I place the bottle under my seat to hide it. Okay, Tom,

you‟ve got this. I start the engine and get on the road. As I drive, I
feel the vodka‟s soothing effects spread throughout my body. My
mental voices melt, and I exhale and relax. I feel lovely—what a
pleasant feeling. I‟ve missed it, but it‟s back now. I continue
driving in this state, heading home. In the distance, there‟s a pair of
shining lights approaching me quickly. I remember the bright
Phoenix sun, that magic sun, and my eyes become heavy. I am
blinded for a moment by the brightness as the lights descend upon
me. I hear a loud screech and a long honk. My body thrust forward,
feeling the airbag exploding in my face just before I black out and
crash.

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Chapter Six: The Accident

I
hear the sounds of sirens, see the flashing lights and
blurred faces speaking as my eyes open slowly. I‟m
feeling pain all over my body, then someone holding
my leg and arm as I try not to scream in anguish. They move me
from the ground to a stretcher. I feel pain in my lower left ribs. I
am overcome with agony as they lift and roll me into an
ambulance. The attendant is administering an IV into my arm. My
surroundings go dark, overcome with suffering. I occasionally
open my eyes and hear the sound of sirens getting louder and feel
the vehicle moving swiftly. Someone is wrapping my leg, my arm,
and my ribs. I concede to the pain and doze off.

I look down at my aching body, dressed in a blue hospital

gown, as I awake in a room. I see traces of blood and torn skin
hanging from me. I‟m rolling into a scanning device, and they are
doing a cat scan. Voices are saying, “Tom, you will be all right.” I
heard that mentioned to me before. All right, from what? What
happened? I recall very little. As I‟m removed from the scanning
machine and rolled to a well-lighted room, a nurse tells me I‟m
being prepped for surgery for my injuries and my ruptured spleen.
I‟m still confused. Was I in an auto accident? As I think back, I
start to remember the oncoming lights and the nothingness that
followed them. As I lie on the table, a peaceful, relaxing feeling
comes over me.

My eyes close. It reminds me of the peacefulness I had felt

before the crash. I hear voices calling my name. “Tom, Tom, can
you hear me?” I open my eyes to see Zoey standing over me with a
look of panic on her face. I feel the pounding and discomfort on
my arm, leg, and chest wrappings.
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“What happened?”

I look frantically at Zoey; she tells me I was in an auto

accident and drunk. Then, she yells, “This is the last time, Tom!
I‟m leaving.” She walks out of the room, slamming the hospital
door behind her.

I gaze at the ceiling. My memory is coming back. I stopped

for gas and purchased a bottle of vodka. Why? I thought I could get
away with a drink again. I need alcohol to suppress my feelings
and thoughts. But no, I‟ve destroyed my life just as I had a fresh
start. Why do I keep punishing myself? As Zoey leaves the room,
two police officers quickly enter, taking out their notepads, starting
to ask me questions. What‟s my name? Do I know what happened?
Told that I crossed the center line, drove off the street into a tree,
and was thrown from the car, just avoiding a head-on collision.
The only injury was to me, other than to the tree and my car. It‟s
my second DUI offense.

One officer hands me a citation and says, “Guess you won‟t

be spending ten days in jail. We will not handcuff you to your bed.
It doesn‟t look like you‟re going anywhere soon. We will be back
when the doctors decide to discharge you.” One officer says there
are no handcuffs for my broken arm. I have only one arm to use.
My left leg is in a cast so that I won‟t be running off. I think to
myself, Tom, you are a fucking loser.

The hospital and staff take good care of me while I‟m

recovering in my bed. They wash, feed, and medicate me, and I
have time to think without alcohol. On the third day, I call Mr.
Quackenbush and tell him of my accident. He‟s reasonably
gracious and asks me not to come back to work now but check
back in the future. Was he understanding, yes? I had an accident? I
did not tell him about the drinking. My car totaled, I have

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insurance, my bones are mending—all positives!

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I do a lot of looking at the ceiling and having recurring

flashbacks of holding Dad‟s head underwater. Am I being
punished for my past deeds? I think of how thankful I am to be a
firm believer in insurance, both medical and auto. On the third day,
the hospital attendant helps me into a wheelchair and pushes me
around the floor. A physical therapist works to help me stand using
one crutch. I guess I‟m lucky both fractures are on the same side.
My doctor says he could discharge me in about a week. The
operation on my spleen went well. The broken ribs will heal over
time, the casts will stay on for about six weeks. Great news!

The nurse was checking my stats. In walks Stewart, Zoey‟s

brother. She told him about my accident and visited me. We
exchanged the usual how are you doing. He pulled his chair next to
my bed, leaned in, said, “You disappointed my sister. She very
much cares for you. What happened?”

I told him, “I just lost control.”

“Tom, you need to make this right,” Stewart tells me he has

a friend in the AA program who has been attending for several
years. He is going to get in touch with him. “Jack would make a
wonderful sponsor,” I told him I would welcome that.

Stewart was telling me of his past, how he had an abusive

father. With Zoey, she could do no wrong. With him, he could do
nothing right. His dad made his life miserable in high school and
after. His dad controlled the power of money over him. Zoey
receives whatever she wanted. And he had to work for everything
until his dad passed. I asked him how his dad died.

“He told me he had pancreatic cancer. He is gone in three

months.”

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I expressed how my childhood was but dropped the subject,

why throw salt on an open wound. Stewart asked if there is
anything he could do to help. I told him I had two requests. “One,
please tell Zoey I miss and love her, and I am sorry for my
stupidity. Two, tell her that twice. I need her.”

I reached out and shook his hand goodbye firmly.

Stewart left.

Later that afternoon, I call Judy to check on the house and

condo sales and tell her of my misfortune. After much discussion
and a long lecture, I ask her nicely to “Please pick me up when I
am discharged from the hospital and fill my refrigerator, and it will
incapacitate me for at least four weeks.”

Judy says, “Are you kidding me? Tom, find your way home
if you can do that without a bottle.”

The next several days pass quickly, with the usual blood
test, blood pressure test, wound care, and physical therapy. The
pain medications work wonders, and I‟m doing well.

Now my fifth day here in the Phoenix Hospital, going home

tomorrow home. I fall asleep from the medication. Later, I hear the
words, “Tom, Tom, are you awake?” opening my eyes, I see Zoey,
a smile come broadly across my face. Her first words were,
“Stewart, told me what you said and that you need me.” She kisses
me on my forehead and holds my hand gently, and I don‟t know
what to say as a tear rolls down my face. I lay in bed quickly and
hear her out. “Tom, I told you we would be through if you drank
again, but I love you and care for you. I want to give us one more
try.” We speak of my dis-charge. Zoey will take me home and take
care of me, and I‟m thinking I own Stewart and big, thank you.
Zoey sits and talks with me for several hours. Receiving my
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medication, I fall asleep. The last image I see is Zoey, face. What a
beautiful way to dose off.

The next day arrives, at noon sharp, in walks Zoey, looking

as fabulous as ever. The first words out of her mouth are, “Tom,
you are a pathetic human.” That seems to be her finest expression.
She now sounds like my ex-wife Kay. Zoey and the attendant
gather the few things I have, change from my hospital attire, and
they wheel me out the front door. With my crutch in hand, casts on
my ankle and wrist, and a thankful look on my face for Zoey, I
keep quiet while she lectures me about my stupidity and
wrongdoing. Guess I will hear this in the days to come. She is
right. We reach my driveway, and Zoey helps me into the house,
where I fall on the sofa. She blurts out, “The last time I sat here, I
wanted to kill you.”

I tell her again, “I‟m sorry,” with my head down.

Zoey walks me to the bedroom, turns down the cover, and

helps me to bed. I feel the desire for alcohol, now that I am home,
building.

“Tom, get that thought out of your head. “Thinking, Pills,

pills, I have pain pills, an entire bottle of them from the hospital. I
pick up the container and look at the label, oxycodone, one tablet,
every four hours. I need more. I take two with a swallow of water
and put my head back on the pillow as Zoey turns on the TV,
waiting and watching for me to fall off to sleep.

Wakening in the middle of the night with a parched mouth,

I make my way to the refrigerator and grab a cold bottle of Diet
Coke. Heading back to bed, I take two more pills and crash again,
thinking to myself, this could be a suitable substitute for alcohol,
oxycodone. I could stop drinking! In the morning, waking early,

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Zoey is still sleeping in the guest bedroom while I make my way to

the bathroom, dying for a shower rather than a sponge bath, with a
cast on my arm and lower leg, this won‟t be easy. I hobble back to
the kitchen and find a box of Glad cling wrap in the drawer. This
wrap will have to do, back to the bathroom. I remove my clothes,
turn on the shower, and wrap my arm and lower leg in cling wrap,
around and around like a Christmas gift. In the shower, I do it ever
feel good. I let the hot water run over my body, standing on one
foot and a crutch. You got to be creative in such times. I finish my
bathroom ritual and limp back to the kitchen for some cereal and
more oxycodone.

Zoey wakes and sees me struggling in the kitchen, makes

some breakfast as I am sitting at the kitchen table. She suggests I
call the auto insurance company and tell them about my car
accident. I give them the details of what happened and the accident
police number. They will be back to me in several days. Zoey
makes a second suggestion.

“Let‟s call your medical insurance company and see if they

provide coverage or help at home for someone in your condition.”

I agree. I take out my insurance card, Zoey makes the call,

and yes, they will cover a care worker three days a week for four
hours a day. Perfect. I am all set for tomorrow. Zoey fixes some
sandwiches to eat for lunch, needs to head to her gallery. After she
is gone, I take more pills and lie on the sofa, sleeping the afternoon
away.

When Zoey returned, she went off to sleep early that

evening as she has a 7.am meeting at the gallery tomorrow. I
awake after she left the house. However, at 8 am, the doorbell
rings. It‟s Maria, my caretaker. The delightful middle-aged woman
is wearing green medical scrubs with an ID tag dangling from her
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neck. I invite her in, and she asks where she can start and what I

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need help with? Maria rattles off a list of tasks: breakfast, laundry,
cleaning, bathing, cooking, shopping. While sitting at the table,
eating my eggs and toast, I ask her if she can go to the market and
pick up the items I need. Her reply is a quick yes. I make a list
from butter to milk, including a bottle of vodka, and then hand her
my credit card. She will leave shortly. I‟ve found an alternative
way to get alcohol. I‟m back in the game.

Maria cleans my room and makes the bed. I see her lift my
container of pills from the nightstand and look at the label:
oxycodone. She places them back on the nightstand and finishes
her duties. She asks if I need anything else from the market,
looking over the list.

“Mr. Richards, it‟s not good to drink alcohol with your

medication.”

I acknowledge this truth. “You‟re right, and I won‟t. It‟s

for my guests when they come to visit. Pick up a tequila
bottle as well.” She gives me a little smile and heads out the door.
She‟s back by noon. After putting the shopping away and heating
a frozen dinner for me in the microwave, she starts to say goodbye
but does not leave.

Maria is speaking while I am lying on the sofa. My mind is

drifting from the oxycodone I had taken. I start to imagine I am the
child living with Momma and Poppa that Maria is speaking about.
A small cottage outside of Puerto Vallarta is sitting in the family
home in a small village called Vista Hermosa. Father works at a
seaside hotel in the main town, the El Camino Real.

Poppa is a server and also works in the kitchen. Fre-

quently, Maria would go with him to his work at Hotel El-Camo
Real and play by the waterfront. Sometimes he sneaks her into the

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swimming pool. He looks like a captain of a large cruise ship.

Seeing him dressed in his white hotel coat makes her proud. My
mind is all confused. Is Maria speaking about herself, or so I
imagine the story is about me?

I see myself driving with Maria and her poppa, taking the
one-hour drive to town on the old dirt road. It is exciting,
especially when he stops for tacos to have a bite to eat. What is
going on in my head? Is it oxycodone? I am going with Maria and
her poppa into the city and seeing the large hotels with grand
swimming pools is thrilling. Along the waterfront, there are many
boats and tourists, even cruise ships. Maria says I know I want to
work at a hotel one day and wear a fancy coat as my poppa does. I
will quit my job I will move back to Mexico.

I feel my head touched and lifted slightly from what I

assume is a pillow. I say to myself, is this feeling natural?
Meanwhile, relaxation comes to my mind, drifting off to sleep as
my eyes close and my world spins. I hear Maria leave and close the
door. I quickly open my eyes and rush to the kitchen to grab a
bottle of vodka. Ahh, my best friend. Let‟s find a good show to
watch. Take my oxycodone, and have some more vodka. Life is
great now!” I lift the bottle to my lips and chug half, then take
more pills for a good high. I do not want to see any flashbacks of
Dad or have any pain tonight. Holding the vodka bottle steady like
a starving baby drinking for life, I raise it to my lips once again and
drain the bottle to the last drop, then blackout.

I feel something slapping my face, along with my body

shaking. What is happening? I see a blur of Zoey‟s face and men in
firefighting gear raising me onto a stretcher. Am I having a
flashback to my accident? Zoey is holding my hand, telling me I
overdosed on oxycodone. I just had this ambulance experience a
week ago. When we arrive at the hospital, I try to field the barrage

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of questions. I took my medications, four oxycodone, and drank

some vodka. I hear Zoey tell the doctor I have an alcohol problem.
They ask her and me if I am suicidal? Oxycodone and vodka do
not mix well. The nurse tells me she is giving me an injection of
Narcan to reverse my opioid overdose symptoms. The medication
puts me to sleep. As I come to my senses again, I hear Zoey
speaking with a doctor. They ask me whether the overdose was
intentional or accidental.

Hearing the staff discuss whether I should stay a few days

for observation, Zoey suggests I should. I am in no condition to
decide, so I just go along with what‟s required of me. Later that
afternoon, when I awake alone in my room, a doctor introduces
himself as a psychiatrist, Dr. Spencer. He wants to discuss how I
arrived here and why, so the questions begin.

“Why did you overdose on your medication, and why did

you drink so much?”

To me, the answer is simple: to suppress the image of

myself drowning my father. But I can‟t tell Dr. Spencer that I
killed my father or what I see, or I‟ll go to jail. This horror will
forever haunt me.

The doctor would like to hold me a few days and discuss

the problems, perhaps when I am more coherent. In my hospital
bed, both cast still on my arm and leg, looking at the ceiling, I say
to myself, I know this ceiling very well. I try to figure out what to
tell my psychiatrist—anything but the truth. Now I‟m asking
myself, could I be suicidal? Is that what I‟ve been all these years?
Was I punishing myself for the unforgivable act of killing my
father? An important question has come to fruition, one I have
never asked. I think about my mom. I call her once in a while but

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haven‟t visited her in almost twenty years. Where has the time
gone? Why do I shut her out of my life?

As I try to resolve these questions in my mind, I feel my

eyes becoming heavy, and I fall asleep. I awake early, and after the
hospital‟s daily morning rituals, Dr. Stewart comes in, closes the
door, and sits next to my bed, notebook in hand. “Where shall we
begin?” We speak of my drinking, which started in high school and
has increased throughout my life. He asks about my parents. I tell
him Mom is still back east, and Dad died when I was young. He
asks, “how he died,” I tell him, “he was drunk and fell in the tub.”
The conversation progresses to my ex-wife Kay and daughter
Kelly, my divorce, and how I wound up in Phoenix. We go on for
hours. The doctor tells me, “we will continue our discussion
tomorrow and think about what I am running away from?”

I know, but I won‟t tell him. I spend the day thinking about
how I should see Mom. Perhaps I can talk with her about that
tragic day. She‟s a person I can trust. Now I feel guilty for
avoiding her for many years. Mom is in her mid-seventies now and
still lives in the same house. I make myself a promise that when
healed, I will make the trip to see her. I owe it to her and myself. I
spend the rest of the day and night in thought about my life. What a
super fuck -up.

The following day, at about the same time, Dr. Stewart

shows up.

“Shall we continue? Tell me about your parents, how and

when your father passed.”

All the things I don‟t want to talk about!

I tell him of my loving mom and how she was protective of

me. I say to him about how my dad was an alcoholic and abused

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Mom. When the forbidden question arises about how Dad passed, I
say he died in an alcoholic accident again. Doctor Stewart stops
and looks straight into my eyes, saying to my dismay, “You have a
lot of your dad‟s characteristics.” I did not want to hear that!
“Now, that discomforts me bad, Do I?” He tells me he‟ll sign my
release, but I have to attend a session with him once a week at his
office. I agree to be released tomorrow. In the afternoon, Zoey
comes to visit, and I fill her in on my medical counseling. She
celebrates it as a tremendous first step and agrees to pick me up
tomorrow and take me back home. Thank God I have Zoey. She‟s
like a wife to me.

Feeling emboldened, I pick up my phone and call Mom.

She‟s happy and surprised to hear from me. I tell her I‟ll be
coming to see her in a few weeks. Why wait until the casts are off?
Speaking with her is too important. The next day I log in to the
Delta airline‟s website, purchase a ticket for two weeks from now,
and arrange Uber rides to the airport and from JFK Airport to
Mom‟s house for a two-day visit. For the first time since I can
remember, I‟m excited to see her.

The following day all goes as planned: Dr. Stewart comes

in, and I tell him I‟m going to visit and speak with Mom. He thinks
it‟s a great step. When Zoey comes to pick me up, I inform her,
and she‟s happy for me. Now, we‟re headed back to my home.
Zoey walks into the house like a tyrant and rummages through my
cabinets for alcohol. There‟s none to find; I drank it all. During our
conversation, she tells me she will stay with me until I leave for my
trip. She wants to be sure no pills and alcohol are consumed. I see
her patience is wearing thin.

The next several days are very peaceful and pleasant. I rest
while Zoey cooks and reads. We speak a lot about the future. I like
where this is going. Now I am sleeping in my master bedroom, and
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she sleeps in the guest room. It‟s nice to know she‟s there for me. I
feel safe and not lonely. Things went on like this for two weeks.
Rest, eat, and try to heal up. My healing was sitting in the sun by
the pool with a cold non-alcoholic drink.

On the morning of my trip, my Uber arrives. I‟m packed

and ready to go. When we arrive at the airport, it‟s the special
treatment all the way: wheelchair to the plane, first boarding, and
lots of attention. I think I should get hurt before I take any future
trips. I sit and gaze out the window, interested in how the
neighborhood has changed over two decades. An attendant helps
with my bag and wheels me out to the Uber pick-up area. Them off
we go. The shuttle stops in front of my old home. It looks the same
with its small front yard surrounded by a chain-link fence, old
brick front, and three steps up to the door with a black handrail.

As I exit the vehicle, I see the front door open, and there‟s
Mom, frail and almost unrecognizable, with long white hair and an
aging face. She is seventy-five now and holding onto a walker. Her
smile, voice, and warmth, though, are the same—why have I not
come to see her before? My guilt sets in. I walk up to give her a
kiss and an enormous hug, immediately feeling the love and
peacefulness from when I was a child. I enter nervously to see the
same old furniture from thirty-plus years ago, including the couch
Dad would sit on to pass out. I sit in my former chair and watch
Mom sit on the couch. She lingers and tells me how good it is to
see me and, of course, asks about the two casts on my body. I tell
Mom; I was in an accident and realized how much I had missed
her, and that is why I‟ve made the trip. But the truth is I have a
different plan. She asks about Kay and Kelly. I tell her I moved to
Phoenix, and they will come to visit in the future, and I am now
working there, starting a new life. She‟s happy for me. Mom
makes my favorite lunch as if I‟m a kid again: meatloaf, mashed

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potatoes,

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and vegetables. How can I resist? As we sit and talk, I decide to get
straight to the point.

“Mom, I need to get something off my chest that I‟ve been

carrying with me most of my life. I don‟t want to hurt you by
telling you my painful secret, but I have to say it. Remember the
night I took you to the hospital and found Dad dead in the tub
when I returned home?”

Her reply, “Of course I do, sweetie.”

“Well—”

Mom stops me cold and looks me straight in the eyes, and

says, “I know. I have always known in my heart! If you didn‟t do
it, I would have. He deserved that!”

“I‟m astonished.”

“What you did to your father is just what we needed to be

accomplished at that time. I have always appreciated that night and
thanked God for it, and It‟s our secret forever!” Immediately, my
heart is uplifted and full. I now feel free from the burden I‟ve been
carrying. Thinking I caused Mom to agonize all these years over
my actions, I was wrong. I quickly stand and walk over to her; we
hug as tears pour from our eyes.

“I love you, son.”

I break down crying like a baby uncontrollably. Today is

the day Mom has verbally forgiven my guilt and sin. Sweet
serenity!

That evening I retire to my old childhood bedroom with

blue and white paint with many of my old posters and trophies still
on the dusty wall shelves. Standing at the bedroom entrance, there

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in front of me is my old single bed from when I was a kid through

high school. Even the bedcover was the same after thirty-five
years. The room was small, dark, with yellowed aged blinds draw
shut. I almost feared lying in bed, thinking old memories would
come back to haunt me.

The following day, I am walking around my old home. It

brought back many memories, mostly of sad events and desperate
times. Stopping at the bathroom, I am gazing down at the big, old
white tube with orange rust stains around the circumference. I see
myself holding Dad‟s head underwater, watching the life drain
from his body. I walk out of the room slowly. Turning, I climb
down the steps as mom waits for me at the front door entry. I say
goodbye to Mom, hug, kiss her on her forehead, and walk out to
the waiting shuttle as the driver quickly whisks me to the airport
terminal.

Again, escorted quickly through security in a wheel-chair

and boarded my flight to Phoenix. Sitting next to the window, I
stare out at the heavens, and my mind is racing with ways to
change my life, attitude, and goal. However, I cannot share the
binding that took place between Mom and me and what I did to
Dad. That horrible day will be going with me to my grave. I wish I
could tell Zoey how Mom forgave me for my crime and still loves
me, and she must have a great heart. I am thankful. What can I say
about her love? After landing, the Phoenix shuttle transported me
to my home in Scottsdale. I feel like a new man, reborn, with no
more guilt, a fresh attitude, and determination to start my new life.
The cross lifted from my shoulders. All I had to do was tell Mom
what she already knew, and it was my confession.

During the ride home from the airport, the shuttle driver
asks many questions, “Did you visit family or friends back east?”

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I quickly reply, “My mom.”

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He says, “Oh, she is still alive, lucky you.”

During the thirty-minute ride, I start my plan for my new

life in my head, my next steps, which will now include my AA
support group with the help and love of Zoey.

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Chapter Seven: Learned my

Lesson

A
rriving home, I see from a distance Zoey waiting
at the front door. She steps out to the walkway,
runs up to greet me with a big hug and a kiss on
the lips, a loving, warm greeting. The sight of my new home with
its desert landscaping, modern design, light colors gives me a
special thrill after leaving back east and the Brooklyn City area
with old brick homes containing small dark rooms and outdated
1940s post-war architecture and telling Zoey that seeing Mom has
changed my life and perspective.

In the future, I want Mom to come and visit us here in

Phoenix to be part of our lives, perhaps even move here. I tell
Zoey, “I‟m finished with alcohol and pills. It has taken me forty
years to get to this new place, and it feels terrific. I am going to
accomplish my goal to become a nonalcoholic. Telling her I have
recognized my weakness and mistakes, and I am through drinking
to punishing myself.

“Zoey, I love you and will work hard to make things right
with us. Our new lives will be so much better now.”

She looks me in the eye and says she loves me as well.

