Page 36 of Shake the Habit

“Don’t professional players also have coaches, or is there a point where they’re supposed understand everything and execute on their own?” I asked, and he finally smiled.

“I think that’s one of those questions where you already know the answer.” We walked for a while before he spoke again. “When I worked for my dad, we used to talk through issues and I’d give him advice, although I don’t know how helpful I ever was. It’s good to have a sounding board.”

“Exactly. It can be me, it can be him, but please let it be somebody.”

We got in line at the food truck, but after a moment, Marc had to take Sir away from the overload of delicious smells while I ordered our lunch. The dog did get a small helping of his own, because we were celebrating.

“Why?” my cousin wondered when I noted that fact. “Is it because I’ve admitted how bad I am at my job?”

“No, you’re very good at your job,” I said firmly. “We’re celebrating a fresh start.” I touched my taco to his. “Cheers.” He seemed unconvinced, but I knew a lot about having to begin again. “You know how I went to rehab twice?”

“Yeah. What does that have to do with this problem?”

“The first time, I went because my parents were so scared. It was after I’d been in the hospital,” I explained, and he nodded slowly.I was sure he remembered it well. “I went for y’all, the people who loved me.”

“Ok.Well, thanks.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That was the wrong reason. The second time I went, it was for me. I knew that I had to change things. I had to change almost everything about my life and I had to change myself. That was much worse because it was so scary. I had been thinking about my drinking and using like they were problems of perception. Everyone else believed that I had issues and I needed to clean up so they would stop feeling that way. It terrified me to realize that I really did have a problem. I really needed help, because things had gotten so out of control that I…well, I thought I might die, and I didn’t mind that thought.”

“KayKay.” He put down the taco and hugged me. “That’s terrible.”

“But I’m ok now.” I looked at his face when he let go, and he didn’t seem to doubt my words. “I needed to admit that I was over my head and to accept that it wasn’t their perception, it was real. When I did, I saw that there were other ways for me to live. I just had to open my eyes to them.”

“I think this is one of those stories that’s supposed to have a lesson,” he said.

“Yes, and it’s this question: did you think less of me because I needed help?”

“No! I was so damn glad. I was so relieved,” Marc told me. “When you came back for the second time, it was one of the best days of my life. KayKay, don’t cry about it.”

“I’m not!” My greasy napkin wasn’t great for wiping away tears. “Do you get my meaning?”

He touched his taco to mine again. “Ok, we’re celebrating. It’s the beginning of a new era, the ‘Marc Needs Help’ phase of life.”

I nodded and we both chewed for a while. “You know, some people watch me like they’re afraid I’m going to backslide,” I remarked. “You don’t.”

“No,” he said. “I know you’ve changed and you’re different now. I trust you.” He looked into my plastic basket. “You want to finish that?”

I got him more food of his own, because he was obviously feeling better, and I got Sir another little helping, too. We were celebrating!

It was a huge mistake.

“It just didn’t sit well with him,” I lamented as we stood in Caleb’s driveway. “Oh, my Lord! I can smell it even when I breathe through my mouth.”

“Hell.” Caleb coughed and put his fist to his own mouth, but not to hide a smile or his laughter like he usually did. Now it seemed as if he might have been holding back puke. “Never take him there again.”

“No, I won’t,” I swore. “No more people food for the dog. I’m sorry,” I told poor Sir, although he seemed fine now thathe’d disgorged approximately fifteen gallons of vomit onto my dashboard.

“Kayleigh, I think this mess is beyond us. It’s in the vents and you’re going to need to take it in to get it fixed. Don’t you have a cousin who has a shop?”

“I do. But I hate to give this mess to poor Poppy,” I said. “I’ll roll down the windows and let it air out.”

“It would take a tornado.” He walked back about ten paces back where it smelled a little less like the bottom of a hot dumpster, and I joined him there. “You can leave it here for now and use mine,” he said.

“How will you get around without your truck?”

“I also have a car, from when I lived in Florida.” We went to the other side of the house and to another of his outbuildings, and inside was a lovely, new, expensive automobile, the leather seat and non-squeaky windshield wiper type.

I immediately shook my head. “No, sir.”

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