Page 73 of The Dis-Graced
My brothers pour themselves drinks, then everyone takes a seat, and I begin by saying, “Devon is sober on his own accord. Sure, he’s had difficulties, but he’s working through it all. I’m proud of him.”
My mother rolls her eyes and looks down at her phone.
I continue with, “Thanks to Dalton, he has been steadily working.”
“Yeah,” Dalton cuts in. “Surprisingly, he’s been great working with people. Of course, everything he does has been via phone and under close observation, but he’s reached out to several clients, and they seem to like him, and dare I say, they respond well to him.”
I smile, thankful Dalton came through for Devon, which I hadn’t at all expected. Derek, on the other hand, has tried but is totally tone-deaf to Devon’s needs.
“Well, what is it you expect of me? Do you expect me to give him the keys to the castle?” mother asks with a snide chuckle.
“Actually,” I begin, “I had another idea.” I look to my brothers, who have mixed feelings about what I’m about to propose but have all decided to unite for the cause. “I think Devon is in a good position to take over Dallanger Insurance company. I know it went for sale, but the offers aren’t great, from what I hear. Why not put a team together to help Devon secure that line of business?”
Mother’s jaw drops, a first for the well-composed matriarch.
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. Did you just say that you think Devon, addict Devon, would be in a good position to take over the insurance line?”
“Hear me out. Have you seen the insurance commercials for Allstate featuring Dean Winters as Mayhem? People love them, and our Devon here is a real-life Mayhem.”
My brothers chuckle, even Devon smirks a little, though he also wears the heavy weight of shame.
“Devon’s rock bottom is relatable. He makes us relatable. Everyone loves a good fixer upper, instead of trying to run from it, lean into it. If anyone needs insurance, Devon does. He burnt down a hotel for crying out loud. So, why not let him sell it?”
“Lean into our family’s shame?” she snaps.
“You see—that’s a problem. The fact that Devon has to walk around feeling ashamed all the time. Maybe, instead of talking about how weak he was, let’s change the narrative and talk about how strong he is.”
“This is absurd,” mother says dismissively.
“Actually, it’s genius,” Dalton, the momma’s boy, comes to my aid. “People hate aloof, rich assholes. Devon could be a valuable asset.”
“I-I wanna help people,” Devon says.
My mom dons a sugary-sweet grin and says, “Well, if you’d like to help your family, then maybe you could return to that nice, cushy resort I had you holed up in.”
“Please!” Devon pleads. “I know I’m sick. I know I can’t be trusted. I understand if you need to take measures to ensure that I stay on track. I’m willing to submit to monitoring, a sober coach, drug tests—whatever it takes! I’m so lucky. I got to spend the last several years on a beautiful island. I never went hungry, I was never without some form of entertainment, and you know what, it was so empty. By the end, all I could think about was using again, and that’s what I had my mind set on. Using. But I came back, and I don’t know. There’s this girl I met on the island, one I think I like, and it’s like a switch finally triggered, and I have this vision of who I could be, what I could be. I know I’ve hurt all of you. Every person in this room has been let down by me, so many times. Please, though, let me try. I promise, if I start up again, I’ll go back. I swear I’ll go back.”
My mother narrows her eyes at Devon. “How about you save us all a lot of heartache and go back right now?”
“No!” I snap. “He’s not going anywhere. A lot of people look up to our family, which means Devon isn’t just an asset to us, but he’s an asset to anyone struggling with addiction, as well as the people that would like to get help for their loved ones. Elevate his story. It’s powerful! He could go to meetings and reach out—”
My mother rises from her chair, grabs her purse, violently slinging the strap over her shoulder. “Over my dead body will I ever see my son discuss his personal struggles on—”
“You don’t have a choice, ma,” Derek says, taking a flyer from a black leather portfolio and handing it to her. “I’m going to start posting these around my nightclubs and casinos.”
My mother’s eyes dart across the page, then she looks around to each of us is shock, then goes back to reading.
With Devon’s reentry into society, we decided to put together a helpline manned by addicts, relatives of addicts, and a team of professionals. Each of us is dedicating four hours a month to man a phone line as well as providing additional financial support. The thought of airing of our dirty laundry makes my mother’s face grow pale.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” my mother gasps.
“Afraid not, mom. We’ve already been working with PR and reaching out to media outlets,” I say.
Mother’s neck snaps upward. “You didn’t!”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” I look around the room at my brothers. “We did. A united front, isn’t that our family motto?”
Her lips pull tight. She wields a lot of power, often masterfully, and it’s obvious she didn’t expect us to usurp her in any way. Especially like this.