As I am admitting this to her, I have my fingers crossed

behind my back. Do I have second thoughts about fulfilling my
promise? For the next week, Zoey and I settle into an imaginary
married couple routine without the marriage. I sit around the house
watching TV and helping my body healing up from my injuries the
following week, and now I am waiting for both casts to be

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removed and expecting to move on with life quickly as I find my

moral compass.

In the following days, Zoey heads off several times a week

to her art gallery to check on events dealing with her clients. I
wake up, clean up, dress, and start the day. After we have our
breakfast, Zoey always kisses me goodbye and heads off to work. I
try my best to help her clean the kitchen and house. A few days
later, in the afternoon, Stewart arrives at my home with two others.
He introduces me to Jack, whom he wants me to use as my AA
sponsor. The other was Rosa, who will come on Fridays to clean
and do laundry. Stewart says, don‟t worry, Rosa is on my nickel,
guessing he meant he would pay her. Jack asks if I am free
tomorrow, saying, “He will come and spend a few hours speaking
with me on how he could succeed in the AA program. We can both
have our private AA meeting.”

I tell him, “I look forward to it.”

When Zoey arrives home that evening, she brings takeout

food from a Chinese restaurant. Knowing I love shrimp with
lobster sauce, you can always count on Zoey to pick up a good
meal. I surprise her by telling her about my guest today. She was
happy to hear Stewart came. Zoey replies, “I am surprised Jack
does not work or do any more personal counseling, as he once did
in the past. How do you think he makes a living?” she asked.

I replied, “I don‟t know. Maybe he owes Stewart a favor

and is not charging me for his time?” Yes, that could be. Stewart
has done so much for Jack in the past, both personally and
financially.

Zoey ends the conversation with, “He seems to live well for
a guy that does not work.”

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I say, “As I get to know him, I will ask,” I tell Zoey I am

looking forward to speaking with Jack tomorrow, who had an
alcohol addiction at one time, and having a friend to talk with
about my struggles.

The next day, Jack shows up about noon with some soft
drinks and chips. We sit on the patio and exchange life stories. Jack
asks me about my days in college and if I drank back then. Telling
him, “Constantly, undoubtedly fifty percent of my time, I could not
make it through a class without drinking. I was born with the gift to
understand, and using math led me to become an accountant. With
that math gift, I could get a scholarship at the university. In my
third year attending, I met Kay, my ex-wife, in one of my classes.
She needed some math tutoring, and I volunteered to help her,
mainly because I was attracted to her. Later we were lovers and
then engaged and married several years later. We both worked on
our careers, me in accounting and Kay in teaching for almost
fifteen years. Kay wanted us to have a child as she approached her
late thirties, deciding it would have to be now before her age
prohibited childbirth. We both were pleased with the decision.
When she became pregnant, we moved to San Francisco from
Dallas, Texas, as I started a new job at a large accounting firm as a
manager again. My drinking increased with the pressure of a new
position, and Kay stops working.

Kay almost lost the baby several times and required bed
rest and care to bring the child to term. It was a challenging year. I
drank covertly, consuming at least a bottle of vodka a day and
holding it well at work. The vodka was my Valium. When arriving
home, the more I drank, the more the fighting and tension grew
between us. When Kelly was born, holding her was a delight. The
adventure, the feeling of love, was overpowering. “This was my
little girl, Kelly.”

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Looking out over our pool, I start to squint, and I reach for
my sunglasses. Jack asked why I started drinking in high school.

I say, “It was deceitful, illegitimate, and rebellious. It was

what we guys did at that age.

Jack said he started when he was about twenty-five and out

of work and losing his girlfriend. Saying, “I had a reason for being
broke and depressed.” What kind of reason can a kid have, asked
Jack?

I ignore the question.

Jack tells me he would purchase a bottle of whiskey in the

afternoon and drink until he passes out. He repeatedly consumed
the alcohol day after day until he tried to kill himself. Stewart
stepped in and brought him to a rehab facility, nothing fancy. After
a stay of three months, he was checked out found a job. Stewart
watched over me and befriended me. We would talk as we are
doing now.

Jack said, “When I was down, he showed me the way.

Stewart is a good man and my best friend.”

I said, “Strange, I always took Stewart as a party kind of

guy.”

Jack said, “Not really. He is a social drinker when the

occasion calls for it, but most of the time, he is a Diet Coke
individual. He had a hard life with his dad, but he put all the bad
feelings to bed after his passing. Jack has a heart as large as the
sky. He and Zoey get into some family shit once in a while, but
what families don‟t? If I were him, I would have given up on
myself a long time ago, but he didn‟t, and I love him for that. Tom,

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you have to hit bottom and want to help yourself. Are you there
yet?”

I tell Jack, “I want to say yes, but I give in to temptation

quickly.”

Jack said, “That is why I am here. If you feel that way, call
me, okay?”

At four p.m., Jack and I wrapped up our discussion, had a

pleasant talk. He left for the day.

That evening, I tell Zoey, “Counseling with Jack was

productive, but Jack seemed odd.”

After finishing dinner, we both retire early, and my sex

hormones are kicking in but being harnessed by two body casts is
not conducive for lovemaking. I suppress my feelings. Going to
sleep at night, I feel like a store-front male mannequin. I am
becoming impatient to jump on Zoey, but I know my limitations.
She seems content without me becoming more romantic or loving,
and this starts my insecurity. What runs through my mind is: Why
is she with me? Not for the money Zoey makes way more than I
do, not for the affection? There has been little of that recently.
Perhaps she wants to change and remedy my ways.

At this moment, all I can do is accept the help and enjoy the
company. The week passes quickly. Waiting for my hospital
appointment, I feel Zoey becoming impatient with me several
times as she says, “When the hell are you getting the cast
removed?”

Zoey is finally taking me back to the hospital to remove my

casts. As I sit at the hospital procedure room table, an orthopedic
surgeon cuts the casts off like a carpenter using a skill saw. Thank

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god, for being free of these containments. When we arrive home

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that afternoon, Zoey fixes me a warm bubble bath. I slide into the
tub and feel my body relax and free up. As I sit in the tub, she
brings me a glass of seven-up. My mind drifts off to having some
vodka in it!

No, I will not give in to the temptation. I have been sober

for almost six weeks again without attending AA. I need to keep
this program going, or I will lose her and destroy myself. As I sit in
the warm tub, I say, “This is not so bad, not working and cared for
like a prince.” Tomorrow I start AA rehabilitation with Jack that
will get me motivated again, I hope. After my bath, I sit in front of
the TV and enjoy several movies before retiring. I think to myself,
tonight is the night I make love with Zoey, and I can‟t wait to
touch and fuck her. We retire to bed and try to assume a
comfortable position now that my casts are off; however, by the
time I relax, Zoey is fast asleep. The fol-lowing day Zoey is off to
work again, and I spend time sitting in the sun and eating,
developing a pot belly, waiting for Zoey to return home.

As we finish eating, my cell phone rings. It is Mom. We

talk for a while. She asked if she could come to visit in Phoenix for
a week and escape the winter cold back east.

I tell her, “I would love it.”

I felt excited. Mom was going to come and vacation and

meet Zoey. How wonderful! She would arrive in a few months or
so. That day, I get called by Judy‟s that the house closing is ready
to complete. Documents and funds will be wired tomorrow, and I
will be the proud owner of this existing house.

The next morning, after Zoey left for her store, being bored,
I saw Mr. Quackenbush and see if I could get my job back again at
the accounting firm I drive over. I still have a little limp, but my

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leg is getting stronger. At least performing accounting, you sit on

your ass all day. Up the elevator, the door opening, and I look,
there‟s Candy. Wow, I became more obsessed each time I see her.
Unbelievable! I am some twenty-plus years older, but my
imagination was looking at her through young eyes. I am sure she
looked at me as a father's image. I did not have to look in the
mirror to see I am not a young stud anymore. Candy says, welcome
back, Mr. Richards. How are you? My reply was, “I am not back
yet, I hope that Mr. Quackenbush will still need me.” She says,
“good luck. I will tell him you are here.” Candy shacks her head up
and down and points back to his office. I slowly walk back with
my hat in hand. He greets me with a handshake. The first words
out of his mouth are, “You ready to go to work?”

“Yes, yes, I am. It has been a rough month.”

“All right, see you tomorrow.”

I hurry out to tell Candy, say, see you in the morning. I

cannot wait to tell Zoey and Jack my good news. Waiting for the
elevator, I turn around and look at Candy again, the legs and
breasts. Awesome. What can I think about to transform this
moment from Candy? How about Mom? That sure killed the mood
quickly. Thinking to myself, I‟m sure Phoenix will be stimulating
for her since she, under no circumstances, travels. Phoenix is new,
clean, and thrilling compared to the old, dark area she lives in back
east, brick buildings and potholed streets.

That evening at dinner, Zoey suggests I start my AA

meeting again. She is right. It has been almost two months without.
That evening she calls and checks the schedule. She thought it
would be best to start with a different group; I agreed. Zoey also
says you must remain with Jack as your sponsor. I decided, “yes.”
So I have a meeting in two days at a different location with a new
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group.

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Next morning up and back to my accounting office. Eight-

thirty up the elevator, the door opens. I see my angel. My knees get
weak when I see her. Now back to my desk and good to work.
During the day, I keep stealing glances off her body and smile. At
work, I find I am daydreaming about Candy. I have visions of
kissing, holding her firm breasts, and running my hands up her
long muscular legs to touch her gold triangle. When I hear other
voices, I snap out of the vision. That afternoon at lunch break, I
called Jack and tell him that this woman has replaced my addiction
to drinking. His reply was, “That‟s good, Tom, and I will see you
tonight at the new AA meeting.”

Arriving at seven and meeting Jack at the door, I mentally

prepare myself for the new member procedure. I am a professional
at it now. It could be over a half dozen times in the past that I make
a fresh start. Walking in with my limp, I see the chairs arranged in
the usual circle. We both are seated. I watch about ten members
arrive. They all appear friendly. One member of the process starts
in the normal way.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. You are at the

regular meeting of the Scottsdale Health Center for Alcoholics
Anonymous. My name is Robert, and I am an alcoholic and your
secretary. Let‟s open the session with a moment of silence to do
with as you wish, followed by the Serenity Prayer: God, grant me
the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change
the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. He says I see
we have a few new members today. Would you like to introduce
yourself?”

Here I go. “Hello, I am Tom Richards, and I am an

alcoholic.”

The group greets me back.

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I start telling my tale of anguish since I arrived in Phoenix.

I guess I was looking for some compassion. I spoke for about five
to ten minutes, and the group moved on. One individual asked if I
had a sponsor? I replied, “Yes, seated next to me.”

Jack stands and introduces himself, confirms that he is my

sponsor. The others support this, and just like that, I had a sponsor
to lean on. Jack would be my first sponsor, despite all the groups I
have joined in the past. At break time, Jack and I grabbed a bottle
of water. Jack asked what‟s going on at work with this Candy? I
tell him I cannot stop thinking about her. She is unbelievable.

The group sits down again. The familiar story of falling off
the wagon comes from one regular. Who had a sixty-day chip and
is now giving it up for a number one again? The two hours passed;
we walk out quickly. Jack tells me, “This Candy obsession will
only lead to no good and affect my relationship with Zoey. Get her
out of your mind.” He impresses.

Sitting outside the meeting center, Jack asked me, “What

attracted me to Candy?”

I say, “I fantasize about her looks and body, and she is

everything I always dreamed about but could not have.” Again, I
want something I could not have. Zoey is by my side, sleeping with
me, and I am lusting after Candy. I think to myself. I am a sick
fuck! We both head for our homes to complete the day.

When I arrive home, Zoey is sleeping

That night when my head hit the pillow, thoughts of how to

gain Candy‟s attention salivated through my mind. I decided to
send her some roses with an unsigned card, saying, „You bring me
joy.‟

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The following day at work, I looked up a florist and made

my purchase. He agreed to an extra fee to deliver with „no sender
name, no address where they came from.‟

The next morning, I saw the flowers on Candy‟s reception

desk. As I walk in, I said to her, “Is it your birthday?”

She said, “No,” and cut the conversation short.

Each day at work, I would joke, try to make conversation;

however, she treated me like I was not there. I called Jack and told
him what I have done. His advice was, “Why do you want to waste
your time?” I told him I could not stop thinking about her, and the
frustration was driving me to think about alcohol again.

His advice was, “Fill your thoughts with Zoey, forget about
the drinking.”

That evening, Zoey retired early to bed, and I started

searching the computer for Candy‟s name and address. I found it
not too far from my home, near the office. It looked to be an
apartment complex about five miles away. At about 10:30 pm,
while Zoey was sleeping, I took the car and drove over to find the
apartment building. There it was, a lovely garden apartment
complex. Parking the car on the street out front, I turned off the
motor and sat in the dark and quiet, fantasizing about her like a
teenage kid. I thought about stopping and purchasing some vodka
to relieve my obsession.

I started the car and drove straight home, and went to bed.
Falling asleep was difficult, my mind racing. Why was this
obsession so powerful with Zoey right next to me in bed? At my
next AA meeting, I told the group what I had done but did not
mention names or locations. They all advised me to drop it and
move on. Jack said, “If she is that gorgeous, go look in the mirror.”
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My reply was, “Well said.”

The group had a friendly laugh. After the meeting, Jack

followed me home to have dinner that evening. Zoey made a
delicious chicken and lemon meal. Of course, members do not
discuss AA‟s conversation outside the meeting, so the Candy
incident never came up. Thankfully.

In my mind and imagination, I was comparing Zoey with

Candy foolishly. One was a twenty-five-year-old athletic woman
beauty, and Zoey, a forty-year mature woman, also with good
looks and figure. I felt like a teenager sitting in the bathroom with
two Playboy magazines flipping the page back and forth. I did not
have to choose, so why and am I frustrating myself? Zoey heads
back to the bedroom. I was not tired. I told her I would stay up and
watch the television, that I was not sleepy yet. Off she goes to bed.
Later, I checked on her to make sure she was asleep.

I grab the car keys, and drive to the local market, and
purchased a vodka bottle. Knowing full well, this was not a good
move. I place the bottle in a white plastic bag on the passenger
seat, unopened. Again, I drive to Candy‟s apartment complex and
parked on the street out front, feeling the guilt like a sexual
predator. Why am I looking for punishment and confusion in my
life again? While sitting inside the dark car holding the unopened
bottle, sweat started dripping from my face. I could feel the drops
running down the sides of my face onto my chin and dripping off
like raindrops. Taking a few deep breaths, I put the bottle under my
seat, started the engine, and drive home. When parking in the
garage, I looked around and found a secure hiding place for my
bottle friend, still uno-pened—quietly entering the house and
heading for the sofa. A relief, not being caught. I fall asleep on the
couch.

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The following morning, after Zoey and I finished breakfast,

she stayed home for a while this morning, and I was off to work. I
could hardly control my sexual excitement, knowing I would see
Candy soon. Several of my fellow employees rode up and exited
the elevator along with me, and they head to their desks. I stop at
the reception desk and ask Candy how is she today? I looked
uncontrollably at her tight blouse and could see her nipples
protruding under the thin fabric sweater. Candy observed me
staring and could sense my excitement and said, “I think that is
enough for today,” and cut the conversation short. Walking to my
desk, I felt embarrassed she must have thought I was a dirty old
man. She was right. I sat and burrowed into my work, trying not to
make eye contact today. In the afternoon, going to the restroom, I
went into one of the many toilet stalls, clicked the door shut. I
closed my eyes, fantasized about Candy this morning and her
breasts, and masturbated like a high school teenager.

What is wrong with me? I am fifty years old.

After work, I made sure Candy had left before I went home.
Dinner was ready, we ate. Zoey kissed me, knowing I had to leave
in an hour for my AA meeting.

At the entrance of the center was Jack waiting to greet me.

As I walked in with him, I quietly said we need to speak later. His
reply was okay. What went on that session was predictable.
Another warrior falls off the wagon. When the meeting was
complete, Jack came with me to the nearby Starbucks for coffee. I
told him how close I came to complete punishment of myself—
stopping to purchase the alcohol, occupying the car in front of
Candy‟s apartment complex, and fantasizing about her today. He
was happy with my outcome that I did not drink the alcohol. He
wanted me to pour out the bottle when I arrive home. He gave me a
lecture. It felt good to have a friend to speak with about my two
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current obsessions, Candy and vodka. Coming home, parking the

car, looking up at the garage shelf, I could not bring myself to pour
out the bottle. So there it sat in all its glory, waiting for my weak
moment.

Entering the house, I hugged Zoey and gave her a quick

kiss. Am I finding myself less attracted to Zoey, punishing myself
because of my attraction to Candy? That evening in bed, my
thoughts were spinning. Was I this way because I had an alcoholic
father?” Do I want to sabotage everything? Do I want to punish
myself? Alcohol destroyed my married life. Is the desire for
alcohol doing the same now? Why can‟t I be happy and content?
When Zoey and I got into bed that evening, I grabbed her abruptly,
rolled on top of her to make love, closing my eyes and visualizing
Candy underneath me from today‟s events. During my superstar
performance, Zoey says, “what got into you today?”

My mind answers, “I am obsessed over someone who does

not know I exist”, and I fantasize that Candy has feelings for me. It
is all in my mind, and I need to distance myself from Candy
quickly. Should I quit work and find another job? I will sleep on
that thought tonight. I move close to Zoey and put my arm around
her for support and comfort.

It is Friday morning. The office is busy rushing to finish

this week‟s projects. During the busy day, I decide that tomorrow
Saturday, I will drive by myself up to Flagstaff and spend the day
sightseeing and thinking alone, trying to clear my head. It is just a
two-hour ride and a unique environment. I wonder how Zoey will
feel about this? That evening we speak of my drive tomorrow. She
agrees I should have the day to myself, but I better not drink, or I
will return to an empty house.

The following day up bright and early, I started my drive

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wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt. Heading up north on I-17,

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about two hours into my ride, I‟m entering the high country with
large clusters of Ponderosa pine trees. The elevation is high, some
six thousand feet, the air is crisp and clean air.

Thoughts raced through my mind. Why was I pursuing this

adventure? “To think and see something other than visions of
Candy.” I smell the scent of the many pine trees from the forest
and mountains around, a change from the Phoenix desert. I could
see the white cap mountains of the Flagstaff ski area Snow Bowl. I
thought about how lucky I was to get to enjoy these simple
pleasures. I stop for breakfast in Flagstaff at my favorite eat-in,
Denny. I am having my breakfast, special pancakes, and eggs. This
time no visitors come to my table, pay my bill back in the car,
decide to drive up the winding road to the Snow Bowl ski area for
a visit. I could feel the power of freedom and adventure growing
within my body. All right! I started my engine, backed out of the
parking area onto the dirt road, and headed to the mountaintop. As
I approached the road, I had a choice of turning left or right to
reach the main ski area.

The decision was simply to make a turn right and enjoy the
beauty of the back roads and the tall pine tree scents. Driving
several miles along the picturesque road, I came across a lone deer
standing on the side of the road, looking straight at me with big,
scared eyes. I had never encountered this kind of situation before.
In the past, driving in Texas, the deer would run off quickly into
the woods. But this time was different. The doe just stood there and
looked at me sadly as I slowly drove past it.

I stopped slightly in front of the animal. I stopped and

looked around, and the deer stood there, almost as though it was
asking me for help. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened my
car door and walked toward her. She stood there, almost frozen, as
I approached her. Getting closer, I could see a fawn—perhaps a

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newborn just days old—trapped in the terrain below with a piece of

fencing wire caught on its rear leg. I paused, not knowing what to
do or how the mother deer would react if I approached her baby.

I stood still for several minutes, debating whether to

approach the distressed baby deer or just leave. My heart told me I
should help. So I carefully inched closer to the fawn. Mother deer
watched with eyes wide open. I squatted down to my knees,
reached for the fawn‟s leg, and unwrapped the wire. As soon as the
fawn‟s leg was free, mother and baby deer ran into the bush. Well,
this trip was starting with excitement. It felt good to help the
animals—a total calmness set in. As I drove down the road, my
journey was to drive, relax, enjoy the sights, and take this time for
myself.

I noticed a road sign that announced the San Francisco

Peaks five miles ahead. Odd they would call this elevated Ski area
San Francisco Peaks after my old hometown? It must be a good
sign. I arrive at the top of the mountain, some ten thousand feet in
elevation, pulling into the lodge area. There is very little snow on
the ground and only a small collection of visitors. I park my car a
walk to the sightseeing area. Cold and windy, perhaps thirty-five
degrees. You can see the tops of large ponderosa and pine trees
along with blue skies forever.

I sit on a large rock and look out at the view and enjoy the
silence. Beautiful. A calmness is setting in, a feeling of
contentment and peace came over me. How good it felt not to have
distractions. Sitting for about an hour, I put my head back on the
rock with the intense sun bright in my eyes as I close them, hearing
the winds blowing through the tall trees. I see myself lying on this
big rock, a vision of myself levitating above and looking down. I
see myself in the hospital bed. Is that me? Suddenly I hear
someone talking in my ear.
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“Tom, can you understand me? Can you hear me?”

I try to open my eyes, and my vision is blurry and faded.

My eyes feel glued shut. I feel the sensation of someone touching
my arm. As I awaken in the hospital, I realize I am looking down
from above from the ceiling. I see Zoey sitting next to my bed in a
chair. I look at her in astonishment, and I say, “What has
happened? My God, what happened?” Zoey leans forward and
kisses me on my forehead, and tells me everything will be okay. I
tell her I am confused. She says she will explain everything when I
come back from surgery, try to sleep now.

I hear a few words, and I drove into a tree, drunk. I

foolishly did not have my seat belt on and was thrown through the
windshield onto the ground and hit my head hard. When the
ambulance arrived, my heart had stopped beating. Therefore, they
gave me electroshock using a defibrillator, and the two attending
EMTs did it to restore my heartbeat. I do not recall any of this just
then, sirens and ambulance taking me away. Was this the incentive
that caused my out-of-body experiences? Observing from above
the hallucinations are the dreams and images traveling through my
mind now, as I was trying hard to remember that intoxicated night.
I must have suppressed all the details. I hear this while trying to
regain my at-tentiveness, but the sedation places me back to sleep.
Zoey is holding my hand. I feel and hear nothing. Did I see Zoey in
hallucination, or was it real? Now I am questioning what I
perceive.

My mind is playing over and over the events of the crash. I

see the lights, hear the squeal of tires. I am now questioning
everything that happens that night. Waking up and seeing Zoey
holding my hand—was that all a fantasy? I am bewildered by how
drunk I was and how long I was blacked out?

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I find myself in a vision, looking down at the hospital room

again and see and hear the doctors tell Zoey I will need surgery for
my spleen and X-rays to reset the bones‟ fractures. Why do I not
remember all of this? I am alcohol clean for almost several months.
Conceivably, my mind is clearing, and some of my accident‟s
suppressed detail is coming back? I did not know how bad the
accident had been, and I do not remember how devoted and
worried Zoey was and what I put her through. This woman truly
loves and cares for me. So why am I looking to gain attention from
Candy? I should be kissing Zoey‟s ass for all she went through
with me. I feel something touching my forehead. Raising my hand
and placing it on my face, I think a small lizard runs across my
forehead, and I sit up. I am happy I got to remember all that
happened in the acci-dent evening. My thoughts shift to Zoey. I
decide it is time to drive home on my two-hour journey. While
going, I am thinking to myself, this obsession with Candy stops
today. I arrive home around 5 pm pull in the garage with two
objectives. Hug and thank Zoey for what she has done and two
later that night, pour out the hidden bottle of vodka.

