DRY

Franklin’s drinking never added up and now neither did his sobriety. They said at his first meeting that one drink was too many and a thousand was never enough. They said anyone worth their weight would do a ninety in ninety. You see he’d been to a few meetings a town over from his. He told his wife, Liz, that he was going every day this time around. The words ninety meetings in ninety days slipped off his tongue without a second thought. He knew her type after all. She was the more conscientious of the two and would undoubtedly throw herself into researching the whole sobriety lifestyle in the hopes of being super helpful.

He even bought a big book and started underlining passages during his lunch break at work. It seemed counterproductive, all this work just to not take part in the program and attend meetings, but he couldn’t quite shake the religiousness behind the whole outfit. They claimed that a Higher Power could be anything greater than yourself but he’d been lied to in the past and could always tell when he was being sold a bill of goods. So for now it was just easier to highlight and dog ear a few pages in a book if that would make the wifey happy. After all, he was a people pleaser at heart.

He had his head in the book once more at home after a long shift down at the factory when Liz caught sight of him and asked what he was reading. He couldn’t help but read off the very next sentence, something zen about taking things one day at a time. She huffed and scoffed and just put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen counter and continued making dinner.

“Since when did you get philosophical?”

“When in Rome…” He said, hoping his trademark slightly crooked grin would suffice.

“Speaking of which, I was reading where the meeting at the end of the month is open to the public so the families can see their loved ones get their anniversary coins.”

“And?”

“You’re coming up on ninety days and I wanted to celebrate properly with you,” she said.

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not gonna have my wife go slumming it in some church basement for all the town to see just so I can get some cheap coin.”

“Hell, I don’t mind. Lord knows I’ve chased you outta worse places than a church.”

“It ain’t really about that.” He was flailing and searching for the right excuse that would shut her up for good about the whole thing.

“Then what is it about?” She was standing with her hands on her hips with that fierce look in her eye.

“I don’t want a crowd there cheering me on just for doing the right thing. It ain’t right.”

“I’m not just some crowd.”

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“Explain it to me,” she said.

“It’s all jumbled up in my head. The point is, I don’t want you there. I don’t want anyone there. It’s no big deal getting to ninety days.”

“It is a big deal!”

“Can we just forget the whole thing?” He yelled out.

She went back to what she was doing. As much as she wanted to keep this conversation going, she was scared of triggering something in him and sending him right back to a drink. His alcoholism still reigned supreme in their house. Things might’ve changed for the better, but they were still held prisoner by his past behavior.

They ate their dinner quietly that evening. She was timid and he was on edge. He shuffled off into the living room and plopped himself in front of the television to watch one of his programs before calling it a night, while she cleaned up in the kitchen. It was all so basic and predictable but it was their reality. As much as both of them wanted to break free from their boring rituals, they clung to them out of fear of finding something far worse on the other side of their respective habits. They settled into bed and turned the lights off without a word between them. She slept on her side, with her back to him, hoping that he’d roll over and spoon her or at least embrace her in some way, if only briefly. He didn’t and soon she was kept awake not only by her desires but his snores. She slid out of bed and went to the kitchen for a smoke.

Bored and insecure, she grabbed at the phone book on the window ledge and leafed through it. She knew what she was after, even if she wasn’t quite sure why. She trusted her husband a bit more now that he’d put some sobriety time together but she couldn’t be so sure of his instincts and she sure as hell didn’t trust that his disease was dormant now that he’d pieced together a few months.

She made her way to private investigator and picked the first name that appeared in bold lettering. Bill Anderson, a solid dependable name and a former cop to boot. It was perfect. She grabbed the cordless phone and dialed his number.

“Hello?” A raspy voice mumbled on the other end.

“Yes, hi, Mr. Anderson? My name is Liz Bryant and I need someone to follow my husband.”

“Do you suspect him of cheating?”

“No, well, not quite. Not with another person, but he’s definitely hiding something,” she said in hushed tones.

“Well you’ve called the right fella. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“He says he’s been going to these meetings, you see, he’s an alcoholic and I just want to make sure everything’s on the up and up. The next one is tomorrow night at eight at the Episcopal Church over on Seventh and Broadway. I’ll give you my address and you can follow him from there until he gets back home. Should only be for a few hours.”

He accepted right away, not only because he needed the money but because he wanted the opportunity to catch a sober alcoholic in the midst of their lying and deceit. Served them right if the guy thought he could quit and have it all, Bill figured. They continued talking for a few more minutes and exchanged information and a payment plan. Things were falling into place.

Liz hung up and finished her smoke, content that she’d done the right thing. Maybe if the bastard embraced her a bit at night in bed she wouldn’t have to do this. They’d been together too long for him to think he could just go on lying to her and she wouldn’t catch on eventually. She shuffled back into the bedroom and slid into bed without Franklin even breaking his snoring pattern.

The next morning was equally chilly between them as neither said much while getting ready for work. She made and served him breakfast despite nearing the beginning of an eight hour shift down at the diner. He accepted the gesture with the same gruff attitude that he went to bed with. He was staring down the start of another workday at the textile factory. They were both due home by six.

He got up from the kitchen table and pecked her on the cheek and wished her a happy day. She almost felt guilty for hiring the investigator. She sat alone with the shame of what she’d done for the next hour before she left for work also. By the time both got into the flow of their workdays neither had much free time to dwell that much on superfluous things like their feelings. That was a luxury only afforded to the idle.

