Page 94 of The River Is Waiting

“Use your mother’s address,” she says. “I assume she’d be okay with that.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it make more sense if I moved back in with you and Maisie? I could take her to school and pick her up. Bring her to her after-school stuff. Make dinner. Make your life easier.”

“No. That’s not happening.”

“It would just be for convenience’s sake. I can sleep on the couch.”

“No.”

One two-letter word and that’s it? “Because?”

“Because you can’t expect to walk out of there and pick up where we left off before… everything happened. You’ve been in prison for two and a half years, Corby. You’ve changed, I’ve changed, and it would be too overwhelming for Maisie. Don’t get me wrong. I want you back in her life and she’s going to want that, too, but it has to happen more gradually.”

“You’re going to file those divorce papers, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I mean, there was no rush before. But now that I’m getting out—”

“Look, Corby,” she says. “You’re an addict and your substance abuse has cost us all a hell of a lot.” She’s saying it without saying it: it cost her Niko. “And to tell you the truth, when Maisie needs to go someplace, I can drive her myself like I’vebeendoing.” Meaning she won’t risk our daughter’s safety if I’m at the wheel. I go someplace else for a couple of seconds because it hurts to listen to how my offer has scared her. Triggered her.When I tune back in, she’s saying she believes me when I say I’ve stayed clean and sober since I’ve been in prison, but—

“For the record, I got cleanbeforeI got here, and, except when we were in lockdown, I’ve hauled my ass to meetings once or twice a week.”

“Which is really good and I’m sure it hasn’t been easy. But once you get out, you’re going to have a lot more access to drugs and alcohol.”

“I’m past all that. The obsession has left me.”

“Then I’m happy for you. Happy for Maisie, too. All I’m saying is that you’re going to have to prove to me that you’re committed to maintaining your sobriety before we can talk about driving her places or living arrangements.”

“Prove it for how long?”

“Well, let’s say a year. Which doesn’t mean that you and Maisie can’t—”

“You shopping around for someone else, Em? Swiping right to find my replacement?” I can hear myself being an asshole, but I’m not yet sorry I said it. Still, why am I arguingagainstthe case I’m trying to make?

“No, that’snotit,” she says. “I’m going to end this conversation now before we both say things we’re going to regret. I’m glad you’re getting out early. Take care.”

What’s it been—less than an hour since I received the news from Ms. Jackson? And in that time, my emotions have ricocheted like a pinball: relieved, excited, afraid, hopeful, hopes dashed. But that’s no excuse for going off on her like that. Hasn’t my time in here—all of itsobertime—taught me anything about restraining myself? Being humble enough to resist running off at the mouth? It says in the Big Book that humility is the bedrock of recovery.

Manny says, “I’m going to miss you, but I’m happy for you, Corbs. Can I give you a hug?”

“Probably not,” I tell him. He gets that hurt look of his, so I tell him that when I leave, I’m not going to want to take a lot of the shit I’ve accumulated.

“Like what?” he says.

I know what answer he’s looking for. “Well, for one thing, my TV.” He breaks out in a big grin. It’s taken me a while to figure out that Manny’s commissary account, which his sister, Gloria, funds, doesn’t allow for many extras. She can’t make much as a nighttime cleaner in a couple of office buildings, but Manny seems to think his and his sister’s ship is going to come in once that uncle kicks the bucket and they inherit his motel. That’s probably wishful thinking since it’s on some secondary road in Jersey close to where Palisades Amusement Park used to be. From time to time, I hear him singing their old radio jingle:Palisades has the rides, Palisades has the fun. Come on over!I hope I’m wrong, but I can’t imagine a motel on the way to where a tourist attractionused to beis going to be much of a moneymaker.

I’ve done my best to avoid Anselmo and Piccardy, but even when I can’t, they ignore me—look past me as if I don’t exist. The only exception was the time out in the yard when Piccardy put his finger to his lips and smiled. Even his silent threat didn’t intimidate me that much, thanks to the Klonopin. It’s really helped me to stay calmer during the day, sleep better at night, and quiet the violent fantasies I’d been having about how I’d make him and Anselmo pay for what they did. The only problem is that when Blankenship prescribed it for me, I told him I was getting out next August. After that changed, I put in a request for an appointment to discuss getting off it sooner. I heard back yesterday, but the appointment’s not for another week and a half and it’s with the other shrink. What I’ll do is start tapering down six weeks before my release. I’ll start going over to the med line everyothertime I’m due for a dose. Then, for the last couple of weeks, I’ll stop taking it altogether. Wean myself off it that way. It’s just a crutch, and the closer I get to leaving, the less I’ll need it.

Hey, Em—

I’m writing for two reasons. First, and most important, I want to apologize for the stupid things I said on the phone last week. Ihad just found out about my earlier release and my head was all over the place emotionally. Still, that’s no excuse for me acting like a dick. I should have let the news sink in before I called you. I’m sorry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the things you said and realize they make sense. You’re right. I need to prove myself once I’m out. Addicts get to be really good liars and I was no exception when I was drinking and drugging. I get it that I have to win back your trust over time. My probation officer will drug-test me regularly and will have the power to send me back here if I test positive, but that’s not going to happen! Once I’m out of here, I’m never coming back.

There’s this saying in the program—“meeting makers make it”—and it’s true. I’ve heard people in AA and NA say they were five, ten, even twenty years sober, but then they got complacent, stopped going to meetings, and started drinking or using again. I’ve promised myself that I’ll get to meetings four or five times a weekminimum. With my counselor’s help, I’ve just recently gotten my sponsor’s address and written to him. Dale was who I was working with before I got sentenced. He and I were doing the Twelve Steps, but that got cut short when I had to come here. We were getting ready to start Step Nine, which is about making amends to the people we’ve hurt. I’m hoping to hear back from him so I can finish the last four steps. I know promises can sound empty, but I mean it when I say I’m going to work consistently on my sobriety, for you, for Maisie, and most of all for myself.

The second reason I’m writing is to update you on a couple of things. I’ve found out my release date. It’s Tuesday, February fourth. My mom says I can stay at her place for as long as I need to. I’m hoping to get some kind of a job ASAP so that I can begin to contribute toward your expenses, plus give my mom a little something every week. She’s not charging me rent, but I want to chip in. I have the number of an agency that helps ex-cons find employment, so I’ll contact them. Meanwhile, Mom says one of her regulars at the dinerhires ex-prisoners at his scrap metal business and that her boss, Skip, is always looking for dishwashers. And I can always mow lawns and shovel snow or whatever. Start small and stay humble. Right?

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