Greeting and kissing Zoey, we sit down for dinner. I

explain what I remember about the accident. She confirms my
details and adds more to the story. Sitting at the table, I reach out to
hold her hand, look her square in the eyes and say, “Thank you for
all you did, and I love you.” A tear comes to her eye. She rises and
hugs me forcefully. While Zoey is doing the dishes, I walk out to
the garage, grab the hidden bottle of vodka, and pour it into the
laundry sink. As I turn, I see Zoey looking at me. She says, “I am
glad you did that, and I am proud of you.” I take the empty glass
bottle and place it in the trash. Doing this deed, I feel a sense of
power come over me. I say to myself, Tom, you can beat this
problem. I head for the shower. Zoey turns on the TV when done. I

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sit and cuddle with her on the sofa—not going to sit outside
Candy‟s apartment tonight.

Sunday morning comes quickly, and we take our breakfast

to the pool patio and eat outside. I was feeling thankful for my
breakthrough yesterday. I reach for my cell phone, call Jack, telling
him about my day and disposal of the alcohol. I receive a few good
words from him and tell him I will see him tomorrow night at the
meeting. The rest of the afternoon, Zoey and I speak about the
future and things to come. I need to call Mom to find out her
arrival dates and details. This visit will be another substantial
challenge in my life and for Zoey.

Monday morning comes. I am preparing for work in a good

mood. I find myself singing in the shower and joking with Zoey,
and today I dressed up not with slacks and a shirt but with a tie and
jacket. I feel good about myself. Up the elevator off at floor three,
give Candy a big smile. Nothing said, making my way back to my
desk. Happily, I could concentrate on my work and not drift off to
fantasize about Candy.

At lunch that day in the building deli, I was sitting and

downing my turkey sandwich at a small table for two. I look up
and see Candy walking in along with another woman. She was also
lovely with short brown hair. They both took their orders on a tray
from the deli counter and started walking past me to the empty
table behind. As they approached, Candy stopped at my side and
spoke to me, and I was surprised. What she said surprised me even
more. “Tom. I‟d like you to meet my husband, Jill” WHAT!

All I could say was, “nice to meet you.” They proceeded to

their table to eat their lunch. I could not see them both as they sit
behind me. I thought to myself, Tom, you were wasting your time
in dreamland. Candy would have no interest in a guy. After the

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revelation of this weekend and today, I feel I have disposed of

Candy‟s feelings and attractions. Tom, you are on a roll. That
evening at my AA meeting, I told the group my experience; Jack
and the others were proud of my accomplishment. After the
meeting, jack and I went for coffee at our local Starbucks to
discuss the events. Jack said, “you were lusting over a woman that
had no interest in men, Tom. You can pick them.” Jack had
mentioned that Stewart had called him to check on how I was
doing. I got a good rating from Jack. Stewart had said, “he wants to
make sure Zoey is happy with me and not make any mistakes. If I
fuck-up again, he will make the relationship a horror.” My first
reaction was not anger. Instead, it was positive. “Jack, I am happy
that both you and Stewart or concern about me. I appreciate it”. We
both head for home and call it a day.

That coming weekend, Zoey has a showing at her gallery

by a new up-and-coming artist in the Phoenix area. The showing is
by invitation, so I guess I am going on Saturday night. Zoey was at
the gallery all day preparing. I arrived around 5 pm; as I walk in, I
say to myself, “Shit, what has the art world come to.” The artist is
a contemporary figurative artist, and the drawings had body parts
in all the wrong places. The representative bodies in my eyes are
awkward, each body part filled with vivid colors. Squares and
triangles make up the figures on each canvas. Just not my style of
art. I like to see something that represents an image. Think to
myself, “Is this how this foolish artist sees things? I feel sorry for
her”. “Arms on one side, head bent out of shape, eyes on her ass,
give me a break, the artist has to be looney toons.” I wind my way
through the crowded floor and find Zoey and quickly head her
way, “she asked, how do you like the showing? I say it is
excellent!”

As I stand and look at the artwork, in my opinion, one of

the senseless pieces, I feel a tap on my right shoulder.
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As I turn, I see Judy, my real estate agent. We give each

other a hug, a smile, and I ask what she is doing here. She replied
she received an invitation for Zoey. Fantastic, it is good to see you.
Tom, how are you? I tell her I have been clean for over two
months, and now I feel I am on the right track. Judy was happy for
me and said if I ever need anything to please call her. Stewart and
Zoey‟s mom showed up at the art event. I shake hands with
Stewart, and then he introduces me to Zoey‟s mom. I say, “nice to
meet you. What should I call you? Mom?” She snaps back, “Don‟t
get any ideas, big boy, how about Alexia?” She, says “I hear many
things about you, some good, some bad, but I don‟t believe all the
shit I hear.” I say, “Fair enough,” and walk back to Zoey to tell her,
“mom is at the show.” After all the bullshit of how unique the
artwork was, we left and let Zoey‟s crew clean and close up for the
night. Thank God it was an early evening.

We arrive back at the house about 9 pm, change and lay in

front of the TV and passed out. I am not used to tolerating a big
crowd without my alcohol, but I made it tonight. On Sunday
morning, Zoey says it was nice to see some of her family. Zoey
asked if next Saturday we could take a ride up to the Flagstaff area
and visit her mom‟s brother on his farm, Uncle Pete. My reply was
“sure.” The week went by smoothly, with no events to speak of at
work and AA meetings. I handled the Candy obsession very well.

Saturday morning comes, and we are going to drive up

north and take the two-hour trip. Zoey suggested we take a suitcase
with a change of clothes. If we are too tired to drive back, we can
spend the night at a motel. It sounds like a fun weekend.

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Chapter Eight: Uncle Pete

O
n the drive up, Zoey fills me in on her Uncle Pete
and his wife, Mary. They sound like a stimulating
couple in their seventies. As a kid, Zoey would
love to go up to the farm with her mom, ride the horses, milk the
cows, pick the eggs and play. She says, “I am sure things have
changed over the last twenty years, as we do.” When we pulled off
the highway in Flagstaff, it was a winding and dirt road heading to
the farm. As we approach, I had my window open and could smell
the farm animals. Horses and cows have a unique aroma. “They
stink!” About a quarter-mile in front of us, Zoey yells out, “there is
the farm.” I say, “It looks like a farmhouse.” Approaching, we see
both Uncle Pete and Mary standing on the wood porch waiting to
greet us. It became quite a reunion, lots of hugs and kisses, you
look lovely and how you have grown into a beautiful woman. The
ladies were all smiles, and Uncle Pete looked like he could not care
less. We all sit on the porch. Mary brings out some ice tea, and the
conversation begins. How is this person? Your brother, your mom,
etc? About an hour into the conversation, Pete says, “You want to
know what happened to me this morning?”

I say, “What?”

“Well, I pulled into the shopping mall, found a vacant

parking space, exited the driver‟s door, and pushed my remote to
lock the damn truck. I take the damn escalator up from the
basement to the main mall level, heading to the shoe store to
purchase a pair of hiking boots. Lord knows I need a new pair. I
walk around the damn mall, searching for the right shoe displays to
find the shoes that meet my needs. I could not find any damn
boots. They had all kinds of colors, red, yellow, green who the hell
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would wear red boots? I head back to my truck to return home,

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thinking, why am I here alone? My body feels cold and damp. I am

soaking wet, sweating like a pig from walking and searching for
my truck in the hot underground parking lot. Why could I not find
where I parked? Was I so distracted when I took the escalator up
from the lot? “How do you like them apples?”

Mary tells us that night when Pete was sitting on my bench,

taking my boots off, I fell and banged my head on the wood floor.”
“I don‟t remember that,” Pete says. “I told her I was dizzy; so, she
put me to bed. She tells me I had one boot in my hand when I got
up. I would not let it go. Who the fuck takes a boot to bed?”

I say, “Uncle Pete, that is a terrible story. Sorry you went

through that”. Then Mary takes his arm, helps Pete walk to the
kitchen table for lunch. Mary says to Pete, “You remember things.”
We are not kids anymore. We are in our mid-seventies. Pete says,
“Mary suggests taking me to see a doctor; doctors don‟t know shit,
just how to send you a bill. I tell her I‟m okay, not to worry.

After our chicken lunch, we take our coffee out to the front,
sit on the porch to enjoy the afternoon. The chickens expect a
sunny afternoon and make lots of noise. Their dog, Max, is running
in the yard. Mary says, we love the country, and we enjoy the
serenity of life here. Finally, their dog, Max, tires of running. He is
an old dog of ten years, a golden retriever, overweight like the rest
of us. Max comes and lies on the porch in his favorite spot next to
the steps and Pete. He puts his head down on the porch and falls
asleep in a flash. Zoey and I look over at Mary and Pete, seeing
they are falling into their afternoon nap. Zoey and I quietly stand
from our chairs and decide to check the chicken coop and look for
any eggs, as she did when she was a kid. Max hears me moving
and walks with us down to the chicken coop. I open the coop door,
walk-in, join the dozen-plus Road Island Reds, and check their
nests. Gathering a dozen or so eggs and reach for the old bucket.
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Suddenly, I hear the sound of a rattlesnake shaking its tail

as I reach for the bucket. My quick reaction is to hit the snake with
the bucket in my hand. Whack, whack right on the head, knocking
him silly! The bucket in my hand saved my life from a snakebite. I
reach for a stick, lift the dead snake from the coop, and then toss it
into the grass below. Max is barking wildly from the excitement.

I tell Pete and Mary, “This bucket just saved my life.” They
laugh nonstop for what seemed like a minute. Thinking I made up
a story. Mary now convinces Zoey to spend the night and have
dinner at the house. I recognize this would happen from the time
Zoey suggested taking an overnight bag. As this conversation goes
on, Pete is trying to keep his eyes open. Zoey asked me if it is okay
to spend the night. “I say why not!” Both Zoey and Mary go into
the kitchen to decide what to make for the evening meal. They
decide on baked chicken, potato, greens—sound good to me.

Uncle Pete is not much of a conversationalist. In fact, in my

opinion, he is a grumpy son of a bitch, but what the hell? It is just
one night, and if it makes Zoey happy, it is okay with me. When
Pete wakes, it is about three-thirty in the afternoon. He looks at me
and asks if he can show me around the farm. Why not? I have
never been on an actual farm before. We both walk down to the
barn, a first for me, thrilled to see the animals. Pete tells me they
have horses; I can take one for a ride. Right! Next, we stop by the
field filled with cows and flies. I tell Pete about being an
accountant in San Francisco. I don‟t get to ride horses or see cows.
The last stop, walking up the slight hill to the house, is the chicken
coop. We stop and open the chicken wire door. Pete gathers the
eggs, and I tell him Zoey did it earlier. We continue our walk up to
the farmhouse; I sit with Pete on the front porch as dinner is
cooking. Pete then asks if I want a beer? I tell him, “no, I have a
drinking problem.” He says, “Hell, what is wrong with you young

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people today”? At 6 pm sharp, we both are called inside for supper.

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The kitchen table is covered with a red and white checked

tablecloth—dishes of delicious-looking home-cooked food—a
freshly cooked basket of biscuits. As we sit, Mary says Pete will
say grace. Pete looks at her like she is crazy. We join hands. Pete
puts his head down and says, “Let‟s eat this damn food, Amen.”

I will tell you the food was out of this world, and I do not
have time to have a fancy home-cooked meal like this often. I do
not remember how many hot biscuits I ate. After dinner, we sit on
the porch; Mary brings out hot apple pie from the apples she
picked this morning, delicious. At 9 pm, Pete and Mary say
goodnight and head off to bed, so Zoey and I retreat to the guest
room, turn on the TV, and start falling asleep for the night.

The following day, at the crack of dawn, the rooster is

screeching away. I sit up, and Zoey is out of bed already. As I walk
out the guest room door, I see Zoey sitting at the table with Mary
and talking about family. I am happy she is enjoying herself. The
distraction of being here at the farm has diminished the desire for
alcohol. While I am seated at the table, I ask where Uncle Pete is?
“Mary tells me he went down to the barn to feed the horses with
oats and, hey.” She says, “Why don‟t you go down and help him?”
I reply, sure, and walk down. As I arrive at the open barn, I see
Uncle Pete talking to a horse in an empty stall. The horse was
moving its head up and down as he knew with Pete was saying.
Pete turns and sees me. He yells, “Come on over and feed this son
of a bitch” Approaching his side, and he hands me a bunch of
carrots to feed the horse. It was the first time in my life feeding and
touching a horse. My father never took me to a zoo or pony ride,
and I started enjoying this. We finish up and make the slow walk
uphill to the house, passing the chicken coop. Uncle Pete stops and
says, “I found your dead baby rattlesnake this morning and gave it
a proper burial.”

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Approaching the house, the aromatic scent of bacon and

breakfast filled the crisp, clean air. As we walk in, Zoey says, “did
you two have a good time?” My mouth was watering, and my eyes
were popping out of my head to a table full of eggs, pancakes,
orange juice, coffee, a lot of bacon. I say to Mary, “Do you always
cook like this?”

She replied, „Yes!”

I had enough food to last for days. Midmorning was

arriving. Zoey says she is going to gather our stuff for the ride
home. I was so content I could have stayed longer. After breakfast,
the ladies cleared the table. I put out the overnight case in the car,
and we say our goodbyes. I had a lovely time, and they asked us to
come back and visit again. Off we go to Phoenix. Arriving home
last afternoon, I drop myself on the couch, put my feet up and fall
off to sleep. When I awake, later, I was dreaming about the farm
and not Candy.

That evening I get a long-overdue call from my daughter

Kelly asking how I was. It has been months since we spoke. I tell
her I am doing well and involved with AA, that Zoey has helped
me, and I have a sponsor. She sounded happy for me and said she
would like to come and see me. I told Kelly her grandma would be
coming to visit soon. Would she like to come to meet her? She
quickly replied, “Yes!” I said, “Let us work it out.” After I hang
up, I tell Zoey of the conversation. She thought it would be great
for both of them to meet, so did I.

That Sunday evening, when we are both getting ready for

bed, Kelly calls again, saying, “Dad, I need to get away from mom.
Can I please come soon?” I tell her, yes, whenever you want. I will
call you in the morning to make arrangements. Zoey and I both go
to bed. She lays next to me, places her hand down my shorts, kisses
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me deeply, and starts to masturbate me. I think to myself, how long

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can I hang on this time before I ejaculate? She rolls over on top of
me and places my erect manhood deep in her, and I do not want to
let her down again. My thoughts turn to the farm and the horse and
cow shit for several brief moments. Ultimately, I could not hold
back from climaxing, and this session lasted several minutes. Zoey
kisses me and says, “You are improving.” A step in the right
direction! We say goodnight. Putting my left arm around her, I
turned to my side and gripped her tight to pull her close.

I am falling off to sleep from this beautiful Sunday night

and enjoyable weekend. At 1 am, my cell phone rings. Who could
call this hour? I see on my caller ID, and it‟s Stewart. I better take
the call.

After my gloomy hello, Stewart says, “Tom, I need your

help. I am at the Chicken Horse Indian Casino outside Scottdale. I
needed some money to get out of a jam. Can you come here right
away?”

“How much do you need?” I ask.

“Fifteen thousand.”

I don‟t have that amount around or even in the bank. I wake

Zoey and tell her about her brother‟s call. She says, “Stewart is in
gambling trouble again. How much?”

I say, “Fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Okay, I will get it,” she says.

I think she needs to go to a bank, where she would get that

kind of money at this hour. She gets out of bed, walks to the closet,
opens her carrying case, takes two stacks of one hundred dollars
bill out. She hands them to me and says, “Here is twenty thousand.

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Bring it to him and tell him it is the last time. I am going back to
sleep.”

I put my clothes on, put the money in a Safeway plastic

bag, head to the garage, and off I go. Twenty minutes later, I am
pulling into the casino parking lot, trying to find a parking space.
The parking lot is packed up and down the aisles, looking for open
space. I say to myself, “Why the fuck are so many people out this
late looking to gamble their money away. Finally, I hit the jackpot
a vacant parking space. I pull into the vacant space and trot to the
casino entrance, looking for Stewart. As I enter, I look to my left
and see the poker area filled to the brim with smoke and sad-
looking people. I spot Stewart in the room. He sees me, walks over,
and says, “Thank you, Tom.”

I hand him the bag, telling him there are twenty thousand
dollars in the bag.

He says, “Wait here.” He rushes to the casino cashier‟s

counter, opens the bag, hands them fifteen thousand dollars. He
puts the balance in his jacket pocket and walks back to me. He says
to me, you think you have problems, “I have lost a fortune in this
place. Go home and go back to sleep.” While walking out, I see
Stewart walk to the craps table and reach into his pocket for his
cash. While driving home for bed, I wonder if Stewart ever
received help with his problem?

The following day Zoey asked if everything went all right. I

tell her no problem. I start to say to her some details. She stops me
short and says, “I do not want to hear about it. I Finish breakfast
head to work. When the elevator door opens, I see Candy say hello
and walk back to my desk. I am too tired and fucked up to make
conversation. The day moves slowly, strained from lack of sleep
and the events of last night.

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I am looking forward to speaking to Jack about my

weekend and the incident with Stewart at the Chicken Horse
Casino last night. Late afternoon, I call Zoey and tell her I am
going directly to the AA center to talk with Jack from work.

She gives me, I love you and stay out of trouble closing and
good-by. I arrive a half-hour early, seeing Jack out front and sit
next to him. He asked me about my weekend, and I tell him how
well everything went with Zoey, her Uncle Pete, and aunt Mary
describing the excellent food and fun at the farm. Not once that
weekend at the farm did I think of Candy or alcohol. Jack says,
maybe you should buy a farm or getaway cabin for the weekends
to get out of town. I replied, with what money? Jack says, “Tom,
you should talk to Zoey. She is loaded.”

During tonight‟s meeting, I shared my weekend experience

and received a much-deserved up-lifting from the group. Jack says,
“Stewart is back into gambling again. That has to stop”. I told Jack
how much Stewart owed the casino and what I saw when leaving.
Jack said, “he helped Stewart with his gaming once before and
thought he was through, apparently not.” I tell Jack I would like to
return the favor and try to help Stewart. “What can we do without
intruding on his life?” Stewart went to Gambling Anonymous a
year ago, and Stewart could get control over his addiction. Jack
explains it no different from AA. Jack says he will have lunch with
Stewart this week and bring up the subject. I felt I did the right
thing. When I arrived home, I told Zoey about my talk with Jack
about Stewart. She replies, “It is like beating a dead horse.” Zoey
tells me that when Stewart broke up with his fiancé about four
years ago, he was emo-tionally down and depressed.

“He needed something to occupy his mind and started

gambling all night and sleeping all day. Stewart has gambled over
half of his family inheritance away, nearly two million dollars.”
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Zoey and I never spoke of money, but if Stewart spent

about two million dollars of his four million, he is still well off.
Continuing, I thought, “then Zoey must have some four million
also?” It was not mine, but it felt good to know my Zoey has some
money. Another reason not to leave or upset her. These are all
excellent reasons to help me stop drinking, I thought to myself.

Midweek, I receive a call from Stewart, and he was pissed

about me telling Jack that he was gambling again. He wants to
come and talk with Zoey and me. Of course, I agreed. About 7 pm,
Stewart is at my house, a little hot under the collar. Zoey said to let
her handle this and not get involved in a disagreement with
Stewart. I did as she advises, keeping quiet and letting Stewart let
off steam. And he had much moisture. Zoey cooled him down,
explaining that we all love him and want to help him as much as
possible. He understood but wanted to make his own decisions.
During our small intervention with Stewart, Zoey brings up his old
fiancé, whom he was madly in love with, along with the fact he
would spend the nights at the casino. Zoey did not like that, a
subject only a sister can talk to a brother about, saying, “I think
that is the reason she left Stewart?”

She found someone else, and they went off and married.
Zoey gets to the point, saying, “Stewart, why don‟t you go out and
find another woman,” he says, “there is no other to take her place.”
You are a good-looking guy, and you have money. There must be a
thousand women in Phoenix that would love to be with you. I tell
Stewart that whatever we speak of will be confidential between the
two of us from now on. He agrees and says, let‟s have lunch on
Thursday at Antonio‟s. If you recall, that is his favorite place. We
agree to meet at noon on Thursday.

Several days later, I show up at Antonio‟s meeting for

lunch. As usual, I arrive a little early, that is just me. Antonio

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recognizes me and asked where Stewart is. I tell Antonio he will be

along soon. While I am being seated, “I pray I do not have to hear
another lecture from Antonio.” At that moment, Stewart walks
through the door. Antonio yells, “How are you doing, my old
friend?” They greet each other with a hug and a slap on the back.
Stewart seemed down and depressed. He tells me the only friends
he has now are Jack and me, and sisters don‟t count. I asked if he
had many friends when he was a kid? He describes his childhood
and younger days as a boy and young man whom his father did not
love. His father resented him, and his mother never had time for
him. She was a socialite. Zoey was the only one that took him
seriously. He would work with her at the gallery, but the work
never interests him. He was there to waste time, and he did not take
part in socializing, enjoyed being a loner.

As an alcoholic, I felt the same way. I had my bottle to

keep me company. When I had enough, I would pass out and sleep.
We both looked at each other and said at the same time. “We are
both fuck-ups”. I told Stewart I had a very comparable past, and
my dad was a drunk. I also felt he hated me. Then I slipped, saying,
“When I was a kid, I wanted to kill my dad. Did you ever feel that
way?”

Just as he was about to answer, Alberto shows up with our

cheese and chicken tacos dishes. As Alberto walks away, I follow
up and ask, “did you ever want to kill him?” Stewart answers, “no,
but I disliked him.”

Now we have even more in common, saying, “When he

was a child, he heard his parents talking and discussing him. After
Zoey, they did not want another child,” and I came along. I created
tension between Mom and Dad. Most of the time, they made me
feel like I did not exist, and they succeeded.

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I say to Stewart, “You and I should find something to do in

common. What do you like?”

He says, “Gambling.”

I say, “Alcohol. That question was not too productive.”

After lunch, I head back to work a bit late, and no one

seemed to mind. That evening when I arrive home from work, I
find an official letter in the mail, my court date from my accident
with the tree that sent me to the hospital is coming due next week. I
show Zoey the summons, and she calls her attorney, Norn, and
emails him a copy. He tells Zoey to have me show up an hour early
before the case so we can speak. He will take care of things, “not to
worry.”

I think the judge might put me back in jail for an unknown

term. I walk out around and sit by the pool, and my anxiety builds.
Not knowing what will happen, I felt the need for a drink to steady
myself. Zoey comes out, holds my head close to her breast, tells
me not to worry. “Norn is a great attorney. She tells me he has
handled several cases at her gallery and her family for years, and
he is well connected and influential.

When my court date comes, I do what Zoey instructed,

show up early for the hearing meeting and speaking with my
attorney, Norm. We discuss the accident, along with the injuries I
obtained. Norn tells me, “to plead guilty and keep my mouth shut
and follow him.” The Richard‟s case is called. We approach the
front bench. My attorney tells the judge that I am a participating
AA working on my ninety-day chip. He said to the judge. “I am
punished enough with broken bones and a week‟s stay in the
hospital.” He states that the only damage from this accident was
the damage to the tree and my car. Con-tinuing, he tells the judge,

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“I am sorry for my recklessness and that I have spent time in jail

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for ten days early this month.” Next, I hear, “Richards, and your
sentence will be one-year probation and any subsequent alcohol
offenses, you will spend one year in jail, understood?” I reply
quickly, “Yes, your honor” What a relief. Now I am given more
reason to stop drinking. I shake my attorney‟s hand, give him a big
thank you, and head home.

