CHAPTER 22

           In the years to come, citizens will wonder with dismay why a fertile America has turned fallow, when they themselves have sucked all the nutrients from the soil.

        —LANCASTER R. HILL, MEMOIRS (UNPUBLISHED), 1937–41

For Lou, the final hour of the flight to Atlanta was an emotional one—not unlike returning to the scene of the crime. The glide path to Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport might have passed directly over the Chattahoochee forest—directly over the lodge … and the trail … and the cliff; directly over Floyd and Rebecca Weems’s cabin, and their field. The images were as indelible as they were painful.

Lou rested his head against the window and allowed his eyes to close. His thoughts wrapped around another indelible, painful image—Walter Filstrup’s disgustingly smug expression as he fired Lou from the PWO. Stunned, Lou had asked on what grounds Filstrup would tell the board of directors he was being dismissed. The answer was vintage Filstrup—dereliction of duty.

“My best friend could have died,” Lou protested.

“You shouldn’t have been out on a run in the first place,” Filstrup countered. “That demonstrated extremely poor judgment.”

“Walter, this is ridiculous. We run all the time together. It was just a freak accident.”

“You had no contingency plan, Welcome. Nothing in place in the event you were unable to perform your assigned task, which in addition to office-financed attendance at the meeting, included the presentation of a very important speech. Your failure to appear was an embarrassment to us on a national stage.”

You mean an embarrassment to you.

“I’m very sorry about that, but I wasn’t expecting to be on a med flight to Atlanta. And as far as our reputation goes, everyone I spoke to when I stopped back at the conference, and I do mean everyone, was absolutely understanding of the circumstance. Nobody felt that hearing your speech would have altered the result of the election. One of them said they were sure that next year you would win. The only concern anyone expressed was for Cap’s well-being.”

“He shouldn’t have been there in the first place. My primary obligation is to this organization, and, in my professional opinion you demonstrated a considerable lack of foresight with your actions. Now you’re hurting us again by demanding time off that you simply don’t have coming to you. Lack of foresight, lack of perspective, lack of loyalty, lack of solid judgment. Tell me when to stop.”

“Walter, the only measure by which I should be judged is my ability to reinstate licenses suspended by the board of medicine and if you measure me by that benchmark I’m the best we ever had here.”

“We’ll, since I’m the boss, I guess I get to decide which benchmarks matter most.”

“Jesus, Walter.”

Filstrup busied himself with his computer, while Lou, still dumbfounded and flushed, stood by with nothing to do but watch. When the psychiatrist finally looked up, his expression was one of utter triumph.

“I just informed Mrs. Peterbee of your termination,” he said. “She’ll take care of all of your exit paperwork. Thank you for your service, Dr. Welcome, but as of this moment, those services are no longer required. If you need a reference, I’ll be happy to provide one.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better, thanks.”

“I hope you don’t take this personally.”

“When you come up with another way for me to take it, just let me know.”

“Please understand I have to do what’s best for the PWO.”

There was an intense buzzing in Lou’s ears. His fists clenched and loosened rhythmically. If only they were in the ring. Or perhaps he could just pretend they were, and flatten the pompous ass’s nose across his face. He loved his job and had always taken pride in doing it well. Plus he certainly needed the income. Now he’d been terminated. The entire situation felt surreal.

And worst of all, the one person he most needed to turn to was lying in a hospital bed more than six hundred miles away, sick enough so that the president of the hospital had sent for Lou.

Use your imagination to play through the situations where you might drug or drink. It was an AA tool that had helped Lou get through the hard times accompanying the early days of his recovery. Now, breathing slowly and deeply, he sank into his desk chair and let his mind wander down the alley where, nearly eleven years ago, he frequently went to meet his supplier. The man was absolute slime, but his product, which Lou bought in pill form or as nose candy, was the best. There was no fatigue, no disappointment, no stress that the drugs—heroin or amphetamine—would not make him feel better … at least temporarily. His mouth went dry. He was inhaling through his nose now, actually tasting the crystals.

I’m not doing it anymore, he heard himself say. I’m finished.

He stopped inhaling and then opened his eyes. The image faded quickly. Despite the resentment boiling inside him, the years of dedication he’d given to this job, the cases he’d be deserting, the people who might not understand, and might think the worst, Lou decided to go out with class, refusing to sink to Filstrup’s level. The people who really mattered, Emily, Renee, and Cap—they would understand. But only if he stayed clean.

“Dr. Welcome, are you okay?”

Babs Peterbee stood by the opening to his cube, concern clouding her face. Tears were welling in her eyes.

Lou’s thoughts snapped back to the moment.

“I’m not happy, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “But I’m going to be okay if that’s what you mean. I’m going to be fine.”

“And your friend?”

“We’ll have to wait and see, but the people in Atlanta sound like they are on top of things—at least for the moment.”

“Dr. Welcome, I’m so sorry. I knew Dr. Filstrup was upset about not having his speech read, but I had no idea he would do something like this.”

Lou felt the last of his fear and anxiety blow away like mist. No projections. One of Cap’s favorite lessons crossed his mind.

In any situation, there are only two possibilities: What you want to have happen … and something else.

It was time to adjust to the something else. And then, there would be two new possibilities.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I’m going out like John Wayne, riding off into the sunset. I’m not going to throw a fit, no tears will be shed, no long good-byes said. Off into the sunset.”

Peterbee sniffed and used a tissue.

“It’s just so unfair,” she said. “I’m going to fight to get you your job back.”

Lou brushed aside the idea with a wave of his hand.

“You’ll do no such thing, my friend. I’ll be fine. Remember, I do have another job.”

“But you’re so good at this—”

“You and I will have lunch at O’Rourke’s when I get back from Atlanta. I’ll pay the tab, and you’ll tell me all about how you’re not making any waves on my account. Deal?”

“I—”

“Deal?” Lou asked again.

“Deal,” Peterbee relented as she reluctantly plunked down a set of exit papers.

Lou accepted them and took the photo of Emily from his desk. He could do without the cheesy stapler and tin of paperclips. Smiling now, he walked past the secretary and out the office door.

“I really like John Wayne,” he heard her say.