CHAPTER 55

Five days in the drunk tank.

The cops had arrested Patrick in front of the ATM machine. He ended up being dumped in a solitary cell about the size of a cubby hole.

At the beginning, his craving for alcohol was only overshadowed by his anger. It began with that first phone call to his brother, begging him to bail him out. Three phone calls and a day later, it became obvious that there would be no savior this time, and he would be left to rot on his own.

He wallowed in self pity. He wanted to punish everyone he could think of, beginning with Ann, of course, then proceeding to his mother and Jonathan, even his soon to be ex-wife, Irene.

It took two days for his colossal thirst to take over, and thoughts of seeking revenge no longer mattered. Despite the various liquids that were fed him, be it water, soup or juice, nothing could assuage his need for alcohol. He started to believe that if he didn’t get a drink soon he would die.

At night he lay on his cot and stared up at the ceiling, images of his life flashing through his mind, an endless spool of film teasing and tormenting him.

By the fourth day he was numb, resigned to his fate and without hope. The pain of withdrawal overshadowed everything else. It seemed as if there were giant maggots in his stomach, eating their way to his heart.

On Day Five, he awoke with an actual glimmer of hope. A future without booze no longer seemed impossible. It would take some sacrifice, obviously, but returning to the rehab center was something he now realized he would have to consider.

When they came to tell him that his brother was here and had made bail, he remained prone on his cot. It was only when the door to his cell opened and he was told he could leave, that he started to take the news seriously.

The walk seemed endless. He simply could not gain the proper balance, his feet operating as if they belonged to someone else. He hardly nodded at Jonathan when he first saw him. There was a release form that he was asked to sign, but his hands shook so badly he had trouble scribbling his name.

Finally in the car and on their way, his brother asked him where he’d like to go.

Patrick turned in the seat and faced him, waited for the dizziness to pass. “To the nearest bar,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” Jonathan started to yell at him. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“You asked me where I wanted to go.”

“Yeah. But that’s not the answer I expected.”

Patrick held his silence. He let a few minutes pass, then in an embarrassed whisper, told Jonathan to take him back to the rehab center.

“Why? So you can walk out again?”

“I’m not walking anywhere,” Patrick said heatedly. “I’ve asked you to take me there. I need help, I admit it. What more do you want from me?”

Jonathan paused and looked at his brother. “That’s more like it,” he said. “For a minute there, I thought you had lost your spunk.”

They rode in silence. When they pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Hospital, a sense of fear snuck up on Patrick. “Wh… what are you doing?” he asked.

“Verna wanted to see you. I promised I would bring you over.”

He shook his head frantically. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because, it just isn’t.”

“Patrick—”

“Look,” he tried to explain, “I just can’t see her this way.”

“Which way is that? You mean, sober?”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t feel good—okay?” His temper flared. “I’m sick, Jonathan, maybe in more ways than one. I’ll come see her afterwards, when I’m better.”

“No. Not a good idea. You walk away now, there may not be an afterwards. I’ve spoken to her. This is your one chance to show her who you really are, the person you can be.”

“That’s just it—I can’t do that right now.”

“Patrick—”

“I can’t, Jonathan.”

“You have to.”

They sat in silence. Finally, Jonathan opened the driver’s door, came around to his side and coaxed him out of the car. “Go on,” he said with a push. “Get in there. She’s in a private room now. Number seven-three-five.”

On his way, Patrick thought about copping out. He could hang out in the lobby for a while, then head on back. Jonathan would never know. But he would be sure to find out. And what could he gained by avoiding Verna? What would that accomplish? Hadn’t he spent the last week thinking about her, worrying about her, wanting to see her? Now that his brother had forced his hand, why not do the right thing?

Still, he hesitated outside her room.

“May I help you?” a young intern asked.

“Uh—Ms. Sallinger?” he could hardly speak.

“You’re at the right room, buddy. Just go on in.”

Tentatively, he crossed the threshold.

She was sitting up in bed. When she saw him, she tried to smile, but sutures had locked part of her mouth in place. Bruises were visible on her upper cheeks and around her eyes. What struck Patrick most was the color of her skin, as pale as porcelain.

Suddenly, his heart went out to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, needing to apologize.

“What for?” she said in a whisper. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I’d be dead. Besides, you should be hating me, for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“I don’t hate you. I … just wanted to come by and tell you to get better. I’ve asked my brother to take me back to the clinic.”

She sighed. “Do you believe in yourself, Patrick?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

“But you know you can beat this, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Verna. I don’t know that at all. But I’m hoping to find out.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

“Is it?”

“Don’t you think so?” she asked.

He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he turned. “I’d better go. I’d—uh—like to see you afterwards, if that would be okay.”

Her eyes closed and she seemed to doze off.

He was headed for the door when he heard her voice behind him. “I would like that, too,” she said.