That evening, Zoey and I discuss how peaceful and much

we enjoyed the time up at Pete and Mary‟s farm at dinner. Zoey
suggested we take another trip up and speak with both of them.
They have several hundred acres, and maybe they would allow us
to build a small cabin on the property. I respond with, “great, but
you will have to talk with Uncle Pete, not me.” Agreed.

Zoey will call and make the arrangements. It was again a

productive week between work, AA meeting, and speaking with
Stewart. Keeping busy keeps my mind off alcohol. Saturday
morning arrives, we are off to the Flagstaff area to visit and speak
with Uncle Pete and Mary. Telling Zoey how excited I am about
this project, I get the chance to bring up finances. I tell her I do not
have the money to build or purchase a place. She replied with a,
“Do not worry about it.” As we pull up to the farmhouse, it was
like a de-ja vu, both on the front porch waiting. Walking up to the
patio and hugging and kissing again, we all sit. Uncle Pete is sharp
and says, “What brings you back so soon?‟

Zoey starts her conversation, Uncle Pete, Aunt Mary. “Do

you remember how much I love coming up here when I was a kid?
Well, last weekend brought back many fond memories. Tom and I
would like to be nearby and build a small cabin on your land
someplace for weekends and vacations”. Zoey stops talking, and
there is quiet. I am thinking, wait, wait, and then out it comes by
Uncle Pete. “Damn, goddamn, we were thinking the same thing.
Mary and I would love to have family around. Zoey has always

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been like a daughter to Mary. Let‟s celebrate, have lunch and walk
the property looking for a spot you would love”.

I am thrilled. And Zoey had a massive smile on her face.

Pete says, “Tom, if we do this, you are going to learn how to ride
and take care of a horse.”

I approved the plan. Going into the house to have lunch,

Mary had a food layout, like it was Thanksgiving. Roasted
chicken, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, mush-rooms, salad, and
of course, her homemade biscuits. The conversation at lunch was
about the cabin, and Mary suggested a cozy two-bedroom with,
fireplace for the cold months and not too far from the main
farmhouse. She said she knows just the spot. At one time, they
were going to build a bunkhouse themselves.

After lunch, we all take a stroll around the land. Mary takes
us to a place about five, six-hundred feet from the main house.
There are many ponderosa pines and white birch trees in a cluster.
She points and says, “There.” Zoey and I look up. The large tall
pines trees provide considerable shade, and the vast dark blue sky
looks beautiful. Zoey says. I love white birch trees. I remember
trying to climb these trees when I was a kid, and Mary also
remembered saying, “How many times did you fall?”

Pete says, “Let‟s go back to the house and see how we can
get this fucker built. I have the right two guys that can produce it
within a few weeks, Floyd and Montgomery. They worked on my
farm. Let‟s give those bastards a call. Pete picks up his cell phone,
being a man of few words. When his friend answers, he demands,
“get the hell over here and move your ass.”

Within an hour, Floyd and Montgomery pull up to the

farmhouse, hustle to the porch, ask what wrong? Pete says I have a
project that we will start tomorrow, then introduce Zoey and
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myself to both of them. Later, Mary suggests we spend the night,

be here when they lay the foundation out. Up at dawn, Pete wakes
everyone and starts writing the cabin‟s supply list, lumber, pipe,
toilet, and insulation. He calls the Home Depot, gives them his
order, and tells the store Floyd will be there in a few hours to pick
up the supplies. So preoccupied forgets to provide them with a
credit card number. Two minutes after he hangs up, the store calls
back and requests the information.

Montgomery and Floyd arrive at 7:30 am Sunday, hearing

their truck coming in the driveway, giving them a wave. Pete and I
hop in the back of the pickup to have breakfast with Zoey and
Mary. Now I see Uncle Pete excited for the first time about what
he is going to build. Zoey takes him aside and hands him a check,
and I hear Pete say that plenty.

Midday, we say our goodbyes. Pete says, come back in two

weeks, you will be surprised. I am already amazed and impressed
that just last week, this project was just a thought. On the ride
home, we speak about the fireplace, decorating, and kitchen. Zoey
tells me, “I have changed for the good the last nighty days. She is
very proud of me, and I feel ecstatic.” We arrive home mid-
afternoon. I crash on the sofa and fall asleep for the night,
exhausted from the drive and excitement.

The following day, Kelly calls me again and tells me she

needs to get away from her mom, my ex-Kay. “Can I purchase her
a ticket to Phoenix now? How could I say no? I ask what is wrong,
and she replies, “I will tell you when I arrive.” I tell Zoey about the
call. Zoey says,” leave Kelly‟s number, go to work. I will take care
of this”. Zoey makes the arrangements with Kelly for that evening.

Zoey will pick up Kelly at the Sky Harbor Airport around 8

pm. I have an AA meeting on Monday nights. At the meeting, I tell

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Jack my daughter is coming to town tonight, and Zoey will pick

her up. “No Starbucks and conversation tonight,” he understood. I
drive straight home after the meeting. Zoey and I arrive at the
house at 9 pm. When Kelly exits the car, she runs up to me and
hugs me, and she has a tear in her eye. “Let go inside and talk.”
Zoey knows the story, as she has spent time with Kelly on the
phone today and driving home from the airport.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kelly tells me that Mom has this
strange boyfriend she cannot stand. He keeps making passes and
Kelly and always looking at her strangely. She feels very
uncomfortable around him, and he is living with Mom. She told
Kelly (Mom) about him, but Kay said if you don‟t like him, go
stay with your dad. So here she is. I hug her. Zoey says, “Kelly,
and you are welcome to stay here as long as you like.” I was
surprised and pleased that the two of them hit it off so well.

That afternoon Zoey had fixed and cleaned up our guest

room to the nines. She takes Kelly with her backpack and one
suitcase to the room to get comfortable. It is a lovely room with a
separate bath, a large window facing the green front yard. Kelly
unpacked. She lay down to make calls to her friends to inform
them where she was. Later, we all say goodnight. Zoey and I head
to our room. While lying in bed, I ask Zoey, “if she is upset about
this event,” she says, “no, I am pleased. It will be like having my
daughter. I was thrilled to hear that.

In the morning, we all have breakfast, and I head to work.

Kelly and Zoey are going to see the local high school and register.
Kelly a sophomore second year in high school. She is around five
foot four inches, average weight, long light brown hair, blue eyes
like Mom. Her female development is in the process of
blossoming. Kelly has a soft-spoken voice and a little shy,
probably from her dominant mom, Kay. The time in Phoenix, with
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more independence, will bring out a more aggressive Kelly, with

any luck.

At work, I had no reason to think of alcohol or Candy.

Instead, I am focusing on Kelly and work. Tonight, I do not have a
meeting. We all can spend more time talking about the current
situation. Arriving home that night, I find dinner on the table, Kelly
all excited about her new high school, and Zoey elated at being a
stepmom. Kelly tells me about her school. It sounds unique, and
they have excellent computer equipment. She says her counselor
was terrific and friendly, and she has all the classes she loves. Zoey
sat there with a big grin on her face looking at me. Kelly says that
Zoey was a big help, and she likes her, and that Zoey took her out a
purchased her a new wardrobe of clothes to fit in with Phoenix
weather. Okay, we are a family. I have a lot to share tomorrow at
my AA meeting and with Jack. That evening I told Jack about the
cabin on the farm and Kelly coming to Phoenix. He was happy for
me and said something that stuck deep into my mind. “Tom, I
better not hear you complain about not being loved.” He was right
instead of people trying to stay away from me, and they are coming
and needing me. Driving home, I thought about my daughter Kelly,
my love Zoey, my friend Jack, my friend Stewart. At one time, I
had none.

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Chapter Nine: The Tragedy

I
called Stewart to meet for lunch, and he said, “You
know where we can meet Friday? Alberto‟s at noon.”

I asked if he was okay.

He replied, “A little down but okay.”

I figure Friday and I can elevate his spirits with my good

news and events.

Friday at noon, I am right on time. Alberto asks if Stewart

is coming. I tell him yes. Now it 12:15, no Stewart. 12:30, no
Stewart. 1:00 pm, no Stewart. I am concerned. There is no answer
on his cell phone. I think he could gamble? At 1:30, I drive to the
Chicken Horse Casino park, go inside to check if he is in the
casino. There‟s no sign of Stewart. I call Zoey. She thinks it is
strange here are two places you could always find him, at
Alberto‟s or the casino.

Zoey says she will call Mom and the gallery to see if any
heard from him? She calls me back as I sit in my car in the casino
parking lot, with no sighting of Stewart. I then call Jack and inform
him, and Jack says he knows a place Stewart would go and will
check it out along with his apartment. He will call me in an hour.

My phone rings, the caller ID says Jack. I pick up.

“Did you find him?”

He answers, “Yes.”

I feel relieved!

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Jack continues, “But he is dead.”

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Jack discovered him at his apartment on the bed, deceased.

He says he just called the police and is at Jack‟s apartment waiting.
My God, this is astonishing to me. I can‟t imagine how Zoey will
take this bad news and Stewart‟s mom as well?

I ask Jack, “should I tell Zoey now on the phone or go

home to see her in person?”

Jack replies, “Be with her when you tell her. Stewart‟s
death is going to hit her hard, and she will need you.”

I am starting my fifteen-minute drive from the casino to the

house, dreading how I will tell her the horrifying news. I pull up
into the driveway. Zoey comes out and says, “You‟re home early.
What‟s up?”

I say, “Let‟s go into the house.”

Again, she asks, “What is going on?”

As we reach the sofa, I tell her, “Jack found Stewart. The

bad news is Stewart is dead.”

Zoey screams, “No!”

I lean forward and hug her as she cries. “Why did he do

this? Why did he do this? I want to see him.”

I tell her Jack is there waiting for the police. I‟m sure
someone will notify us momentarily. Jack calls and tells me the
coroner took the body back to the morgue to investigate the cause
of death. Zoey felt she would be the best candidate to tell her mom
of this horrible tragedy. We all meet at Alexia‟s house.

When Alexia sees all of us arrive at her door, she asked,

“Why are you here?” Zoey explains what happened. They both

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break down emotionally. Alexia suddenly starts feeling remorse for

her attitude toward Stewart all these years. The guilt was setting in.
“I should have treated him better, loved him more.”

Alexia says, “My fucking dead husband created the hatred

between us. Always saying he never wanted a son, poor Stewart.”

I think to myself, “A little late now to feel that way.”

We all return to our homes in sorrow. The following day,

two detectives show up at my house at 9 am, both wearing slacks
and short sleeve shirts of the same color gray. Two men with no
personality, serious, we invite them in to talk, asking questions
about Stewart‟s activities and friends. Then the bombshell.

“It looks like he did not take his own life. The coroner
found he had a needle mark on the left side of his neck. Stewart
was right-handed. It would be difficult to inject his left side with
his right hand. The point of the needle entry showed it came from
the back of his neck.”

The police found the needle and syringe on his nightstand,

along with a small empty bottle of potassium chloride. Where
would he get this solution? Why would Stewart do this? Jack
shows up shortly after the police arrived and surprised to hear how
Stewart died. The detectives ask, “Did he owe money on gaming
debts?” Zoey answers, “Not that I know of. He has a substantial
amount of money in the bank.” The detectives say they will follow
up and be in touch.

After the detectives leave, Zoey says, “I guess the

investigation will remain open.”

That afternoon, Zoey and her mom planned at a small

funeral home in Scottdale, a cremation and minor gathering

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decided. Zoey and her mom went to complete the service

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arrangements and arrange for flowers. The following afternoon a

small service is held at the funeral home, a white colonial-style
building looking like it had was designed for George Washington
during the revolutionary war, tall white circular columns and all.
The inside with a large open area of red floral rugs, a high open
ceiling, and several dozen church bench rows made of dark wood.
Just a few friends and family showed up, perhaps a dozen people.

Zoey gave a beautiful and short eulogy about the kindness

and life of her loving brother. Saying, “Stewart was a loving
brother to her, sympathetic to all her needs, always there for her.
He would always go out of his way to ensure she was treated right
and protected continually. She hopes he will continue to do so from
the heavens above.”

Alexia was crying emotionally and could not speak. Jack

and I held our tongues. The young minister holding the service got
some facts about Stewart from Alexia and Zoey and gave a short
eulogy. The funeral box was open, and Stewart was dressed in a
dark blue suit, shirt, and tie, looking peaceful in the fancy wood-
carved coffin.

The gathering went back to Alexia‟s home to celebrate

Stewarts‟ life and exchange stories. In the one dominant
personality trait, Stewart was a loner and unhappy person. I saw
Alberto at the house and asked him if Stewart had ever spoken
about having gambling debts at the bar. His reply was, “No.”

Kelly was a comfort to Zoey during this time and felt

Zoey‟s loss, even though she never met Stewart. For the next
several days, they were challenging Zoey and the rest of us. I think
we all see how venerable we are to death. By the time the
following week started, some regularity was coming about in our
lives. During the past week, I shared my grief at the AA meeting,

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as did Jack. Stewart‟s passing weighed heavy in our minds and

souls. We all tried our best to move on with our lives, knowing this
would be a difficult challenge. Now it was approaching two weeks,
and Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary called to give their condolence to
Zoey. At the end of the conversation, Mary said, “You both need to
come up and see your new cabin.” The good news, that call
changed the mood substantially. Zoey told Aunt Mary we would
come up next weekend, something positive to look forward to in
our lives.

That week I felt like I was carrying a heavy weight. The

depression coming from Zoey and me was a substantial burden.
Six months ago, I would have grabbed a bottle of vodka to relieve
the pain, but not now. I want to stay clean.

Around mid-week, I sat down with Kelly and Zoey after

dinner and told Kelly we were building a cabin up in Flagstaff on
Zoey‟s aunt and uncle‟s farm. I told her that she would love it up
north with the horse, cows, chicken. There are lots of gorgeous
trees and cool in the summer months. We all will be going up this
coming weekend to check the progress out. Kelly was excited, I
could tell. When the weekend arrived that Saturday morning, we
packed our supplies in the car, and off we went, back to Flagstaff.
Kelly was full of questions about the farm, Uncle Pete and Mary,
and “why are we doing this?” The two-hour drive passes quickly as
we all spoke. After pulling off the highway and approaching the
narrow dirt road, I say, “Okay, here goes” as I pull into the farm.
The usual excitement and greetings start.

Hug, hug, hug, and Aunt Mary says, we are both so sorry to
hear about your brother. Meantime, Kelly is standing to the side.
Zoey says to Aunt Mary, “I want you to meet Tom‟s daughter,
Kelly. She is staying with us for a while”.

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Uncle Pete blurts out, “Damn, I knew you needed a two-

bedroom cabin.”

Mary walks up to her, hugs her, and says, “You‟re a

beautiful young lady. I hope you will like it up here. I am pleased
to meet you.” Mary takes Kelly‟s hand and says, “Come help me
in the kitchen,” and leads her in. I think to myself, life is good.

Zoey, Uncle Pete, and I sit on the front porch until we get
the call that lunch is ready, and the three of us walk back to the
kitchen to the smell of delicious food. Kelly has found her seat
next to aunt Mary. I look at both, and they bonded quickly. Mary
says, “Tell us about your mom.”

Kelly‟s expression suddenly changes from joy to sadness as

she says, “I‟d rather not speak about Mom. I am mad at her.” Mary
says, “That‟s all right, tell me about yourself.”

Kelly rattles off age, school, and how much she loves Zoey
and Phoenix. A smile comes over all our faces. Mary says, “I have
to tell you all. I feel like my prayer has been answered. I have my
Zoey, my new daughter, and now I have Kelly, my new
granddaughter. I am so happy I have the family I have always
wanted.”

Uncle Pete breaks the loving moment with his delicate

ways and says, “Let‟s dig in.”

The five of us at the kitchen table bring happiness to Mary

and all.

Pete talks about the cabin. “After lunch, we will show you
your new home up here.”

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Mary says, “I can‟t wait to show Kelly the farm and all the
livestock.”

Tom said, “I hope you have plenty of biscuits.”

Lunch that day was a cheerful occasion. Uncle Pete starts

rattling off the many additional items he added to the cabin, the
Stone fireplace from the rocks on his farmland. Open-beam
ceilings and a skylight. Water softener with purified water. Electric
heat and furnace, large four top country oven/stove combination.
You can tell he was proud of his accomplishments.

Mary jumps into the conversation with a bit of extra, “Oh, I

furnished it for you. It‟s good I purchased the bed for the second
bedroom.”

Zoey says, “Aunt Mary, thank you, you shouldn‟t.”

Uncle Pete blurts out, “Let‟s go look at the damn place al-
ready.”

The five of us walk down, accompanied by Max, with his

tail wagging briskly. Walking energetically, Kelly is excited to see
the horses in the corral. “How many cattle are in the field,” she
asks.

Uncle Pete says, “About one hundred.”

As we approach the cabin, they painted the exterior light

brown with white trim and shutters. The front door has a
significant welcome sign attached. Mary asked, who will be the
first to go in, Zoey, just to the front opens the door, we hear a loud,
“Oh my god,” from her! We all enter. The cabin is beautiful inside,
more than we expected, furnishing, outstanding.

Kelly runs and jumps on the sofa and says, “This is ours?”
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We all sit in the new living room, and Pete asks, “How do
you like it?”

Zoey jumps over and gives Uncle Pete and Mary a

humongous hug. “It is perfect,”

I say this place will be excellent in the summer months. We

can come up on the weekends out of the Phoenix heat.

Pete gets up and opens the back door, and he has fenced a
small area, “In case you guys want to get a dog.”

Kelly blurts out, “Can we, Dad?”

Mary and Pete take Kelly for a tour of the land, barn, and
corral. I sit on our new front porch, thinking to myself. My life has
never been this complete and happy. All these rewards, love, and
happiness just because I stopped drinking six months ago. I love
my new job and my fellow employees. They respect me instead of
avoiding me. I love my Zoey, and she is loving, compassionate,
and just too good for me. My daughter wants to be with me instead
of hating me. I must have stepped in the right shit! I am so grateful
that a tear flows from my eye. What a great family and friends I
have now. For a moment, I think of Stewart, sad he is gone.

I am so sorry he has passed. He would be happy knowing

that Zoey and I are doing so well, and she is happy. I miss him
already. He always wanted me to make Zoey happy. Walking back
up to the house, I see Kelly in the barn with the others feeding the
horses. Walking, I stop near the chicken coop and remember how I
beat the rattlesnake with the bucket several weeks ago. I feel good.
That afternoon we all gather on the farmhouse‟s porch. Kelly had a
million things to say.

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“Uncle Pete is going to teach me how to ride a horse and

milk a cow. I love this place, and it‟s cool.”

Amazingly, most of the time, Kelly was hostile about

everything, including me.

At dinner that evening Mary said, “Tonight, I am going to

say grace, Pete, you keep your mouth shut.” She thanks everyone
for being at the table and God for the food. She makes a special
thank you for having Zoey close to her again and having a
wonderful granddaughter, Kelly.

Surprisingly my quiet Kelly opens up and says, “I love

everyone and this table and my special dad for bringing me here.”

I think to myself, WHAT?

When we are through eating and stuffing ourselves with

baked ham, sweet potatoes, and green peas and my biscuits, Uncle
Pete says, Tom, come on down to your cabin. I will teach you how
to light the fireplace. Off we go, leaving the ladies to talk and clean
up in the kitchen. I don‟t think Uncle Pete ever lifted a dish in his
life. Surprised and surprised by the question. I replied, “We
haven‟t talked about it.”

In his usual moderate way, Uncle Pete says to me, “Tom,

you had better ask soon.”

I get tongue-tied.

Pete opens the door, walks over to the fireplace, grabs a

handful of kindling wood and a couple of dry pine logs, puts them
on the fireplace grate, and throws a match underneath. Bam, a fire.
I say, “I got it.”

He replies, “Good, I am only going to show you once.”

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We walk back to the main house, joined the conversation.

Zoey says, “Let‟s leave Pete and Mary alone for the night
and go down to our place.” We do. The three of us sit in front of
the fireplace at our cabin on the floor. Kelly keeps raving about
how much she loves the country up here and the cool air. Kelly
says, “she does not want to go back and live with Mom, loves the
Phoenix house, the school, and now the farm.” Then Zoey tells us
some stories about when she was a kid and what she would do up
here at that time.

We heard some great stories that night. Zoey was a real

tomboy. Later that evening, as Zoey and I lay in bed holding each
other, I say, “You know we do good together. We should think
about making this family permanent.” Zoey replies, “Yes, we
should discuss it.” I think she was waiting for me to ask the
question. While lying there silently looking through the bedroom
door at the fire, I felt it was not the right time, nor was I prepared
with a ring. Thinking to myself, I could not find a better person
than Zoey. Kelly calls, “Dad. I hear something.”

Into her room, I run, look out the window, and see a cow
walking around the cabin. I say, “Kelly, you now have to get used
to the sound of livestock and the smell.” We all fall off to sleep.

Sunday morning, when Zoey and I wake, I find Kelly is not

in her room. I walk out onto the front porch and hear Kelly and
Uncle Pete in the barn, laughing as I approached the barn. I see
Uncle Pete trying to teach Kelly how to milk a cow for breakfast
milk. Each time she squeezed one of the cow‟s udders, she would
yell, “Disgusting.” When she saw me, she cried, “Dad, don‟t come
in here.” But I did.

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Kelly tells me that after breakfast today, Uncle Pete is

going to put her on a horse. This performance should be fun to
watch. Zoey comes walking up. We all proceed to the main house
for a Sunday breakfast. Kelly asks, “What do you think we will
have?” Knowing Aunt Mary from the last two Sunday visits, it will
be a feast, and it was.

After eating, we all help Mary clear the table, and then the
family heads down to the barn and corral to watch Kelly mount a
horse. Uncle Pete is very patient with his animals, and he shows
Kelly how to walk a horse by its lead rope. Kelly looked scared to
death, but she was doing it. Next came mounting a saddle on the
horse. Kelly could hardly lift the saddle and reach high enough to
place it on the horse. Pete helped her. Uncle Pete helped Kelly sit
in the saddle, and she was delighted with her progress. Zoey gives
us all the signal time to pack up and head back to Phoenix. Again,
we thank both Mary and Pete and tell them we will be back next
week, hop in the car, drive home. All of us in great moods and
excited about the new adventures to come.

Sunday evening was uneventful with TV and bed. Kelly did

some school work. Then my phone rings about 9 pm, and it was
Kay, my ex, sounding angry and loud, asking, “When are you
going to send my daughter back?”

I tell Kay to calm down, “Kelly is enjoying life here in

Phoenix, and she has made friends and loves the school.” Kay only
remembers how I was before Phoenix and felt I would be a terrible
father and role model for Kelly.

I try to explain, meantime, “Zoey is asking what is going

on?” Kay starts with her threatening ways, “Tom, you only have
partial child privileges and custody. Do I have to get an attorney?
You took my minor daughter out of state without my permission.”
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I tell Kay to calm down. I will call her tomorrow with Kelly, and

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we can all discuss this peacefully. Kay slams the phone down. I tell
Zoey what is going on, and she becomes angry, saying, “I will talk
to that bitch.”

