Page 16 of For All It's Worth
Chapter Seven
Charlie
Despitespendingtwomonthsin rehab, I was still expected to turn up to my therapy appointment the morning after I’d gotten home.
Mom had gotten snippy at the suggestion that I might like a few days to reconnect with everyone. I don’t know if it was the idea that I’d be out of her sight somewhere unknown, or if it was the idea of my old friends, but she had quickly shot the idea down and all but demanded I go to my appointment with Evan.
I’d endured a slightly hostile family dinner with Mom, Matty, Alex, and Joe later that evening. Will and Andy had been slammed with work, the company in the process of expanding and hiring, so they had been taking work home with them and eating while they worked. They couldn’t spare the time for a welcome home dinner and their absence was keenly felt. I understood that they were busy, though it stung that they couldn’t make time for me.
My phone had rung with a video call and I’d picked up the call to an exhausted Will and Andy.
“Hey,” came my brother’s voice. “Sorry, we couldn’t make it. Work is a nightmare just now.”
“Show him the table!” Andy called and Will panned the camera to the dining table they seemed to be working at. The surface was littered with samples and papers, seemingly with no real order to it. Andy sat at the end, his hair rumpled from running his hands through it probably. He looked up with a smile for me as he pulled at a notebook in the pile and scribbled something on a page.
“Yikes!” I said, taking it all in. “Are you guys okay? Do you need anything?”
“Nah,” Andy assured me. “Just wanted you to see that we aren’t blowing you off. We’re crazy busy, but by the end of the week this will all be done and we’ll do dinner properly okay?”
I nodded. “If you’re sure. I won't be offended if you can’t make it, or just want to chill out.”
“I’ve already told work I’m still going to my support meeting, though I’ll have to buy cookies this time. I don’t have time to make any.”
“I’ll make them for you. Just tell me how many and what kind.” I was at a bit of a loose end and it would help them out.
“Really?” Andy’s eyes went wide.
I nodded. “Sure. I’d be happy to help you out.”
“That’d be amazing! Thanks, Charlie! I’ll send you a text with the recipes I use, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, we better get back to it. You’re a lifesaver! Thanks!” Andy said enthusiastically.
“Bye Charlie,” Will said with a proud smile.
It took me a minute to recover from the call and even as I got ready for bed hours later, I still recalled the way that smile had made me feel.
It buoyed me through a quiet breakfast and during the short walk to the car. I’d gotten into the town car with reluctance. I wanted a couple of days at home to process before I started back up with therapy. I’d seen Evan the day before I’d left, so I had little to tell him.
The office building that held his office was a short drive from Books & Biscuits, Max’s café-bookstore. The driver that had taken me to my appointment had driven by it on our way and I’d found myself looking out the window, attempting to get a glimpse of Max.
There were three other therapists in the building, each with their own specialty, but I hadn’t seen into their rooms to see if theirs matched them better than Evan’s did. Evan’s office didn’t suit the tatted-up man at all. It lacked the personality that oozed out of him, often shown in the way he wore his shirts with suspenders, well-cut slacks with heavy biker boots.
The walls were painted a washed-out green that was supposed to be soothing but reminded me of the hospital and often had my pulse rocketing at the memories. The longer I was sober, the more I remembered about that time and I often woke in a cold sweat, panting and shaking. Not that I’d told him that.
Bookshelves lined the walls with an assortment of journals and heavy-looking tomes adorning the shelves. There were comfortable chairs rather than the obligatory sofa to recline on. I’d asked Evan about the lack of a couch once and he’d chuckled and said he didn’t often counsel couples since addiction was what he dealt with mostly. Romantic relationships often suffered as a result of addiction and only once that was under control could the couple attend the correct type of therapy.
I think it was the lack of personal touches that made the office seem cold and unwelcoming. Evan needed photos of his beloved Harley, the bike he’d restored after the crash that’d started him on the path to addiction to pain medication. I often thought about offering to take some decent photos for him, as some sort of thank you for all the advice he’d given me, but wondered if that was overstepping. I knew he was being paid to put up with my shit, but I was sure that I wasn’t the easiest of patients to deal with.
“Charlie?” Evan’s low voice broke through my reverie.
“Hey, Doc.”
Evan beckoned me into his office from the small waiting room and gestured at the comfortable armchair that I favored. The beige suede fabric was soft against my hands as I rubbed the arms nervously.
“Let me start by saying that I advised against this session today,” Evan said quietly.
