Please God…, Debra prayed silently, not tonight. Don’t let him drink tonight. Louis and Debra McCluskey had been married for twenty-two years last month. Five of those were magical. They married young though, had a baby young too. The pressures of being the provider weighed on poor Lou’s shoulders when the money was little. He was a good man, a good kindhearted man. Still was. Debra was convinced of it. The world’s hard on good men. After those first five years, Louis—never being a boozer before—turned to the bottle and though he never so much as touched Debra, he lost everything else. Jobs, money, stability, respect.
Neighbors would start looking at her funny when she’d fetch the morning paper. They knew he was away, getting help. She didn’t care though. When the first few times in clinics didn’t go as planned, they decided to move suburbs.
“Maybe somewhere closer to the city, huh Lou? Keep you moving, keep you active?” In hindsight, she realized that’d been a big mistake. More drunks and derelicts than she could bother to count. He’d always find them, and when he was consciously trying to stay away, they’d come find him instead.
Finally the talk had spread throughout the old community—“Deb’s married to a sponge, even had a kid with it too.” She didn’t care who talked about her, she was tough. But her baby boy? Or poor Lou? One was as defenseless as the other as far as she was concerned. They moved again. Somewhere north. Far enough to make new friends with different circles. So when they’d finally met Mark and Jackie Pearlberg from down the street, Debra’s hopes of new, fresh friendship were renewed. Tonight was the first time the four were to have dinner together, as couples do, as normal people do. Tonight was also the longest Lou’d ever gone staying sober in seventeen long years—90 days. He’d tried dozens of times before, but the devil wasn’t ever too far off. So Debra prayed, silently, to herself as the four took their seats at the table.
“Whoa…, swanky place huh Deb?” Jackie was a New Yorker like Debra. Both had grown up in Brooklyn at one time or another. After her wedding, Deb moved out to the Midwest with Lou to settle down. He used to talk her ear off back then, saying anything to hear that loud laughter of hers. Now he just seemed uninterested, unmotivated.
“Heck yeah! Lou, whaddya think? Nice or what?”
“Nice Deb, real nice.”
“Yeah. Boy look at you and Mark, you sure dressed up!” The Pearlbergs were working stiffs like they were, Debra liked that. They also knew how to still make good impressions, Debra envied that.
“So Lou, how ‘bout that ’64, wanna come down to the shop and help me put some new wheels on her next week?” Mark liked Louis. Deb could tell that he wanted to help the guy out as much as he could, get him out of the house, get him happy about doing things. Mark didn’t know the whole story, but who needed to? Lou’s eyes were pretty drained of their color.
Through her peripheral, Deb noticed the young waiter taking a nearby table’s drink orders. Pretty soon he’d make his way over here. He’d introduce himself, unknowingly ask the worst question in the English language and because Lou hated going out and getting along, he’d trick himself into having “just one.” Deb prayed harder. In the back of her mind, she was yelling. On the front of her face, she wore an armor made of diamond. Nobody could crack that. Nobody but poor Lou. She’d stayed up too many nights for a wife, crying, wondering where he is, when or if he’s ever coming home. Now that the baby boy was off to college in Rhode Island, the nest was quiet again. She wanted, needed tonight to go well. She craved friendship. She wanted Jackie to call her every now and then, to check up on her, to go have brunch or take in a show together. Please God…
If he’d trick himself into having one, then he may as well just open up and force a thousand down his throat. He’d broken promises before, and even though she wanted to stay angry at him, she was mostly just sad that he’d lost so much of his old self. The man she married wasn’t Poor Lou. No, she married Louis “The Muscle” McCluskey! Three-time State-champ in college wrestling. The man that sat next to her now was content just making it to day-90.
“90 days Deb! That’s all they say it takes! Make it to 90 days and you’re cured!” he’d say. He’d never made it before though. Not before tonight. God forgive her: she didn’t want him to feel cured. Not tonight. Not ever. She knew it didn’t exist. All that exists are his decision in the next minute or so. She won’t make a scene either way, but if he’d start acting—
“Hello folks, my name is Danny. I’ll be your server this evening.” Deb didn’t see him coming. She was too busy staring off into space. “Can I start you off with any drinks this evening?”
“You know what? I’ve been dying for a daiquiri all day!” Jackie said. “Yeah that sounds great! Everyone else good with one of those?” Mark followed up quickly. “Four strawberry daiquiris please!”
“Not for me.” Deb’s eyes widened, hearing Lou speak. “I’ll do a mint daiquiri instead. Always wanted to try one of those,” Lou said, not looking Deb’s way, then suddenly, “oh and make mine a virgin please. Almost forgot that.” A smile. A smile so wide and beautiful that it made Deb open her mouth too.
“Virgin for me as well, please.” The waiter nodded an approval and went to fetch their orders.
“Mint daiquiri,” Deb said, “that sounds delicious.”