The following day, I am off to work. Kelly heads to school

with a friend, and Zoey is home. That evening Zoey tells me she
called Kay in the afternoon, and they spoke. Kay threatens to hire
an attorney to make sure she gets her daughter back. Zoey told her
she would hire an attorney as well. Zoey asks if Kay was ready to
spend tens of thousands of dollars in a custody battle? Zoey could
afford the amount, Kay could not. Zoey tells me she “tore Kay a
new asshole” in the conversation. Zoey is strong-willed and knows
how to defend herself.

When Kelly arrived home from school, Zoey had her call
Kay and tell her the details of life here in Phoenix and Flagstaff.
Zoey heard the conversation, and Kelly was quite convincing.
Kelly told her mom she would not come back home until Kay
threw her boyfriend out of the apartment. Kelly told her mom
about the groping, the strange looks, how uncomfortable she felt
around him. She felt like he would come into her room and rape
her. Therefore, she had to sleep with her bedroom door locked.

Zoey overheard the conversation and grabbed the phone

from Kelly, saying, “If you want to go to court, you will have the
word of a sweet young underage girl who being harassed and
sexually threatened by your boyfriend. Whom do you think the
judge would believe?” Kay hung up.

I went to sleep early, getting ready to start a new week of

work and AA meetings. That night I was thinking, how would I ask
Zoey to marry me. First, I would have to purchase an engagement
ring, then find the right moment to pop the question? At work that
day, I walked over and told Candy she is friendly to me now. I
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would ask Zoey to marry me. Would she be kind enough to help
me pick out a ring at the jeweler's nearby? She smiled and said,
“Of course, Tom, but you will have to invite me to the wedding.”

I tell Candy, “Okay. Today during lunch break, okay.”

I head back to my desk, sitting. I am both nervous and

scared. At noon I gather Candy. We both walk down to the jewelry
store. On the walk, Candy asked, “how much I intend to spend?”
Good question? I tell her, “I have around $ 5,000 in my account.”
She looks at me and smiles, replies, “I will pay for the magnifying
glass Zoey will need.”

I reply with, “It‟s the thought, not the

cost?” She laughs and says, “Ha ha.”

As the salesperson approached, Candy says we want to find

an engagement ring that is simple, not costly, between five
thousand. The salesperson replies it limits our choices. After
showing us several rings, one catches Candy‟s attention. She yells
out, “She will love that one. It is unique and simple”. I purchase on
the spot. Given an extraordinary box with the ring, we both head
back to the office. Candy is please she could help me.

That evening, I head to my meeting and can‟t wait to tell

Jack of my plans and, of course, the members. Arriving home later,
I take Kelly aside and tell her my engagement plan. She is excited
for me and says, “I am making the right choice. When will I ask?”
Maybe tonight at dinner or tomorrow, we will see. The
conversation was going well, and we were all in a good mood
around eight-thirty. Kelly keeps saying, “Dad, Dad, now.”

I reach in my pocket at the table, look Zoey straight in the

eyes, and say, “Zoey, I love you so very much, will you marry

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me?” and open the box.

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Kelly yells, “Do it, do it.”

I know it was not the most romantic proposal, but that is all
I have. Zoey cries and hugs me with a “Yes, yes.” She says, “The
ring is beautiful.” I am feeling like one lucky son of a bitch.

Kelly and I stay seated at the table. Zoey is hurriedly on her

cell phone, calling her mom, friends, giving them the surprising
news. Kelly says, “Dad, I am proud of you.”

Around 11 pm, we all head to bed. Soon as my head hits

the pillow, Zoey is on top of me, kissing and telling me, “This is
the happiest moment of her life.”

Dozing off, I look at the ceiling and smile, thinking to

myself, “I still have a secret about Dad I could never speak about,
ever.” That thought brings back the images of Dad drowning in the
tub and what I did. I tell Zoey I have a headache and grab an Aleve
PM to help me sleep. If I were not in such a good place, this would
drive me to have a drink. I am working extremely hard to stay
sober to obtain my six-month chip soon. The following day it is a
happy household, Kelly getting ready for school and me for work,
Zoey still calling friends about our engagement. As the elevator
doors open, Candy says, “Did you ask her?” “I did, and the answer
is yes, and she loved the ring.” During the morning, my fellow
employees would stop by and congratulate me.

When Mr. Quackenbush arrives, he too came over and said,

“I am thrilled for you, Tom.”

That evening I told the AA group and Jack my good news.

Jack stands and faces the group and says, “As Jack‟s sponsor, I
will take some credit for this happy event taking place” The group
all stands and applauded him. Without Jack and the fellow
members, I could not have turned my life around. This moment

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took almost

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forty years to achieve. Arriving home that evening, I tell Zoey all
the exciting events from work and AA that transpired.

At dinner, Zoey tells me that the detectives came by today

to inform her they are still looking into this investigation, and it is
not closed. One detective told Zoey they are still not satisfied with
the needle‟s entry point. While lying in bed that night, I tell Zoey I
want to go back to the Chicken Horse Casino and ask around about
Stewart. Zoey says, “Leave it to the police.”

However, I thought to myself. I owe it to Stewart to check

this place one more time. The next day, during my lunch break, I
drive over to the casino, enter, and walk into the poker lounge.
Showing a photo of Stewart on my cell phone, I stop several
employees asking “if they know Stewart.” Several remember his
face playing card but not personally. “Yes, he was a regular.
Why?”

Next stop the bar, and I receive the same responses there as
well. He would sit by himself and drink quietly and leave.

Walking back to my car, I am approached by a security

guard, asking, why am I asking the questions about a casino
patron? I tell him, “He has died.” The security guard responds,
“The police were recently asking as well. It would be best if you
left things alone and left. Well, that takes care of my detective
work. I guess the police will do a better job than I would.

That evening, no meeting and home early. During dinner,

Zoey asked, “when will this marriage take place and where?”

I tell her it is up to her.

She says, “In two weeks, at the farm cabin.”

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I say, “Great.”

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Kelly says she wants to help with everything.

Zoey says she had called Aunt Mary and Uncle Pete today.
They agreed it would be fine. Zoey plans on a small group of
people, twenty-five or thirty. Kelly suggests, “We can make it a
country wedding with haystacks and flowers. We can all wear farm
and county clothes.”

Great, I won‟t have to rent a tux.

Zoey asks whom I want to invite. I tell her Jack and friend,
Alberto and wife, Marvin, my attorney and wife, and Candy and
her date, my boss Mr. Quackenbush and his wife, and Judy and
friend. Zoey asked, “Why Candy?”

I tell her she is an exceptional person from our office, and I

promised her an invitation. Zoey says, “Well, that‟s ten or twelve.
Fine, I guess we will increase the size to thirty-six. What about
your mother?”

Kelly says, “Yes, she has to come.”

The following two weeks, the ladies take care of

everything; I will have to show up. Just the way I like it. The next
several days, there were invitations, phone calls. Zoey and Kelly
drove up to meet with Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary. Zoey says they
were thrilled that they never had a wedding at the farm before.
Things were cruising along smoothly.

I make a call to Mom to invite her. She declined the invite

and wished me well, and she was not ready to make the Phoenix
trip yet. Her bones ached—understandable at her age. I‟m thinking
to myself, “after the wedding, not much will change.” We are both
working our jobs, living at the house as a family, still maintaining
our current life. Zoey will become Zoey Richards, how excellent.

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The next several week's coast by quickly. I am now working on my

seven-month AA chip. The office is busy as usual before I know it
the wedding will be here in two days. That evening at dinner, I ask
Zoey and Kelly, “if there is anything I can do to help.” They
replied, “Keep out of the way and show up.”

I have every intention of showing up; I want this marriage

to happen, and this will be the defining moment in my life, the one
I have gone to AA all these months to obtain. The one that has
brought my daughter back to me and motivated me to give up
alcohol. I am beyond grateful. The weeks passed quickly.

The afternoon before the event, we all drive up to spend the

night. We take care of any last-minute items on the list for
tomorrow. Zoey and Kelly, along with Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary,
have created a beautiful setting. A large arch made with hay, straw,
and flowers. Sitting in the middle of an area of ground covered
with straw. The chairs, placed in a circle around the spectacular
arch where we will stand.

Kelly will be Zoey‟s maid of honor, and Jack will be my

best man. Off to one side are several tables where drinks and food
will be placed for our guests. When I say drinks, I mean soft
drinks. This wedding will be a non-alcoholic wedding, and I am
sure all will understand. Like the saying, „out of sight, out of
mind.‟ That evening we have dinner with Pete and Mary up at their
house. As I look around the kitchen, I see piles of desserts, baskets
of bread, foods ready to be cooked, all kinds of soft drinks, and of
course, my favorite diet coke. Aunt Mary asks, how I like the
wedding arrangement? I tell her, “How could I not? It is a beautiful
display for a special event.”

Uncle Pete says, “Kelly was a big help in building the

wedding arch.” He would not have been able to do it himself.
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Mary has us all seated around the table and getting ready to
say grace. Tonight she starts with a, “Thank you, Lord, for having
Tom join our family. May Zoey, Tom, and Kelly have a wonderful
life together. A special thank you for giving me a granddaughter,
amen.”

Tonight we have our pasta dinner with Aunt Mary‟s special

meatballs and salad. We all eat light saving room for the feast
tomorrow. After dinner, the three of us head down to the cabin.
The women have lots of cleaning up to do, deciding on nail polish
color for hands and toes: hairstyles and the rest. For me, in the
morning, I need a shower, jeans, boots and a cowboy hat. As I
retire to bed and Zoey joins me, I hug her close and tell her how
happy I am we will be married and eliminate that horrible vision.
Now I hug Zoey tight and close my eyes for the night, and the
awfulness disappears.

Wedding day starts with the call of the roaster from the
chicken coop as I open my eyes. When I first arrived in Phoenix in
the motel, I think back to when I got there, not knowing how, and
the hangover from drinking. Today I know where I am and have a
clear head. Kelly calls from her room, “Daddy, are you up?”

I answer, “Yes.”

She yells, “I could not sleep thinking about the excitement

that is going to happen today.”

As we all wake, we decide on having a light breakfast here

at the cabin, some coffee, and bagels. Zoey calls Mary, tells her she
will stay in this morning and relax and prepare for the day. While
eating, we hear barking on our front porch. Max wanted to come in
and visit. Kelly opens the door and gives Max a big hug, and he
runs around the room like he has not seen us in days. After his

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dramatic entrance, he positions himself down next to Kelly at the

side of her kitchen chair. I think to myself. Kelly is going to wind-
up wanting her dog soon.

It is 9 am, sunny and brisk out, and I decide to take a walk

around the farm to relax and think about myself. First, I head to the
barn and visit the three horses, and I notice they are eating oats,
meaning Uncle Pete has been here already. As I walk in, the horses
start to look up at me as if to say, “who is this guy?” I walk to the
pasture where the cows and steers are grazing. Thinking to myself,
“I have been up at the farm half a dozen times and never walk over
to see the animals.” Walking through the tranquil assemblage of
wildlife grazing, I start to feel what Pete likes and the sensations of
being around them. Peacefulness.

Each one was busy grazing on its own, looking satisfied

and healthy. Walking through the accumulation, the animals never
gave me a second look, and I guess I was no threat to them. I
noticed there were about six cows. The rest were steers, I think? I
am going to have to ask Uncle Pete what the difference is. A cow, I
know, you can milk them. Fantasizing, maybe one day I would live
in a peaceful environment like this with no worries, office work,
and no traffic. I know we would all love it. Besides, the nice thing
about Flagstaff, AZ, they have four seasons. It is not always hot for
six months like down in Phoenix. Walking back to the cabin, I
stopped at the chicken coop and remembered my snake incident.
That afternoon, the encounter had my heart pumping quickly.
Besides, I was lucky I did not sustain a snake bite.

Arriving back at our cabin, I walked past the wedding

location and had to look twice at the beautiful environment that the
family prepared. I sit on the front porch and think that I was an
unhappy alcoholic individual living in a cracker box condo in San
Francisco, drinking day in and day out and experiencing total
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mental blackouts less than a year ago. Now I will have a wife in
several hours, two homes, my daughter living with me, a job I
enjoy, and friends and family. What I am most gratified about, in a
few months, I will receive my one-year Alcoholics Anonymous
chip.

I wonder whether if my father had all the opportunities I

have had recently, would he have been different? Would he have
treated Mom and me differently? On that thought, I walk back into
the cabin. Both Kelly and Zoey are busy as bees. I lay down on the
sofa, put my hands behind my head and enjoy the activity and love
within these walls. Mary asked some of her friends to help prepare
the food, serve the guests, and help with the cleanup. How could
you say no to Aunt Mary?

Several hours before our ceremony, about noon, I receive

an extraordinary call from Jack on my voicemail, telling me he is
incapable of coming to the wedding. Come again, my best friend,
my best man, my sponsor, unable to come? I tell Zoey about the
call. She also thought that was strange. Zoey tells me Uncle Pete
would be more than happy to be your best man today. Just ask him.
Before I know it, 2 pm was approaching, and so was the guest. The
first to arrive was Alexia, Zoey‟s mom, who was happy to see her
brother Pete. Next up was the minister from Mary and Pete‟s
church who wanted to speak to us about the ceremony getting facts
for his presentation. Next up, three cars pull in. Others followed.
Zoey was in the cabin dressing with Kelly‟s help for her grand
entrance in cowgirl wear. Mary had hired a four-piece western
band for dancing and music during the ceremony the guys were
setting up. Of course, Uncle Pete had two positions to fill, giving
Zoey away and the second being the best man. Pete came up next
to me and said softly, “You owe me big time, Tom.”

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Mary called for the family and guest to please be seated,

and the guests occupy all the chairs. As the minister walks under
the straw-arch, an unusual silence happens, and all that is now
perceived in the background are the farm animals. The minister
says, “Let us begin.” I stand under the arch to his left, looking out
at my friends and new relatives. I smile and think to myself, they
all look ridiculous in their western outfits, too late now to make a
change. I am sure they thought I looked like a jerk in jeans, a red
checkered shirt, oversize cowboy boots, with a large white western
hat. I am no Roy Rogers, that is for sure. The music starts. Kelly
comes walking down the aisle, looking beautiful. I am very proud
that it is my daughter. For thirteen years old, she looks twenty. A
silence happens, and the western group plays Here Comes the
Bride. With a big smile, Uncle Pete holds Zoey‟s arm and walks
her down to the arch.

I look at Zoey and cannot believe how beautiful she looks.

Her long red hair is up in a bun, and her green eyes stand out like a
jungle cat, her red lips almost glow. Uncle Pete hands her over to
me and, with his usual sense of humor, says, “Here, no returns.”
The rest of the ceremony was routine. We both say our „Yes, I
do‟s and kiss the bride, and the ceremony was over. We walk back
down the straw path; the guests stand and yell and are applauding
loudly. I thought to myself, and I am married. I am feeling ecstatic,
and I now have a reason for self-discipline and worthwhileness in
my life. This day will live on in my mind forever.

After the ceremony, all head to the food and drinks table,
with Mary‟s friend serving many dishes. Including barbequed
steaks, ribs, chicken and shrimp, baked potatoes, vegetables, and
biscuits. It was a real western jamboree. We danced and joked and
had a great time. Zoey‟s mom came up to me, handed me a sealed
envelope, and requested that I not open it until Zoey was alone
with me this evening.
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I agreed. Everyone came up and congratulated us. When

Candy and her lady friend approached looking stunning, Zoey said,
“Wow, you are a beautiful young lady. No wonder Tom wanted
you here.”

Candy says, “I just love your ring.”

Zoey said, “Me too.”

Kelly gave me a big hug and kiss and said, “I love you,
Daddy.”

I have my little girl back, and I am proud.

My boss Quackenbush and his wife were such friendly

people and loved Mary‟s company. I took my plate and sat on a
chair next to Kelly, thinking about Jack‟s failure to show. It was
almost a perfect day, as I missed him. I reach for my cell phone
and try calling him, to no avail. I receive his voice- mail, leaving
him a message that Zoey and I missed him today and wished he
could have been part of this beautiful event.

As the sun starts to go down and the air turns brisk, most of
the guests start to head back to their cars to depart for the two-hour
ride back home. The five of us sit on our front porch to rest. Aunt
Mary takes her shoes off, Uncle Pete unbuttons his pants, Zoey
puts her head on my shoulder, and Kelly hugs Max. Who could ask
for a more lovely day? Mary‟s friends clean up the area and the
massive pile of dishes in the upper farmhouse kitchen. Mary says
we are now one official family.

Uncle Pete says, “I am going to sleep like an old log

tonight.”

I add to the conversation, “Me too.”

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Pete says, “I will call it a day.” He and Mary stroll up the

hill to the main house.

Upon leaving, Pete says, “Tom, I have a wedding present

for you; tomorrow, you are getting up at six and feeding the
horses.”

Kelly yells out, “I want to do it. Okay.”

The horse flies and mosquitos start to bite as dusk

approaches. All three of us decide to go into the cabin for the night.
I light a small fire following Pete‟s instruction and open the flue.
The heat from the flames immediately fills the room. Sitting next
to me on the sofa, Zoey and I are facing each other. I say, “Your
mom gave me this and said not to open it until we are alone.”

“Okay, we are alone. Open it.” Zoey takes the thick

envelope and tears the end off, slides the papers out to take a look.
Knowing Alexia, it could be anything, perhaps a lawsuit? Zoey,
let‟s out an OH MY GOD! I ask with great expectation, “What is
it?” She says Mom gave me complete ownership of Scottsdale‟s
family gallery and a little something for us to get started. I ask,
“What?” Zoey hands me a check for one hundred thousand dollars
as a wedding gift.

I look at Zoey and say, “Are you kidding me? Mom must
be thrilled for us, and now she must accept me. How great is that?”
I don‟t make that much money in a year as an accountant.

Kelly hears us, runs over, saying, “We are rich, plus the art
gallery ownership. We are millionaires.” Kelly is jumping up and
down like a thirteen-year-old would do when excited.

We are in the car and head back to Phoenix. While driving,

the only thing on my mind is what happened to my friend Jack. Is
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he all right? Tomorrow I will start my quest for Jack, and this is so

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unlike reliable Jack‟s behavior the past year. He was always the
rock for Stewart and me.

Monday morning at work, I receive all the congratulations

again. I may get an award for the most congratulations in the last
two weeks. At noon I drive over to Jack‟s apartment, ringing the
bell several times, trying to look through the windows. Nothing. I
try to open a window. However, I am approached by the building
manager, questioning my motive. I tell him I am looking for Jack.
He declines my request to open the door. The next stop for me is
The Chicken Horse Casino, and there is a possibility he could have
gone there. I just had an instinct.

After parking my car in the once again crowded parking lot,

I walk in, and I see the same security guard as before at the
entrance when I was looking for Stewart. I show him Jack‟s photo
and ask have you seen this guy? He says, “No, but why do you
keep losing friends here.” A real smart-ass guy! He tells me to be
discreet while looking around and do not disturb the players”. I
went to the bar and showed Jack‟s photo to several employees, but
I know Jack does not drink. No one saw him. If they did, they
probably would not tell me, ha, a friendly group of employees.

Next, I walk over to the casino and card room. Jackpot,

several dealers, had seen him last week betting profoundly on the
games and flashing lots of cash. That was strange, and Jack does
not have lots of money. He lives on disability payments. Well, he
was seen a few days ago, that is good news. Heading back to work
for the day thinking, I will ask the AA group tonight if anyone has
seen him, or who knows, he may show up at the meeting tonight?

As I arrive at the AA hall, no Jack, I bring up Jack‟s

actions at the meeting not showing up at my wedding ceremony.
We all agreed it is not like him. One member suggested
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“checking the

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Scottsdale Hospital and the surrounding medical centers,” a good

idea. When I get home tonight, I will make calls to a few of the
centers around here. Now I am apprehensive about his well-being.
Zoey says, “He will show up. Could it be he fell off the wagon and
is on a drinking binge?”

Yes, that could happen when you are an alcoholic, but he

would have called me for help. He is my sponsor. We watch some
TV for a while, and all retire to bed. But the Jack situation weighs
heaving on my mind. I cannot let it go so quickly. Tomorrow I will
resume my search and quest to find Jack. I will stop by Antonio‟s
restaurant and see if he had come in or ran into Jack. Maybe he
may have a clue where I could find him? That night I was restless,
feeling I lost a great friend but did not know how? I am feeling like
a private eye searching for a missing person.

The following day, just I was about to leave for work

around 8:30 am, the doorbell rings. It is the same two detectives
that were here several weeks ago investigating Stewart and the
mysterious needle injection; I open the door, and they ask to come
in and speak with Zoey and me. I welcome them both in and sit at
the kitchen table, saying, well, “what‟s up?” We wanted to let you
know we found the person responsible for Stewart‟s death. Zoey
and I say wonderful. Then the shock of all times, it was Jack.
What? We found his fingerprints on the needle and the potassium
chloride bottle. We ask, “How could Jack have killed Stewart, his
best friend?”. He knew where Stewart kept his gambling cash in
the closet. He must have surprised Stewart and injected him,
making it look like a self-induced suicide, and stole the money
about twenty-five thousand dollars.

I was in shock, and Zoey could not believe it as well. The

situation did not add up. If Jack needed money, Stewart would
have loaned it to him without a second thought. The detective says,
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“money makes people do strange things.” They both go on to tell

us that Jack had a police record and had spent a year in jail at one
time for robbery in another state. That is how they found the
fingerprint match by his police records. They tell us Jack is
currently held in the Scottsdale Jail. The charges are “premeditated
murder charges with no bail.” Sitting at the table, I say to Zoey,
“What the fuck?” I have to visit him and find out what happened?
Zoey says that in today‟s culture, you really cannot know people.
They seem friendly and can be killers, even your best friend.
Driving to work, I thought about what Zoey said, and she is right.
Zoey does not know I am a killer as well. I live with that every
day. When I arrive at the office, I tell Mr. Quackenbush what
transpired and asked if I could have the afternoon off. He agreed.

After lunch, I head over to the jailhouse and request to see

Jack. What a cluster fuck trying to get in. Security guards, body
scanning, empty pockets, identification, and asking the inmate if
they will see the guest. I sat in the waiting area for over an hour
before they brought me into the lock-up room, just like in the
movies, a glass wall, and a phone to communicate. I see Jack
coming out of a secure door with handcuffs on, looking very
troubled. He sits down and looks at me sheepishly, both picking up
the phones to speak. I say, “Jack, what the hell happened?”

His first words, “Tom, I am very sorry I could not control

myself.”

“Did you kill Stewart? Why?”

“Tom, I have always been jealous of him. Everything

always came easy for Stewart. Family money, not working, new
cars, living well, I always had to bust my ass for everything.”

“Was there something you wanted?”

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“No, just the need to try his lifestyle.”

The whole family is taking this outcome intensely. Zoey

and Alexia are confused.

“Why, Jack, why? You‟ve destroyed your life for some

money Stewart would have given you willingly. Did you drink?”

“No”

“How can I help you at this point?”

“Do you have a reasonable attorney you can recommend?

Not just the family attorney, he will be prosecuting me.”

“Jack, I don‟t think the family will look positively at my

helping you in this situation. There is nothing I can do but pray for
you, my friend. Zoey will not look fondly at me seeing you
anymore or speaking with you. I guess our friendship is over. Sorry
to say Jack, and I will say goodbye and good luck to you.”