She got back to the apartment first, just in time to start preparing dinner. He came home to a busy kitchen and a smiling wife. That should’ve been the first clue that something nefarious was going on. He was oblivious, just grateful to be off his feet for a bit. He read the newspaper in the dining nook of the kitchen as she hunched over the stovetop. The seltzer he sipped was crisp and refreshing.

“So I was thinking about what you said and if you don’t want me there, I won’t go,” she said with her back to him.

“That’s fine.”

“But at least give me the ninety day coin that they give you. Please, for me. I want that much.” She turned to face him as she said this, making sure they made eye contact.

“Of course,” he said over the top of the newspaper. He was being amenable in the hopes he could avoid another argument. If a stupid coin would keep her happy, so be it.

“Could you pick me up some smokes after your meeting tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll be home by ten at the latest,” he said.

As he took a quick shower and got changed, she called Bill and gave him his orders for the night.

Liz gave her husband a big hug and a long, slow kiss on the lips before he left the apartment. It was her way of giving him one last chance to come clean. If he still went on with his lie and avoided the meeting that night then she was ready to tear into him, but for now she’d give him another chance at doing the next right thing.

Franklin walked out of the apartment without another word. In the hallway, he couldn’t help but display his usual childlike smirk, reserved for whenever he thought he was getting away with something. By the time he hit the stairwell, the smirk had morphed into a full on grin and as he shoved open the front door to the apartment complex it was replaced with an ear-to-ear smile.

Liz remained at the kitchen window, which was propped open by the same phone book that she used to start this whole thing, and watched on as Franklin got into his car and turned over the engine. She noticed a man with a silver shock of hair idling in a car a few spots down. She sat down and lit a cigarette, content that she could no longer do anything but wait.

With more than two hours to kill, Franklin took his time driving. He was in no rush. He went down Broadway and eventually stopped in front of the church on Seventh. As he pulled over, he noticed the car trailing him did the same. Franklin cut his engine and smoked a couple cigarettes and watched the crowd linger near the side entrance of the building before the meeting. He picked out particular individuals that caught his eye and filled in the imaginary backstory, all of them more sordid and unfortunate than his own. The act of voyeurism, of role playing, was momentarily uplifting. As the clock radio turned to the top of the hour, he was shaken from his little game. He turned the engine on and skidded off down the road.

Franklin noticed the same car following right behind him down Broadway. All he could make out in the rear view mirror was a shock of white hair and a pair of glasses. He took a series of sharp turns and complicated maneuvers but couldn’t shake the man behind him. What started out as a little game had now turned into more of a nuisance. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Eventually Franklin turned into the Bowl-A-Rama commons parking lot and parked. He used to come here after work to bowl a few frames and get drunk with his workmates but that was all in the past. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure why he’d come here of all places. That he sought his former haunt as a temporary refuge was troubling, but not altogether surprising given how little he’d done to work on himself since drying out nearly three months ago. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t get past step two. He lit a smoke and watched as the crowd came and went from the establishment. The lot itself had filled up in the fifteen minutes he’d been there. He scanned the area for signs of the white haired man and found he was in the back corner of the lot just sitting in his car.

Franklin got out of his car and walked over toward the gas station next door but quickly cut back over to the man’s car. He was too quick for the driver to simply turn his car on and get away. Franklin knocked on the driver side window twice.

“What’s the big idea?”

“Excuse me? Do I know you?” The man rolled down the window all the way.

“You’ve been following me since I left my apartment, so I’ll ask again, what’s the big idea?” Franklin noticed the top of a flask protruding from the man’s chest pocket but said nothing.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Try me,” Franklin said.

“Shouldn’t you be at a meeting?” The man chuckled nervously.

Franklin landed a quick jab flush on the man’s nose. As the man reached for his face to cover up, Franklin opened the door and pulled him out of the car.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?”

“Fine, just take it easy. My name is Bill, and your wife hired me to follow you tonight. Happy?”

“Come off it. Really?”

“That’s the truth. I swear it is!”

“How long ago did she hire you?”

“Last night,” Bill sighed.

“Not much of a private investigator, eh?”

“Guess not. I’m a bit rusty.”

“I’ll bet. Have anything to do with that?” Franklin pointed to the flask.

“None of your fucking business, fella.”

“Don’t get bent outta shape,” Franklin laughed, sensing he found a leverage point.

“Isn’t that rich coming from you? You wanna be the pot or the kettle?”

“Doesn’t matter much. Besides, isn’t that what it’s all about, one drunk helping another?”

“You’re just saying that to get me to forget all about this and tell the wife what you want.”

“Give me the flask,” Franklin said sternly.

Bill handed it over. At that moment, neither man quite knew what would happen next. Bill was scared that Franklin would take a nip from it and further complicate everything and Franklin wasn’t sure he had the fortitude to handle the flask without doing the same. He held it in his hand for a few beats before he opened it and emptied it onto the pavement beneath them dramatically and slowly. Bill lunged and tried to catch the last few drops with his open palms.

“Say, what’d you do that for?”

“For your own good,” Franklin said.

Bill took a wild swing but missed and fell to the ground. Franklin chuckled and helped him up.

“You owe me a drink,” Bill groaned.

“If it means that much to you, maybe you do have a problem.”

“You might be right.” Bill just looked away, down at the pavement, and kicked some pebbles as he put his hands in his pockets. He was visibly uncomfortable.

“Let’s go inside and just talk for a bit. It’ll be good, for both of us.”

Franklin led the way. Bill followed along, a step behind.