Jack looks at me as I walk away. Tears run down his face—

what a miserable ending for both Stewart and Jack. Driving home,
I feel the anguish in my heart, not just for both of them, but for me
also losing yet another dear friend. I almost feel guilty that my life
is going so well. It did not take long for the family and friends to
pass the word around quickly. As they say, bad news travels fast.
Jack was the topic of conversation the rest of the week. That night
at my AA meeting, I told the group about Jack and my feelings, all
well surprised and upset. Jack was one of our own. I‟m asked what
I will do for a sponsor? I tell the group, “I feel I can handle my
addiction on my own now, it has been almost a year, and I feel
strong.” Ironical-ly, that night, I received my one-year chip for
sobriety.

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That evening at home, I told Zoey I was asked what I

would do for a sponsor and told her my reply to the group. She
thought I made the wrong decision, and I should have some
support, especially now. Kelly adds her opinion also, agrees with
Zoey. I was depressed that evening and retired to bed early.

Lying there, starting to close my eyes, I again see the vision

of Dad‟s drowning face in the tub. My God, is this horror coming
back? The image has been gone for over several months now. My
heart starts to beat faster. Sweat forms on my face and forehead,
beginning to feel like I am having an anxiety attack. I call Zoey to
the bedroom to explain what is happening. She hugs me close and
says, “I am sure you feel this way because of what happened with
Stewart and Jack.”

Zoey does not know the truth about my past and dad. She
was holding me and trying to calm me down; I am feeling like a
kid again when Mom would soothe me after one of Dad‟s
frightening outbursts. Zoey tells me we should go up to the cabin
this coming weekend, where it is peaceful. It would be good to get
away from all these distractions and stress, I agree.

In the morning, Zoey heads to the gallery for several

appointments with artists, wanting to show their works. She is
excited about preparing for a new show in a few weeks. This show
will keep her mind busy. Kelly will go after school to the gallery to
help her organize and organize an exhibition. Kelly is enjoying the
art world with Zoey, and they have both bonded significantly. At
work on my cell phone, I receive a call from Kay, Kelly‟s mom,
asking me “when Kelly will be coming home?” I tell her, “I do not
know, and you have to ask Kelly.” Kay tells me that Kelly has sent
her a message “telling her she will not return to San Francisco, a
few days ago.” I feel like I am shoveling shit against the tide with
these two.

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That evening at dinner, I ask Kelly what is going on with

her mom. “Your mom called me today?” Kelly snaps back, “I
don‟t want to know her anymore. Do you realize she has not called
me in months? She is too busy with that asshole boyfriend.”

I say again, “She wants you to go back home.”

Kelly says, “That is not happening. I enjoy my life here

with you both and love the farm, and there is nothing for me in San
Francisco. I‟m not too fond of the city.”

I ask what we should do? I tell Kelly I want her to stay, but
I don‟t want Kay going crazy on me. Kelly states she is going to be
fourteen years of age, she can decide for herself. I am building up
anxiety, having work, AA, the Stewart, and Jack issue, now my ex-
wife and dealing with her anger again.

I can see where this is going, a lot of pressure and stress,

and I will need some help during this time. I do not want to fall
back into drinking to relieve the stress and destroy my life. Next
meeting, I will ask for help to get a sponsor: about 7:30 pm, the
doorbell rings. Kelly answers the door, and to our surprise, it is
Alexia, Zoey‟s mom. She never comes to visit. It must be an
essential issue to bring her out, and she comes barreling in like a
stampede of cattle. “I want to talk to both of you.”

Before she an opportunity to let loose, I say, “Mom, I want

to thank you again for the most wonderful wedding gift you gave
Zoey and me.”

That caught her off guard and deflated the balloon a bit.
Stopping for a second to catch her breath, Alexia comes out with,
“I want you to know I do not want to hear the name Jack or that
you two are helping him after what he did to your brother. I will
disown you both.”
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Chapter Ten: Mom’s Visit

Z
oey says, “Mom, we understand. Tom and I have
already talked about this.”

Next topic.

“When is Tom‟s mom coming out to

Phoenix?” Zoey says, “Next week.”

“Great, I want to make some plans to take her to the

country club for dinner one night with all of you. Please give me a
date.”

Zoey responds with, “I will.”

After her thirty-minute electrifying visit, she leaves. She is

a captivating lady. I say to Zoey with all that has been going on,
and I forgot Mom would be her next week. Wow, another nail in
the coffin. Friday night comes quickly. I pack my supplies for the
drive up early tomorrow morning for our peaceful, unwinding
weekend at our cabin. While driving up, Kelly brought up the
subject of grandma coming in a few days and asked if we will take
her up to meet Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary. I look at Zoey, and she
replies, “Sure we are.”

On this trip, we drive straight to the cabin, slowly passing

the main house. On the porch is Uncle Pete sleeping with Max at
his side. As we unpack the car, Aunt Mary strolls down. Kelly runs
up to her, hugs her hello. Kelly walked with Aunt Mary to the
chicken coop and gathered some eggs for breakfast. They split the
dozen or so freshly laid brown eggs.

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Mary walks back to the main house, and Kelly runs

excitedly into the barn to see the horses. She immediately fills
three feed bags with oats, and she now knows the horses enjoy
eating the special treat oats. Kelly slowly puts a rope lead on each
horse and walks them to the corral to let them run freely. She fills
the old wood water container with fresh cold water. All three
horses come over for a drink.

Kelly loves the sound of their sizeable tongues splashing in

the water rhythmically as she sits on the corral railing with her
head in her hands, daydreaming about something, probably that she
will ride a horse today. I walk up to keep Uncle Pete company. As
I step onto the porch, max barks, and Pete wakes, saying, “Well,
what do we have here, the weekend cowboy? ”I reply, “Good
morning, Uncle Pete. You sleep a lot on this porch?”

He replies, “Hell, if you were up at 4 am each day, you

would be sleeping a lot as well.”

“Uncle Pete, I would like to learn more about you. Can we

have a chat?”

“Go at it, cowboy.”

“Pete, have you always been a farmer?”

Pete replies, “I was not, just the past damn forty years,
before that, I worked the for the utility company until we both
turned thirty-five.” “For fifteen years, we lived a fast and stressful
life and saved all we can. How fast the time went.”

“However, we both hated our work in the crowded city,

traffic, and rushing every day. When we moved, I remember that
day like yesterday. I was twenty feet up on an electric pole, the rain
and wind pounding in my face. It was damn cold. I reach for an

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electric line to repair; the fucking wind snapped the line. A 50,000-
watts struck me, jolted me off the ladder, fell to the street. I woke
up in an ambulance with a broken ankle. That year I was laid up
for three months.

Mary nursed me back to health, taking time off from work.

“The following year, Mary became pregnant. We were delighted
beyond expectations, then the second major event in our lives is
when Mary lost the baby, it was so painful for the both of us. The
doctors told her she could never have a child again. The
disappointment was a horror, and we wanted kids, but it could not
happen.” We decided the city was not for us and wanted a simple
life. That is when we decided to move west and found this farm in
Flagstaff, Arizona. Mary bonded with her niece Zoey and always
treated Zoey as her daughter. Anything else?”

“Ya, but why a farmer?”

“As a kid, I loved tractors and farm animals. My parents

would take me to a local kid‟s petting farm. What a thrill, chasing
goats, ducks, touching the animals. I always wanted to be a farmer
and wear jeans, overalls, and a straw hat. Cows, horses, and cattle
were my dream. When we first purchase the farm, we had some
excellent help, and you meet them, Montgomery and Floyd, the
guys that build your cabin.”

I said to Pete that I would like to have a laid-back life and

live on a farm in my fantasy world. Now that we are spending time
up here, I love it.” As we finish speaking, the girls arrive in time to
make a farm breakfast, eggs, pancakes, sausage, and coffee. During
breakfast, Kelly asked Uncle Pete if he would help her learn to ride
today. The answer was sure. Mary says I love having you guys up
here. Why don‟t you move up? I tell Mary, “Pete and I were just
talking about living on a farm.” Kelly blurts out, “Can we,
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Daddy?” After the kitchen is cleaned, we all head to the barn and

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corral to watch Kelly ride a horse. For her, it was like a kid
learning to drive a car. Instruction time, Pete instructs Kelly to take
the rope-lead to bring the horse to the fence where the saddles are
resting. Step one is completed.

Next, Pete shows her how to put the harness on—pulling it

over the horse‟s head and the bits in his mouth. The harness is
attached to the horse's reins to stop and turn him. Next up, you
need to brush the horse‟s back and the horse blanket to ensure
there is nothing attached that might hurt or irritate the horse. On
top of the blanket, place the saddle and secure the principal cinch
around the horse. Kelly now finds it is not a simple task, and it
takes time and some strength.

We all enjoy a delicious dinner cooked by Mary. With our

bellies filled, we sit on the front porch eating homemade apple pie.
Kelly heard down to the barn again, and we all sit and talk. Pete
has something to talk about and would like us to all gather around.
There is complete silence on the porch. Uncle Pete starting to
speak while looking at Aunt Mary, starts to say, “You all know
Mary and I are seventy-five years old. We are getting up there in
age. I want to take it easy one day soon and sleep late to about 8
am. I am tired of the work and rising early. But I will be God-damn
if I have to sell this farm, that will not happen.” “Tom, now that
you made the right step and married my favorite niece, I want to
know if I drop dead, will your help Mary keep this farm going? I
reply sure “Uncle Pete, why where are you going?” sarcastically!
“Mary and I talk about this several times when we are dead. I don‟t
want some fucking stranger living here. I want Zoey, you, and
Kelly to live and run this place, okay?

It won‟t cost you guys a penny, and the farm will be your
inheritance from both of us. Just find me a nice fucking place
under a cool tree to bury us, and come down and visit once in a
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while.” Zoey said with a tear in her eye, “I hope that day does not
come, but if it does, we are here for you.” Mary speaks out, let‟s
have some cake, and we do. Kelly comes and sits next to me and
asks, “is Uncle Pete dying?” There is silence on the porch
momentarily as the girls walk into the kitchen. No one knows what
to say, just dead silence.

That evening while in bed, my mind is again full of

philosophies. Wow, this would be a fantastic place to retire and
live. Then again, we don‟t want to see Mary and Pete die. At their
age, who knows, they may live another twenty years or more.
Tonight, I fall to sleep with no visions of Dad‟s drowning face, and
I feel at peace again. Before dropping off, I kiss Zoey and say,
“You know what? This would be a great place to live, with no
stress, no city crowds, no noise, and a low profile.” Zoey says, “we
will talk about it at another time. I am tired, and that was the end of
the conversation for tonight. Goodnight!”

At breakfast, Mary suggests that Zoey and Kelly go for a

ride with Uncle Pete. Tom and Mary will stay at home to get to
know each other more. The decision was unanimous. The three
head down to the barn, Mary says, there goes Grandpa, his
daughter, and granddaughter. Aren‟t they special? Mary knows my
mom is coming to town in a few days and wants to learn more
about her, so we sit and talk. She asked how Mom handled the fact
that my dad died drowning in the bathtub, a subject I do not want
to discuss, but I owe Mary some answers. I think to myself, “I have
to make up some good shit now.” Tell me what happened to your
dad. I tell Mary I have to start this story from the beginning. “Dad
was an alcoholic and would continually be intoxicated.

When he would come home at night, he would yell, curse,

and push Mom and me around. One night, he started abusing Mom
badly. I had to take her to the hospital for her injuries. Dad was

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never a happy person. He likes to sit in the hot bathtub while drunk
and soak some oil and grease off from work. One night he must
have blacked out and slid underwater and drowned. I found him
and called the police.” “Mom loved him despite his behavior, why
I don‟t know.” “I often wonder what kind of childhood my father
had? He never spoke of his past. I know as a young man he was in
the Korean war. I know he resented me for as long as I could
remember until his death”. “How did your mom take his death?”

“She missed him deeply” Were you and Mom close, “We
were of a time until I went off to college, then we lost touch.”
Mary said, “How sad.” Mary says how happy she is now that Zoey
found someone respectful to love.

She continues, “Pete is very sincere about the farm. He

would not leave the farm to anyone else but Zoey and now you.” I
tell Mary how much I enjoy being here and how Kelly is ecstatic
about the farm. Mary says to me, you “have a wonderful young
lady there, and she loves you so much” Hearing that my daughter
loves me from another person brings a tear to my eye. I tell Mary
that both Zoey and Kelly make up my life. They keep me going
strong and give me a feeling of self-worth. Mary says to me. “that
she is happy for me and says a pray each night for all of us.” Thank
goodness that conversation is over.

We head home on Sunday, anticipating my mom coming in

two days. The two days fly by, and before I know it is Wednesday
morning, I took the day off from work for the airport run, and
Kelly skipped school with our permission. Kelly is thrilled to meet
her grandmother for the first time. Zoey is happy she will get to
meet your Mom. I am petrified something might go wrong. On
Wednesday morning, we all drive to Sky Harbor Airport, a short
twenty-minute ride to pick up Mom. Her arrival gate was nearby.
We waited for the plane to start de-boarding, as Mom will depart
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the aircraft first with her walker. She is out quickly. Zoey identifies
her with a smile from ear to ear, like a child on her first pony ride.
They greet with a hug and hello, hugs and kisses. Off to pick up
her bags at the luggage carousel to start their drive to the house. On
the way, Mom talked continuously about how new everything was
and how wonderful it was to meet Zoey. What a beautiful woman
she is, and Kelly, her granddaughter, a work of art. I am happy
they got to meet.

As we pulled into the driveway, Mom was shocked. Mom

sees a large, clean, new bright house with a swimming pool, and
she thought it was a mansion. Mom was exhausted from the five-
hour trip sightseeing starts after breakfast. But first, Mom wanted a
sit-down talk with Kelly about the school, boyfriend, girl talk.
Today we are going to take her to the mall for lunch and view the
new stores. Then it started! Mom complained about the food, and it
had too much salt. The gravy had grease, and the potatoes are
soggy. The mall music was too loud. The mall was too cold—more
than enough walking for her. “Why do you have so many soups,
crackers, glasses?” The biggest complaint today was, why is the
counter so high? My tolerance level was depleting. My head was
throbbing from all this. Was she this way with Dad when I was a
kid? It was something I would not ask her and never noticed
before. Could it be her age, seven-five?

The following day Zoey headed off to work after having a

good egg breakfast. Mom and I went outside to sit around the
patio, look at the pool before I was off to the office. We started
talking about old family gatherings. But I could not get a word into
the conversation. She would ramble and complain nonstop. For
her, the sun was too bright, and it was too hot. How could you live
like this? Question after question came at me in rapid-fire. Was she
this way with Dad? Maybe that is why he drank so much?

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My nerves, after just a day were making my body shake. I

thought to myself, and I need a drink to calm down. I battled with
that thought for almost an hour, trying to subdue the urge. I was
almost losing the fight. Off I go to work to relax. I stood up and
said, Mom, I will be back in a few hours. Kelly will be home from
school at 2 pm, and Zoey back from her gallery at noon. I rush out
to the car, started the motor, headed down to the office in a flash. I
never remember wanting to get to work so quickly. I know Zoey
would be home shortly. I was terrified that Mom may say
something detrimental without me there to guide the conversation.
Now I could not wait to go home. I‟m finding how hard it is to live
with lies and dishonesty. I should be a professional by now. I have
lived with lies for forty years. I walk into the house, angry and
agitated. I see Zoey sitting with Mom and Kelly, looking at old
photos of Zoey‟s childhood.

As I walked in, I tried to tell myself that starting a

disagreement with Mom was not the correct move to make, but
Mom continues her ranting. I ask Kelly was Mom like this early,
and Kelly says no, just when she sees you. I am guessing she still
has lots of anger towards me from Dad‟s death. How can I deal
with her? She has worn me down in a day and a half. I am weak
from her criticisms and complaining. Sitting, she starts on me
again. “You look just like your dad. You have the same eyes and
smile. You are good-looking like your father.” Mom comparing me
to the man I hated was irritating the hell out of me. Mom‟s
thinking I was like Dad was a dreadfulness.

I have to get out of the house, or I will explode. I hope in

the car drive to the local market. I rapidly reached for the vodka
bottle, rushed to check out, and headed straight to the car. I placed
the bottle between my shaking legs with my trembling hands. I
start to turn the bottle cap to open the vodka in the car. I held the

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bottle to my lips, ready to down it like cold water! Dear Lord, I

love the taste and the relief that will follow. I sat there disappointed
in my actions, but I stopped.

I put my head in my hands and started to breathe hard,

knowing I will dismantle my life again if I drink. When I arrived at
the house, I pull into the garage and pour the entire bottle into the
garage sink. This was one of the hardest things I had to do, and it
was cutting my heart out. As I poured the vodka into the sink, I
could smell each drop rising into my nostrils and brain. Just one
drop could ease my anxiety, but one drop would lead to another. I
took the empty bottle and had to find a place to hide it now. Zoey
or Kelly might spot it in the trash pail and not believe I dumped the
vodka out, and I would not believe it? I stand over the sink
momentarily, thinking, “Shit, why did I buy it in the first place?”

The family was still sitting outside on the patio. As I

walked in and sat in the chair next to mom, she says to me again, “I
can‟t get over how much you remind me of your father” I wanted
to drown her now as well. Saying to myself, please, mom, STOP
comparing me to my father. That was the last thing I wanted to
hear, the very last thing. I could feel the rage building up inside
me. My head was pounding. “I see myself losing control of my
mind and actions?” I grab Mom‟s hand and say to her loudly and
firmly, “Mom, please stop comparing me to dad. He is dead.” She
looks me in the eye and says, “thanks to you, son.” I am surprised
by those words. “I am speculating what the others were thinking of
that statement from Mom?” The subject changes we have dinner
and all retire to bed. Again, I feel the nervousness building. Zoey
asked, “What did your mom mean? He was dead, thanks to me?” I
quickly respond with, “I guess she figures if I got home sooner, I
could have saved him from drowning?” “Ya, you are right.”

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That close encounter sets my anxiety off that night, lying in

bed. The vision of his drowning comes back to my mind. Now, I
see myself grabbing mom and pulling her to the edge of the
swimming pool and pushing her in, walker and all. I am holding
her head underwater, as I did to Dad. She is gasping for breath,
bubbles coming to the surface of the pool, her eyes bulging. She
stops breathing. Finally, she is dead. I feel the shaking of my body
like a California earthquake. Zoey asked Tom, “Tom, are you all
right? You are dripping wet with sweat, and you are talking,
saying, “I have killed Mom.”

I sat there in bed in disbelief. What was wrong with me? I

look around the room, and everything is the same. I get up and
walk out and over to the third bedroom, open the door, and see
Mom sound asleep. It was a nightmare. It felt natural, and I had
this same feeling forty years ago. Now I needed to make up a good
story of why I have this nightmare. Laying back down on the bed, I
put my face into the pillow and start to cry, breaking down like a
child.

Zoey holds me, tells me everything will be all right, and I

fall off to sleep. Waking the following morning, Zoey says, “you
had a rough night, Tom. What happen?” I remain silent, and I
headed to the kitchen to make some coffee and have a light bite to
eat. Barely finished at 7:30 am, the rest of the family wakes and
arrives at the table. I am gathering my composure as I finish my
morning coffee. Kelly, give me a “good morning, Daddy” Zoey
comes over and hugs me, saying, your dad had a rough night. Kelly
asks why. I tell her I had some nightmares, she asks, “about what,”
I respond quickly, “I do not want to talk about it.”

Mom comes walking in, and it looks like she is wearing the
same house-coat from forty years ago, the style and color. She sits
at the table to join us in conversation and eating. Again, she looks
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at me and says, “I can‟t get over how much you look like your
dad.” I am ready to stand up and strangle her, trying to control my
emotions. I remember Dad and his dark, dead-looking eyes under
bushy, black eyebrows, lips stained from the tobacco, skinning
sick-looking body. “How can I possibly look like Dad, the most
disgusting person I have ever known?” I guess through Mom‟s
eyes. I was him. That morning while getting ready for work, I look
in the mirror while shaving and saying to myself, “No way.” I see
myself as a good-looking, tall, well-built guy, clean-shaven, and a
handsome devil. So do Zoey, Kelly, and every woman I have met. I
am trying to control myself from the anger I feel towards Mom.
Suddenly, I think to myself as I arrive at the office, “Could it be I
hated Mom also?”

The elevator door opens, and there is Candy with all her
beauty. I say good morning. She looks at me and says, „Tom, are
you all right you looked wiped out” I tell her I had a stormy night
and head to my desk. I skipped a meeting the other night and
looked forward to returning to the group, sharing my feeling, and
asking for help. That evening after work, I head straight to the AA
center. Sure miss old Jack waiting for me at the entrance. After the
usual introductions and opening, I tell the group I feel I need a
sponsor again. I tell them about Mom‟s visit and how she causes
anxiety in my life just being around her. I explain what happened
the other evening when I purchased the alcohol bottle and then
disposed of its contents. I ask for help, and I feel my defenses are
getting weak.

Our group leader John says, “Tom, I know you and your
family are going through some difficult times right now with your
previous sponsor Jack arrested and your brother-in-law Stewart
killed. Now, you are dealing with your mom and past. I would like
to offer my service to be your sponsor if you accept them.”

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I tell John, “Yes, and I can currently use your help.” We

speak some more after the meeting and exchange phone numbers.
“Please call me for anything you need.” I breathe a sigh of relief,
knowing I now have some support. After the meeting, I head home
to tell Zoey I have a sponsor again. Zoey is happy, and I eat my
dinner and head to bed. It has been a stressful day.

In the bedroom, Zoey asked, “did you tell the group about
your dream last night that you killed your mom? I tell her, “no.”
She asks, “why not”? I reply I will tell them in the future. Zoey
says “don‟t you think that dreaming you killed your mother is a
big, problem?” I remain silent.

That evening I have the same recurring dream, drowning

Mom. The pressure is on, and now I have two issues to deal with:
the fact I killed Dad and the fantasy one of killing Mom. Thinking,
Why do I want both my parents dead? Were they that distressing to
me? Mom has been spending lots of time with Zoey and Kelly. At
least that keeps her away from me. Zoey reminds me we have a
dinner meeting with Mom to meet Alexia, Zoey‟s mom, at the
county club for dinner tomorrow night. Fantastic the two crazy
mothers together.

This should be a happening I am looking forward enjoy.

The next evening after work, we all clean up, dressing nicely for
the country club. We drive to the other side of Scottsdale to meet
Alexia. Walking in, we see she is sitting at an outside table near the
golf course, with a large round table that would seat six people
with a significant, colorful umbrella shading the table. Alexia is
dressed like she was attending the queen‟s ball, a large straw hat
included. She stands and waves, and we all approach. Introductions
begin. “Mom, this is Zoey‟s mother, Alexia. They greet and hug.
Mom pushed her walker aside and sat at the table next to Alexia.

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My mom starts. We have so much to catch up on now that

your daughter is married to my Tom. Isn‟t Tom good-looking? he
looks just like his father. BOOM! She hits one right out of the
ballpark within five minutes. Alexia responds with, “yes, he is and
should be to have a wife as beautiful as Zoey. Kelly sees I am
getting disturbed, and says will you stop? They are both movie
stars.”

We place our orders, and the conversation between Mom

and Alexia is constant about both dead ex-husbands. My husband
abused me and sent me to the hospital many times, and my
husband cheated on me. On and on, they go playing one-
upmanship with each other. Who had the worst husband? I think to
myself, “who gives a shit?” For an hour, we all sat and listened to
the dreadfulness that happened to both women. Zoey suggests we
change the subject. “Alexia starts. Did you hear Tom‟s best friend
killed my son?” Fuck, another wonderful subject to discuss over
dinner. These two women loved to self-punish. I could not wait for
dessert and the meal to be over so we can leave.

On the way home, Mom was enjoying comparing both

ladies' painful pasts.

Upon arriving home, I headed to the bathroom to find

several aspirins. I take a long, hot shower and lie on the bed. Zoey
sits with me and asks, “are you all right.” I reply, “oh, just great,
and maybe we should move up north to the farm and get away
from all this shit? You think I am kidding?” Kelly knocked on our
door and asked to come in, and yes, please do. She says that was a
fun evening with both of my grandparents. I say, Kelly, go to bed,
jokingly.

The good news the week is half over—the next trip up to

the cabin for the weekend, and on Monday, Mom leaves. Saturday

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morning, all four of us head to the main house bright and early to

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have breakfast with Pete and Mary. We stop twice on the way for
Mom to use the highway rest stops to pee.

When we arrived, my mom could not believe northern

Arizona‟s beauty, with thousands and thousands of acres of
Ponderosa pines, white birch trees, and pine trees. Mom has never
been on a farm coming from the New York City area. As we arrive
and see Mary and Pete waiting again on the porch, Mom starts to
complain. “What is the terrible smell? Why does it stink up here
like shit?” I tell her it‟s the animals” “Why do they have animals
that smell that way?” Kelly tells grandma, “all the farm animals
smell like that.” “How long do we have to stay? I am getting sick.”
We park the car again with the introductions and into the house. I
tell Mary, Mom is not feeling well from the scent of the animals on
the farm; Mary says, “What smell?” I think to myself, Tom,
another cluster fuck.

We all enjoy Mary‟s breakfast, and Kelly takes Mom down

to show her our cabin and the barn. With her walker, the 100+-yard
walk is a struggle. Kelly takes Mom into the barn to show her the
horses, and she now has a covering over her nose and mouth; she
dislikes the aroma as she slowly uses her walker to enter the barn.
Mom steps in a pile of horseshit. Somehow I knew it would
happen. Mom yells at Kelly, “Get me out of this place,” so they do
the slow climb up to the house. The ladies sit in the kitchen, where
the smell of food reduces the scent of the animals.

Pete and I retire to the porch. “Uncle Pete, I want to tell you
about myself in the past. Let‟s call it a confidential confession!
“Not too long ago, I was only concern about myself and did not
care whom I hurt or used. I was a very selfish individual, always
thinking of Tom first. From the day I married Kay, I always had
family conflicts. I was angry and aggressive with her. She left me,
and I can‟t say I blame her. I was a lousy husband. My daughter

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Kelly was not important to me before, and the bottle was. This
rejection caused her to hate me. I was never there for her and a
failure as a father, any opportunity of free time I gave to drinking.
At work and when socializing, I would become belligerent-drunk,
angry, and aggressive to anyone I spoke with. My co-workers did
not like to be around me. I just offended people. Uncle Pete, when
I drank, I was also a sexually adventurous seeking woman that
drank but had erectile dysfunction, which made me angrier. After
over a year of sobriety, now I concern and worry about almost
everyone I know. The feeling of wanting to help others like me has
come out and makes me feel- good and worthwhile.

Pete says, “Tom, why are you telling me all this?” I know
alcoholics are selfish and self-centered. It could be from a shit
upbringing and abusive parents, or they were just born that way?”
“Pete, I wanted you to know everything about my current and
past,” Pete says. “Tom, I am so happy that you turned your life
around and sharing with me the difficult times you went through
and why.” “Pete, and soon I want to become a sponsor and help
addicted people turn their life around as I did with the help of my
Zoey and friend Jack.”

Pete, ”During the past year, I have learned so much about

myself and why I behaved the way I did. I now have my
daughter‟s love back, a fantastic wife in Zoey, good friends, and a
job. I have become responsible and caring, and loving, all this
because I want Zoey to love me as I love her.” Uncle Pete, “I want
you to know from my heart, if you or Aunt Mary ever need
anything, I will always be there for you. You can count on me.”
Saying, “In my past, I never had the fortune to have had a
respectable father or mother, but now I can say both you and Mary
have become my mother and father, I am grateful for all you do
and have done for both Zoey and me, and that is all I wanted to
say.”
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Uncle Pete turns his head as I see tears running down his
eyes and says, “I had no kids, but if I did, I would want my son to
be like you and a daughter like Zoey Tom.” I stand up and walk
over and hug him as his tears drip down my neck. Zoey sees us
hugging and yells out, “What going on with you two lovebirds?” I
yell back, “Uncle Pete and I are having a heart-to-heart guy talk.
The ladies come out to the porch and sit. Zoey asked what is going
on? I tell Zoey I am letting him know how much I appreciate both
him and Mary. Mom gives me a blistering look of anger and says,
“what about all I did for you keeping your secrets?” I say, “Mom, I
love you, also trying not to let the conversation move forward,
leading to Dad.

I say to all four sitting on the porch with Zoey, Kelly,

Mary, and Pete that I have been giving much thought to the farm
and the cabin. I am feeling like both of you did when you left
Washington D.C. to come here. I want a simple and peaceful life
with my family, away from the stress and temptations that led to
me drinking. So, if you both do not mind, I am considering moving
from Phoenix to the farm, helping both you and Mary, and
bringing my family to a loving and healthy location and a simpler
life. Besides, I want to learn how to ride and take care of all those
grazing cattle.” Kelly, the first to react, “I want to move here,
Daddy” Zoey was the second, saying, “I love this place and always
wanted to live here with Mary and Pete. Besides, I am tired of the
gallery and the horrendous art I have to deal with each day.

Pete and Mary say, “Our prayers will be answered with

your move. Seeing you three here would make our final years more
comfortable. Tom would learn about the farm. You both will
inherit and run it.” Pete continues, “And my loving wife Mary will
have a daughter and granddaughter she has always wanted and

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deserves all her life.” Mom adds her closing statement, saying,
“You want to live in this stink?”

After that touching discussion, Uncle Pete says, “Kelly

come on. I will take you and your dad for a ride around our land.
There is a lot you guys have not seen, and you might as well get to
know what you will be getting into in the future. Kelly and I go
down to the cabin to change our clothing. Jeans and a checkered
flannel shirt would be appropriate. Pete always wears the same
outfit, ready to ride a horse. We all meet at the barn, and he directs
us. You both will saddle your horse if you still remember how. As
we enter the barn, Pete says I will give you each a horse to become
familiar with, and by the way, they all have a name. “My baby is
called Chief.‟ I have ridden him for years, and he is accustomed to
my weight and ass.” “Kelly, you will ride Pearl. She is gentle and
only six years old. Tom, you get the big guy, Silver. He is a
difficult stallion, but you can handle him.

We all take our rope leads and remove the horses from their
stalls. Pete tells us from this day on, and when you come up, you
will care for your horse, hell I will not do your work, Kelly says,
“How fun” Bring all three horses to the corral fencing we start the
saddling process. By the time I put the horse blanket on, Pete horse
Chief is ready to go. He watches and corrects what we do. The big
struggle is Kelly trying to lift the weight of the western saddle and
its height on Pearl‟s back. It took us longer, but we could complete
our task. We all mount, and Pete says we are going to ride the
perimeter of the property. Since you guys have been coming up,
you always stay just some several hundred yards from the main
house. Let me tell you. We have a half-section of land, some 350
acres.

The horses start their walk as if they know where we were

heading at a nice, slow pace. Pete explains that the cattle wander
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around on the property. Some stay in the pasture by the barn, other
drift off to the hills and fields. Guess that is why I have never seen
the hundred or so head all in one place. Pete tells us one time, he
and Mary had as many a two-hundred-fifty steer. Being a city grow
fellow, I explain naively ask, “What is the difference between a
steer and a cow. Pete looks at me and says, “Tom, you are going to
learn a lot soon.” he goes on. “A steer is a castrated male. I reply
with, “Ouch.” When a male is born, we castrate them so they
cannot reproduce, Tom in the spring, you will be cutting their balls
off.” The steers, raised for meat. Every few years, we sell off a
hundred or so to the slaughterhouse. Kelly asked what they do with
them at the slaughterhouse. Pete replies, “You like your steaks and
hamburgers.

About ten minutes into the ride, we start to approach some

rolling hills and spot some cattle. When they spot us, they look up
and continue feeding on the grass. Walking up the hillside, we
could see back to the main house in the distance—a beautiful sight
with the intense blue sky and just a few white clouds. As we
continue along the hillside, we approach a stream about twenty feet
across. Pete tells us the stream runs all year, mainly from the snow
runoff in the mountain north.

Kelly spots several deer not too far away from drinking for
the fresh flowing water, and we stop to watch. Pete tells us that
there are dozens of deer around the property. However, he has shot
none and will not, and they are just beautiful animals. Kelly asks
Uncle Pete if there is any bear around? He replies, yes, a few, but
they fear us, and we hardly ever see them. We reach an area dense
with Pine trees, thick even for the horses, and they will have
trouble walking in. Pete says the terrain in the area is hard to
navigate. As we walk back, we see an open pasture with several

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dozen steers roaming and feeding. Pete says, „they like this spot, it
is shaded and cool.”

Several hours pass, and my ass begins to feel tender and

ache in the saddle as we head back to the barn. I tell Uncle Pete, “I
am getting the red-ass deluxe” We see the barn about several
hundred yards from where we are. Suddenly, Uncle Pete yells,
“Tom, I have a problem, puts his hand to his chest, falls forward in
the saddle, saying, “Tom, I need some help quick!” “Fuck, he has a
heart attack” “Kelly, call 911 and tell them to come to the
Pinewood Farm. We think Pete‟s having a heart attack.” Kelly
grabs her cell phone, making the call as I reach for the Chief‟s
reins, and the horses walk briskly toward the house. The fire
station is just several miles from the house. When we arrive at the
farmhouse, we can hear the serins coming from in the distance.
Zoey and Mary run out front and help dismount Pete from his
horse. We help him to the front porch floor and place him down.
Pete‟s eyes are open, and he is awake. Mary says, “Pete, hold on,
my honey” Pete rocks his head up and down, saying yes. A couple
of minutes later, two EMTs arrive in an ambulance. Gather their
gear and running onto the porch. They administer oxygen and
attach an IV to his arm with saline solution to stabilize him for the
ride to the hospital. The paramedic was asking Pete some questions
while placing him on the stretcher. We all are in shock! In the
ambulance, Mary and Pete head off to the nearest hospital in
Flagstaff, about a ten-mile ride.

I tell Mom one of us will be back soon. Please sit and watch
TV. In her sadistic way, she says to me, “you kill everyone that
wants to be your father.” As I walk to the car with Zoey, Kelly,
they both ask me, “What was that about?”

My reply was, “I have no idea.”

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The Flagstaff Medical Center is a convenient straight run

on the highway. When we arrive, Pete is in the intensive care unit
and Mary in the waiting area, saying, “the doctors are working on
him now.” “The good news is he is alive. The bad news, he will
need a medical procedure,” A very intense half-hour passes, and
the two doctors attending to Pete come out and tell us “he has had a
severe artery blockage and will need to have open-heart- surgery, a
heart bypass procedure will be required and he is stable.” Mary and
Zoey can go in and see him for a short visit. They both enter the
intensive care unit room, seeing Pete hooked up to several devices
and IVs. The doctor comes in and tells them both and the
procedure will take some three to four hours. Kelly is crying,
asking if Uncle Pete will be all right. I tell her, “he is in good hands
now. I am sure he will be fine.” The two girls come out, and it is
time for Kelly and me to visit Uncle Pete.

As we walk into the room, this is the first time Kelly and
seen anyone in an intensive care unit hooked up to all the life
support equipment. Kelly looks at Pete and turns to hug me tight,
starts crying. I tell her all that the doctors are doing will keep him
alive and get better. She can‟t look and leaves the room. I sit next
to Pete‟s bed and tell him he will be fine during the operation
tomorrow morning. All will go smoothly. “You will be back
castrating the cattle soon.” He gives me a weak smile, and I stand
up to leave his room. Pete reaches out his hand. I grip it. Then he
speaks softly, saying, “Thank you, Tom, for all you are doing and
what you will do for Mary in the future if I don‟t come out of this
tomorrow. You and Zoey, please help Mary endure and, goddamn,
take care of the farm.” I tell him, we love you, Uncle Pete. Walk
out to the waiting area to group up and head back to the farm—
nothing we can do here now. Pete is sedated for the night. The
short drive conversation was about how this happened to Pete, and
he has always been healthy?

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Arriving back at the house, Mom is sitting on the porch.

The first words out of her mouth are, “What‟s for dinner?” I think
to myself, and “mom is very self-centered. What‟s for dinner?”
She could at least ask about Uncle Pete. Mary politely says I will
heat some leftovers shortly. Mom‟s inconsiderate attitude annoys
Zoey, and she lashed out, “Mom, you can‟t open the refrigerator
and help yourself.” And so it begins, “we have been waiting on you
since you arrived. Are you helpless?” Mom gives Zoey one back,
“I come to Phoenix; you take me to a place that smells like dead
animals and stinks like hell.” Zoey gives me one of those deadly
looks but holds her tongue. After snacking, Mary calls
Montgomery and Floyd and tells them what has happened with
Pete, asks if they could come for a week to attend to the farm
chores and animals. Of course, they agree. Mom asks when we
would leave, as it is Saturday. I tell her after the operation is
tomorrow, Kelly, me, and her will return to Phoenix Sunday night.
We have school and work Monday. Zoey will stay with Aunt
Mary.

The following morning bright and early, we are all in the

hospital waiting room—the hours slowly drag. The longer we wait,
the more the anxiety builds. For me, typically, it would be a vodka
moment. However, I understand how many people are depending
on me for strength. In a small way, I felt the power of leadership
and did not need to have a drink to escape into my dark hole. I look
around the room and see all these dependent people, except for
Mom, who stayed at the farmhouse. Returning from the hospital
cafeteria after having some lunch, the surgeon comes out to inform
us everything went well. Pete will be in the hospital for about five
to seven days. Pete is going to rest for several weeks, and the
healing process is slow. Smiles come over everyone‟s face. Zoey
will stay with Mary at the hospital, and Kelly will go with me. We
will stop at the farm to pick up Mom and drive back to the Phoenix
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house. We depart and are on our way back home. Mom was all
ready to leave. She has been prepared to go since we arrived.

While driving home, Kelly is in the rear seat with her

earbuds on listening to music. Speaking low, I asked Mom what
she meant when she said, “you kill everyone that wants to be your
father.” She replies, “well, don‟t you? “Did you forget what you
did to your father?” I say, “Mom, we spoke about this when I came
back to visit, and you told me, “thank you for what I did. If I didn‟t
end Dad‟s life, you would have?” Mom says, “I just said that so
you would feel better. You destroyed my entire life the past forty
years.” But Mom, he would throw you around and beat you almost
every night? “Yes, I know, but I love him so much, and you took
that from me.”

I stop talking and start thinking while I drive, “now she

blames me. What the fuck!” When we arrive home, Mom walks
into her room and slams her door closed. Kelly retires for the night,
big school day tomorrow. I lay on the sofa and call my sponsor,
explain to him what the weekend had endured. He reinforces the
fact, “Tom, you are doing great hang in there. If you need me
tonight, call.”

While in bed trying to fall asleep, the visions of Dad flash

in front of my eyes even worse, the guilt that I destroyed Mom‟s
life compound the night. I am becoming extremely anxious, and
my body and hands start to shake. I can‟t call Zoey to tell her about
my conversation, nor could I tell my sponsor of my past deeds. I
walk from my bed to the garage and start looking where I left that
bottle of vodka, and I remember I threw it away and could find
nothing. This frustration compounded my anxiety, so I pick up my
cell phone and call my sponsor. He asked for my address and said
he would be there in fifteen minutes. The doorbell rings. I have
some support now. He wondered what set this off, and I had to lie

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to him, saying, “my mom blames me for my dad‟s death because I

was not there to help or stop him.” I made some coffee for us at
midnight on Sunday, and we won‟t get any sleep tonight. We spent
the night talking until sunrise. I told him, “I was handling the stress
and pressure of this weekend well until Mom blamed me for Dad‟s
death.” As the sun was coming up, he hugged me, said I made it
through the night, “remember at AA, we take one day at a time,”
and left.

Driving to work, I call Zoey. She informs me Pete had a

good night, don‟t worry, she is handling Aunt Mary. Monday was
a hell of a day at work, with no sleep. Tomorrow morning, I take
Mom to the airport, and off she goes. Monday night, I was so
exhausted that I fell off to sleep with no visions. I wake early to
take Mom to the airport for her 8 am flight, and we spoke little.
Park the car and helped her with her baggage and walker escort her
to the gate. Telling her goodbye and have a safe trip, I hug her, and
she says to me, “Tom, you really destroyed my whole life. Don‟t
you ever forget it?” On to the plane, she goes, “what, a cold-
hearted woman.”

Driving to work from the airport, I realize. Mom is the

only person I could speak to about my horrendous deed. Now I
find she is using it against me as a punishment and leverage.
Within the short, fifteen-minute drive to work, my anger builds up
inside, and my anxiety grows. If she told the authorities, now she
has the power over me but not as a loving mom but as an angry,
lonely woman.

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Chapter Eleven: Back to Work

A
fter arriving at the office, I call Zoey to check
about Uncle Pete‟s condition and the events that
have occurred. All is well, and I tell her, “Mom is
on the plane, Kelly‟s at school, and I am at work.” Thinking, it
occurs to me that if Mom were gone, dead, so would this
continuing threat be hanging over my head for forty years? It is
obvious she does not care for or love me anymore but resents my
existence. Like in my last nightmare of drowning her, I am trying
to conceive a way to dispose of Mom.

“Why can‟t I let this angry feeling die?”

Now I find myself wondering, at her age, when will she

pass, or should I help her move on more quickly? Suddenly a voice
snaps me out of this stream of thought.

“Tom, where are you going for lunch today?”

Looking up, I see Candy.

“Candy, where would you like to go?”

She says, “The same old deli below.”

At noon, we both take the elevator to the main floor for

lunch, and she seems exceptionally friendly today, besides
attractive and sexy. While we eat our corn beef on rye sandwiches,
Candy asked about Uncle Peter and Zoey and how much she
enjoyed being up at the farm for the wedding. The location was a
relatively exciting experience for a city girl. I say to her that once
all these confusions end, come to visit. I will even take you
horseback riding.

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Smiling, she says, “Great.”

Sitting alone with Candy, I find myself become aroused and

flirting with her again, thinking if I had the opportunity at this
moment, I would jump on top of her anywhere. Always a weakness
for something I cannot have. While we talk up close at the small
table for two in the deli, I have an opportunity to study her face:
remarkable eyes, perfect nose, full lips, and clear and perfect white
skin. Slowly I move my eyes down her body, seeing her flawless
breasts, with her insanely large nipples protruding through her thin
silk red blouse. She is young, and I could be her father and then
some. I always want what I can‟t have. Candy talks about some
personal problems she is having with Jill, her husband, as she
refers to her. I give her a little manly, mature advice, and she
thanks me for the input. While taking the elevator back up to our
floor, Candy says, “Tom, I appreciate what you told me. Would
you be available to speak about this some more?”

My answer is, “Yes.”

“Well, since your wife is up at the farm, can I buy you

dinner for your psychological input tonight, strictly platonic?”

I am not thinking my answer through, blinded by her attrac-

tiveness. I say, "Sure, where do you want to eat?” Candy suggests
the new Chicken- Horse Casino dining room.

My response is, “Candy, you know I don‟t drink.”

She replies, “They serve water, tea, and soft drinks with
dinner. They don‟t force the alcohol on you.”

I ask what time. She says 8 pm.

Feeling good about seeing her alone tonight and yet feeling
guilty that Zoey might find out, I am going. Unfortunately, seeing
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Candy will mean missing an AA meeting tonight. Kelly will think I

am at the AA center. I don‟t know what to anticipate, but I want to
do this and pray I do not hurt anyone in the process.

Knowing my way to The Chicken Horse Casino has

become second nature. Entering the front doors, I see my so-called
buddy, the security guard. When he sees me, he says, “Whom did
you lose this week?”

I look at him and reply, “hilarious.”

In the lobby ahead of me, I see the dining room and enter
with a brisk walk. To my left, sitting in a black leather booth is
Candy. She is dressed to the max. Long blonde hair up in a bun,
short red dress, and made up like a Las Vegas showgirl. I walk up
and sit, and she says “Hi, right on time.” I see she is drinking a
vodka martini. But no, I will not drink.

The waitperson arrives, and I ask for an ice tea, saying, “I

am on the wagon.” We talk a bit about this fancy new casino and
all its glorious interior, then order dinner. During our meal, Candy
says, “I would like your advice. My girlfriend has been cheating on
me. Should I dump her?”

“My advice? I would if I were you. Anyone cheating on

you has to be nuts. How do you know?”

“She came home the other night with the smell of men‟s
cologne and sweat on her body. Besides, I found an empty condom
package in her purse.” Upset, she orders another drink with her
dinner as I eat and sip on my cold tea. I see my reflection in the
glass mirror behind her on the wall at the table. I am looking at this
gray-haired guy, who is lusting, sitting with a twenty-five-year-old
blonde, gorgeous woman.

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I say, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

She replies, “Yes.”

“I thought you and Jill were gay?”

She says, “No, bi.”

Candy explains to me about her younger days and why she

prefers both genders as I sip my ice tea. I can feel my penis
becoming erect in my pants. Candy orders another. As she gulps it,
she tells me she is getting dizzy, and the room is spinning, saying,
“I am getting drunk.” She asks me, “Tom, go upfront to the hotel
and get us a room for tonight. I cannot drive home.”

I tell her, “I will take you home.”

“No, get a room. I‟m becoming sick, and do it fast.”

I go out to the lobby check-in desk for a room, walk,

acquire Candy, pay the bill and take the elevator up to the sixth
floor. As we enter the room, Candy makes a beeline to the toilet
and vomits all over. She rinses her face off, walks back to remove
her dress, lies there in her undies, and passes out on the fancy
bedspread. I sit in the desk chair and watch her for about thirty
minutes, thinking.

“Tom, this is one of the most spectacular women, both in

body and beauty, I have ever seen. Even passed out, she is
gorgeous. What are you going to do Tom?

In my past days, I would have taken advantage of her and

patted myself on the back for doing so. However, today, Tom is a
helpful person, a recovering alcoholic, and will do the right thing. I
take a desk pad and pen and write a note and leave Candy. Telling
her she drank too much, and I put her up I this hotel room for the
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night. Not wanted her to drive, I went home. „See you at the office,
Tom.‟

On my ride home, I arrived at about 11 pm., just in time to

receive a call from Zoey. Thinking to myself, Tom, you achieve
the highest honor tonight; you did not drink and behaved
responsibly.

The following day when I arrive at the office, Candy is

looking fresh and chipper. When she sees me, she quietly whispers,
“Thank you, Tom.”

That evening I told my AA group of my accomplishments,

and my wonderful sponsor said, “Take a bow.”

As each day goes on, I feel stronger. The events of last

night overshadowed the anger toward Mom. Perhaps, I should
eliminate Mom from my thoughts and dealing, and the offense
might subside. That might be a better solution than wasting my
energy trying to think of ways to eliminate her. This would be an
excellent first step, and you know the old expression „out of sight,
out of mind,” It is now approaching mid-week. All my
conversations and progress about Pete have been nothing but
positive. I tell Zoey, Kelly, I will be up early Saturday morning.

About 7 am, we packed the car and started our two-hour

drive to the Flagstaff farm. Kelly had a lot to say and brought up
the topic about us moving up to the farm. I told her this week had
been overzealous, and I have not given it a second thought.
However, I will sit down with you and Zoey, and we will discuss it
this week. Kelly says, “I can be ready in a few days, if we decide to
pursue this life change.”

I say, “It will not be in a few days”. I explain, “Zoey will

have to sell or close her gallery, I would have to give notice on my

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job; Zoey and I will have to look at our financial resources to

undertake this encounter.”

Kelly says, “You guys are millionaires. What is the big

deal?”

While driving, I say to Kelly, “And you know what, you are
right.”

About midway up north on our drive, I ask Kelly if she has

heard from her mom Kay? She replies, “Yes, last week, before we
came back from the farm. Mom asked if I have decided when I am
going to return home?” “And you said, „Never!‟ Oh, honey, that
must have gone over big?”

Kelly says, “Dad, as long as you keep sending my child

support checks, I think she will be fine. She would rather have the
money than me.” I say no more!

As we approach the high country‟s mountain area, the

elevation is about seven thousand feet, and the temperature drops
quickly. Phoenix is at a mild temperature, seventy degrees, now
down to fifty with a brisk breeze. Looking straight north on
highway I-17, we could see the Mountain range referred to as the
San Francisco Peaks and the snow on top. The ski area is called
Snowbowl and is north of the farm, some thirty miles on the
highway. The resort sits at an elevation of eleven thousand feet.
Kelly says, “Dad, can we please see the mountain top and ski
area?” We continue on the highway, heading north to the
mountains.

We both exit the car, and Kelly says, “Holy shit, this is
cold.” We look to the lodge house and see the outside thermometer
flash the current condition, twenty-six degrees. I ask Kelly should

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we walk around and have a look. I am freezing my ass off. She

replies, “Let‟s do it, Dad.”

We walk to the lodge house, and on the way, some folks

look at us both in jeans and shirts while they are dressed in heavy
coats and hats. We take the short hundred-foot walk to the lodge,
head to the food counter and order, two hot chocolates, large.
Sitting with my daughter Kelly, we discuss the beauty and the
expansive view from this elevation, plus it is just thirty minutes
from the farm. Kelly brings up, “Dad, next month for my birthday
can I take ski lessons?” She will be fifteen. I say to her a big, “Yes,
and you know what, I have always wanted to learn to ski, and I will
do it with you, just a father and daughter experience.”

Well, that hit a home run. We head back to the car and
resume our drive back to the farm. Upon arriving, we find it is a
mild sixty degrees at the farm. Zoey and Mary run out to greet us. I
could sense Zoey was happy that I returned safely. We told both
Mary and Zoey of our detours to Snow-Bowl, and the adventure
Kelly and I will be taking on her birthday. Kelly and I are looking
forward to seeing Uncle Pete at the hospital later today. Mary has a
quick lunch for us to have before we depart to the hospital and, of
course, a special meal packed for Uncle Pete, comprising some
heart-healthy plan food like vegetables, turkey, and chicken soup.
“Some believe chicken soup is the cure-all for everything from
colds to heart issues, and Mary is one of them.”

Arriving at the medical center, it takes all four of us to

carry in Uncle Pete‟s lunch. We are entering his room. Pete is
sitting up, smiling and looking healthy in his white hospital gown.
We all give him a big hug and then sit around the bed. The sign on
the wall says two visitors only, so we broke the rule with four.

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Pete informs us that his doctor told him this morning he can
be discharged tomorrow at noon. It is a week, but he will have to
follow a controlled regimen. They don‟t know Uncle Pete. We talk
about the season-changing, autumn arriving, the work that has to
be completed on the farm. Pete tells us he has spoken with
Montgomery and Floyd and puts the fall procedures in place. Pete
says I wish I could help them, but they cut me open like a lobster. I
will need some time to recover. It is great to have good friends and
employees. As Pete continues to speak, Mary is shoving the food
down his through like a feeding machine. Guess she figures the
more he eats, the faster he will recover.

Late afternoon, we pack it up to return to the farm, stopping

first at the nearby Maria‟s Pizza for a special treat of a garden
vegetable pizza. We enjoyed the atmosphere resembling a barn
with wood floors and tables, with straw on the floor. What was
unique in that the tables are arranged like sitting in your private
horse stall.

Arriving at the main farmhouse, Mary rushes over to the

fireplace and quickly lights up a sizeable warm fireplace to remove
cold and dampness from the house. I ask Mary If I could take care
of the fire, she replies, “I‟ve lit many fires in the past, you could
not count them.

Kelly asks, “Do you do that every day?”

Mary jokes, “If you want to keep warm, yes. Wood fires are
our heat source.” Gathered around the friendly fire, Mary tells us
she is looking forward to Pete returning home tomorrow. Zoey sits
beside me and explains how she missed me this past week. Being
away from me was difficult for her. I said nothing of the Candy
calamity at the Chicken Horse Casino. During our conversations,
Kelly asked, when are we going to move up to the farm, Zoey and I
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look at each other, Zoey says, your dad and I are going to have to

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plan this out, early spring would be lovely, and we still can keep
the house in Scottsdale. Mary says, why don‟t you guys spend the
night up at the main home tonight? The fire has made it warm. If
you go down to the cabin, you have to start a fire again. We all
agree, ready for bed with nice thick blankets.

Zoey and I are cuddled up in the guest bedroom, starting to

doze off, and I see a flashback, not of Dad but Candy lying in her
panties and bra on the hotel bed. I begin to become sexually
aroused and approach Zoey. She turns quickly and says, “Aunt
Mary is in the next room, stop” I stopped. I don‟t want to get Aunt
Mary upset!

Sunday morning, we decide that just Aunt Mary and I will

drive together to the hospital to pick up Uncle Pete. Zoey and
Kelly will prepare the house for his arrival and comfort. The
discharge procedure took several hours, a discussion with the
physical therapist, the doctor, nurse, and waiting for a wheelchair
to roll Uncle Pete out the hospital‟s front doors. The second
challenge was arranging for Uncle Pete to be comfortable in the
back of the car. He is complaining, “You should have brought my
damn truck. It has more room than these compact cars.”

While waiting for the attendant, I struck up a conversation

with a friendly young aide named Jeremiah. He had asked where
we were taking Pete, we told him back to Pinecrest Farm. He stated
he passed the farm entrance many times. I said to Jeremiah, next
trip, stop by. He replied with a “Will do.” We exchanged phone
numbers; both go on our way. We were not on the road for more
than five minutes; Pete fell off to sleep.

By mid-Sunday afternoon, we had Pete tucked in his home

bed comfortably, his TV in the bedroom was on, and he was
watching some old black-and-white old movies made in the 1940s.
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Pete was an old John Wayne fan who enjoyed cowboy movies and
war stories. The rest of us sat in the kitchen, deciding if Zoey
would home with Kelly and me back home or stay another week.
Mary said she would feel more comfortable if she had someone
else around during Pete‟s first week at home. I immediately
thought of the friendly nurses‟ assistant I had just met at the
hospital upon leaving Jeremiah. I reached for my cell phone and
called him directly, saying, “Jeremiah, Tom from Pinecrest Farms.
We just spoke an hour ago. Mary, Pete‟s wife, needs some extra
help to take care of Pete the first week he is home. Do you have
any spare time she can hire you for this coming week?”

Jeremiah replies, “I have every morning off until 1 pm.”

I ask, “Can you start tomorrow at 7 am?”

He answers, “Yes, I will be there.”

The problem is solved for all. Now Zoey can come home to
attend to her responsibilities. I was thinking to myself, And I am
becoming thoughtful, responsible, and innovative now that I am a
recovering alcoholic for over one year. What can I accomplish in
the year to come?

We gather our belongings on Sunday evening and head

back to Scottsdale. Lots of traffic that night prolonged our two-
hour ride an additional forty-five minutes. Arriving home tired and
rushed, looking forward to a good night‟s sleep and fresh start,
bright and early Monday morning. Kelly jumps on her bed to finish
up her homework. Something she always puts off until the last
usable hours. Zoey and I hit the hot showers and retired to bed by
10 pm. Not having been loving and sexual with Zoey for over a
week, I turn and kiss her deeply. Now, I am running my hands over
her smooth skin with the fresh scent of her body wash;

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I move my hand over her breasts and down to her brown

triangle. As she starts to squirm, I roll over on her warm body,
entering her slowly with rhythmic thrusts. Finally, this encounter
lasted an excellent five minutes, but who is counting. After a
mutual climax, both of us turn to our sides and fall off to sleep.

Monday morning around 8 am, just before leaving for

work, Mary calls me and said Jeremiah had arrived on time. Pete
was happy to see him as Jeremiah acted as his aid in the hospital,
so they are old buddies. She just wanted me to know everything is
going well. In Phoenix, in our home, each of us has our routines
and schedule, and we try to keep out of the other person‟s way. So
we all went in different directions. At the office, after the morning
greetings to all, I play my voicemail messages and hear a call from
Jack‟s attorney asking if I could be a friendly witness in his
upcoming murder trial?

Is he kidding me? Things are going so well in my life do I

want to become involved with trouble again. The answer was no. I
call back Jack‟s attorney and tell him “that as much as I have
appreciated what Jack has done for me in the past, I could not
become involved. That such a move would put my current life in
turmoil. Please tell Jack I am sorry but cannot be there for him.
Thank you.” It seems one by one, my problem list is becoming
shorter, and the shorter it becomes, the better I feel. It is Monday,
and tonight I have my AA meeting at the Scottsdale Center.

I am looking forward again to update my fellow member as

to my recent progress and feeling. I also inform the group that
Zoey, Kelly, and I are seriously considering moving up north to the
farm, but we have made no final decisions as yet. I also informed
them that I wish to become a sponsor for a newcomer to our group
at some point in the future. It is going on for over fourteen months
now that I am involved with the AA community.
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Home by eight that evening, as we sit at the kitchen table

with Kelly, I ask Zoey, “What do you think about the three of us
uprooting relocation to the farm? Zoey again reassures me it has
been her lifelong dream to live up north and move from Phoenix.
We discuss all the pros and cons of such a move—work, local
friends and acquaintances, new school, selling the gallery, to name
a few. Well, as it turns out, the pros win out over the cons. It is
now almost Thanksgiving mid-November, and we all decide the
best time to make a move would be when Kelly school finishes in
June—giving us good six-plus months to organize. I asked Zoey if
we could make this move now at our ages of fifty-two and Zoey
forty-two. We still have some more working and earning years left
in us.

Zoey says not to worry. She now comes out with the state
of her financial condition that I have just guessed in the past. Zoey
tells Kelly that she has several million dollars in her name and will
be receiving two more million from the family estate that Stewart
has left if she sells the gallery and art, which could add another
million. With five million dollars plus and the farm, we should live
very well in the future. Kelly yells, “You‟re just not millionaires.
You are multi-millionaires.”

I ask Zoey, “How much do you think the farm and all that
land is worth?”

Zoey spouts a number, “Guess about three or four million

dollars or more?”

Kelly says, “And we can keep this house also?”

Sitting at the table, I am perplexed by the size of my

family‟s financial numbers. After the conversation and dinner, I sit
on the backyard patio and contemplate and assess my past

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situation. Thoughts pass through my mind. A year and a half ago,

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you were passed out on a motel room floor, retching on the toilet.
You quit your job, out of work, out of money with no future, not
know where you would live. Your daughter hated you. Now I am
sitting on top of the world with financial security, my wife, Zoey,
daughter Kelly. I removed the lousy luggage from my life,
including my ex-wife Kay and Judy. I have decided and detached
from Mom, cut ties with Jack, settled my lust towards Candy, and
made it a friendship. Encompassed Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary as
family and accepted Zoey‟s mom Alexia as a friend and family
member. Soon I will come from a dependent accountant working
in a small cubicle behind a desk to running a cattle farm on a
substantial land plot, and one day will become Zoey‟s and mine.
Most of all, I will be independent and a man of my own.

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Chapter Twelve: The Passing

T
he following week, on an overcast Wednesday
morning, we received a call from Aunt Mary that
Uncle Pete has had another heart attack and passed
away in his sleep peacefully. The EMTs are with her at the
farmhouse at this moment, removing Pete for transport to the
hospital morgue for evaluation. Mary asks if we can come up and
help. She is confused and does not know what to do. Zoey asked to
speak with one of the EMTs personally at the house. The attendant
states, “Pete must have had a heart attack while sleeping and
passed.” Mary did not notice him not breathing until she woke this
morning. The shock of the unfortunate event has Mary devastated.

Zoey tells Mary and the medical team we will be there in

about two hours. We go to pick up Kelly from school and drive
quickly up north to the farm. In the past, the rides going up north
were joyous. This one was painful and depressing, with lots of
silence on the drive. By the time we arrive at the farm, all the
medical vehicles are gone, except for one Flagstaff police car and
an officer waiting with Aunt Mary. As we enter the house, she is
red-eyed from crying and pale from the shock of losing Pete. Mary
runs towards us, reaching for Zoey and hugging her tightly. They
both start crying, and Kelly jumps into the huddle. The officer
offers his condolences to me as I shake his hand.

I am still digesting the changes that have and will come

about shortly after Pete‟s death. I have given Pete my word that we
will take care of Aunt Mary, and I intend to keep my promise. We
were discussing an appropriate move time, settling on the end of
spring when school ends. However, this unexpected, unfortunate
event will demand we alter the plan, but first things first.
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Comforting Mary, we help make appropriate funeral

arrangements for Pete, something we had not discussed previously.
Mary tells us that just a few weeks ago, Pete spoke with his
attorney while in the hospital, and they did discuss his final wishes.
I suggested calling Pete‟s attorney, a resident, up here in the
Flagstaff area. Mary looks up, gives me the phone number of
Howard G., Pete‟s legal adviser. I make the call as the girls
comfort each other.

Howard, shocked and surprise at the news, saying we just

completed his new will and last testament a week ago. It‟s a good
thing I had a messenger take it to him in the hospital for signature
and notarization. Now it is valid. Howard tells us he will stop by
the farm tomorrow morning on his way to the office to review
Pete‟s request. Aunt Mary and Zoey will drive to the local funeral
parlor, Pinewood Funeral Center, tomorrow afternoon to deal with
the arrangements.

That afternoon Mary and Zoey spent most of the day

making calls to local friends and vendors. We discuss what Pete
might have changed in his current will. However, we will find out
tomorrow. I walk down to our cabin, and I pass Montgomery and
Floyd working in the barn. I stop and speak to them.

Pete‟s passing highly saddens them as they have been

friends and employees for some twenty-five years. Both tell me if
Mary or we need anything, please let them know. It nice to have
country friendships. Entering our cabin, I head straight to the bed
and lay down after a strenuous morning, wishing for a short nap.
That evening, we all sit at the table and talk about all the good
things and times with Uncle Pete. We decide to retire early, as
tomorrow will be an eventful day. Zoey will stay up at the house
with Mary.

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The following day bright and early, around 7:30 am,

attorney Howard G., arrives with a folder full of documents. We all
gather at the kitchen table as he reads the will slowly. He tells us
that “Mary will receive all the assets they own, including the
Pinewood Farm. However, Zoey and Tom will receive the farm in
full ownership upon Mary‟s passing. During Mary‟s final years,
both Zoey and Tom will have a power of attorney to operate and
decide the farm‟s operation. All three will share equally in any
profits from the farm‟s operation. His wife, Mary, can live out her
life and receive any care needed to maintain her health and
condition during her lifetime from the farm‟s profits. He left a little
special something for Kelly. She will receive full ownership and
responsibility of the three exist-ing horses and the funds needed to
purchase three additional horses of her choice.

“Pete requested his funeral service be held on the farm at a

location chosen by Mary and that both he and his wife will be
buried side by side at said location.”

Finishing up, Howard G. says, “That about covers it. Oh,

one more thing, Zoey will make the eulogy.” Zoey says, “I guess
the funeral director will be making arrangements here at the farm
after Mary picks a spot, and I want Kelly to help me write what I
need to say.”

After Howard G. leaves, we all walk with Mary down near

our cabin, with Max tagging along to the large cluster of old white
birch and pine trees. Standing in front of our cabin, Mary makes a
surprising suggestion. She says, “I will not need the large
farmhouse in the future. Why don‟t you guys all live in the main
house, and I will live in your cabin?”

I ask Mary, “Why would you want to do that?”

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She says, “The cabin is more than big enough for me, and I
will bury Pete down here in this wonderful tree cluster and be near
him.”

And so the decision is made.

In two days, the funeral service will commence at the farm

near Mary‟s chosen location. Mary‟s many friends help organize
the area with dozens of photos of Mary and Pete, flower
arrangements, and food serving tables. Montgomery and Floyd dig
the grave. You can see the heaviness in their faces and eyes with
each shovel of soil they remove. Old Max knows something is
wrong as he misses Pete and ponders the many new faces and
activities going on. That old dog loves Uncle Pete, as they were
inseparable. With all the preparation, the days pass quickly, and the
day of reckoning is now upon us. The service scheduled for noon,
and the guest start arriving around 10:30 am.

Many deliveries of flower arrangements flood onto the

property, left at the gravesite below. Catering food trucks are
clutter the parking lot, almost like a carnival event—more
condolences, hugs, and kisses than the award shows. The guests
are dressed in their finest. Pete‟s sister, Zoey‟s mom, Alexia,
arrives driving herself, dressed in black with a stylish back hat and
veil to hide her puffy eyes and face.

The same minister John-Dean who married Zoey, and I will

preside over the funeral service with prays and blessings. This time
his face is somber, not cracking a smile. The tone of his voice is
subdued and rasp. This is the moment you know Pete has passed.
The seventy-five or so attendants gather around the gravesite,
sitting in their uncomfortable folding chairs, some standing but all
looking intense. The sun hides behind a dark grouping of clouds as
if they knew about the sad event happing below.

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As the minister John-Dean calls everyone to his attention to

gather around the large wood funnel casket, silence comes over the
gathering. Ever faithful, Max sits and stares at the large wood
coffin, sensing his master was in this strange box. You could
almost see the tears running down Max‟s eyes as he breathes with
quick short breaths, panting. The feeling of Max‟s sorrow
overcame the others. The minister looks out over the many faces
and is quiet for a moment. His first words are, “It is hard to say
goodbye.” He stops for several moments again. He continues with,
“I have known Peter for almost twenty-five years, as a friend and
his minister. I am surprised that a man with a heart so large can fits
into this beautiful blessed sacred box.

I have not known a better individual, a man alive with

spirit and love for all, but most of all, his wife Mary and family. A
man who gave his time, love, and possession to those who needed
them. A man who fed and helped many, never looking for a
simple. Thank you or a word of recognition, ever. A man who
donated to his church, willingly and unselfishly. A man who loved
all and cared for his farm animal as if they were family.” I stand
here with a very heavy heart praying that the lord will welcome
Peter with open arms.”

The minister John-Dean went on and on, boastfully until

not a dry eye left at the service. As Pete‟s coffin is lowered into the
grown, so are the hearts of many. Mary and his sister Alexia
sobbed uncontrollably. With my head held down, I could see Zoey,
Kelly, Montgomery, and Floyd weaken like a melting candle
through the corner of my eyes. Did I struggle to hold back tears,
yes? Why? Guess I wanted to show my strength. As the last few
shovels of dirt are placed on the coffin, Max walks up to the
remaining open ground and looks down at the coffin lying on the
grass adjacent to the site with his giant head on his paws. Max took
Uncle Pete‟s death the hardest, I feel.
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After the service, the celebration of life began with much

talk about Uncle Pete and his accomplishments and generosity, all
of which help feed unfortunate Mary‟s breaking heart and hunger.
I thought to myself. I hope one day to gain a portion of the
admiration and respect that others had for Uncle Pete. Dozens of
candles are flickering in the night. More flower arrangements than
can be counted surround the area with fantastic scents, for all the
flowers fill the night air. The guest talked through the evening.

Surprisingly, Mary stepped up to the microphone to thank

all the came to say goodbye to her lover Peter. She walks away
with Alexia, Zoey, and Kelly at her side up to the main house to
rest and retire for the night. As the hour grows late, most of the
guests start to leave for home. Some stay at the funeral site: Max
lies on the mound of dirt above the coffin. I sit alone with Max,
holding a cold glass of ginger ale and processing the events that
transpired through the day.

The evening is almost over. In the existing silence of the

cool night, along with a half-moon brightly shining above, Max
and I could hear the sounds of the wildlife in the pasture; how
peaceful it is at this moment. Today I could experience an
assortment of emotions I have never felt before. Each day is a
growing experience since my alcohol recovery period started some
months ago. I now know that working hard to keep myself clean of
alcohol has so many rewarding landscapes, from love to sorry that
I have in the past missed out on during my alcohol-driven days. I
am so at peace that it is hard for me to stand and walk back to the
farmhouse.

I hear Zoey calling, “Tom, Tom, where are you? Come join
us up at the house.” I rise and start the long walk-up with Max at
my side. Max brushes against my leg during the walk as if saying,
“Tom, are you going to be Pete‟s replacement and friend?

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Reaching the porch, I stop and look at Uncle Pete‟s chair and
decide to sit in it. This porch chair has always been a sacred stop
for Pete, and no one sits in his chair. Now, I am attempting the
task. As I sit back, Max comes and lays next to me on the floor,
staring out at the yard as he did with Pete.

Zooey walks out and looks at me, and says, “Tom, you are
taking over before Uncle Pete becomes cold in the ground?” I tell
Zoey, “No, I want to identify how Pete felt sitting here looking out
and why this was his favorite place. Now I think I know the
feeling.” Zoey leans down and gives me a hug and kiss on the
cheek.

“Come inside and join Mary, Kelly, and me for the rest of
the evening and bring your buddy, Max.”

I am thinking, what a life-changing day today has been. In

the next few days, I will notify Mr. Quackenbush that I will be
departing my job to move up to the farm. I will miss Candy‟s face
when the elevator doors open and my fellow employees. Perhaps
thirty days of notice will be sufficient?

During this transition period, Zoey will live with Aunt

Mary up here at the Farmhouse, and I will come on the weekends.
Kelly will stay with me finishing her school in Phoenix and make
arrangements to transfer up to Flagstaff. I am a bit complexed, but
sure things will work out positively. Crossing my mind, I will have
to inform my fellow AA member in Scottsdale of my decision, a
deed they will surely wish me luck and happiness to succeed.
Feeling optimistic, I am sure I will find another AA group up here
in Flagstaff and also be able to become a sponsor to an individual
who will make a change as I did.

I could use my success and struggles as my example for

helping and showing there is light and hope at the end of the
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tunnel. With the right help, love, and support, your life can become
admirable and meaningful. It is not an easy road to travel. Yes, it
has been challenging, but look. Look at the outcome, and I have
been so blessed.

“Facing the Past” is a fictional story—all content created

for your entertainment and a suitable target audience. The
information in this book is not intended to be a substitute for
professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Enjoy the
adventure.

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