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seventy-seven f

New Home, Old Life

I fell in love with the condo almost as quickly as I fell for Nick. Two months later, we were homeowners.

I hated the forty-five-minute drive but told myself Nick was making the same commute. As he got busier at the paper, I saw less and less of him.

Most evenings, Nick would wake me when he got home. Those midnight moments were special for both of us. Then, one night several months after we moved, he didn’t come home.

I woke at five in the morning to an empty bed. I panicked. Had he been in an accident? On life support in the hospital?

I called the newspaper and spoke to one of the pressmen.

“Sorry, Mrs. Ravelli, nobody’s here but us guys in the press room.”

“Thank—” I heard Nick’s key in the front door.

Nick’s uneven footsteps sounded on the stairs. I turned off the light and pretended to be asleep.

He tiptoed into the bedroom, tripping over nothing. I was used to cigarette odor on his clothing, but that morning another odor wafted into the room—marijuana. He ignored me and headed for the bathroom.

Should I question him? Accuse him? Maybe he’d given someone a ride. Maybe he’d been out with friends from work. I decided to wait for him to say something.

Freshly showered, he came to bed and kissed me awake.

“Hi, hon, how’d you sleep?”

“Hi, Nick,” I whispered, pretending to come to consciousness. “What time is it?”

“Almost morning,” he replied. “I stayed at the office to finish my story.”

Liar. This wasn’t the first time I suspected Nick of using drugs. His behavior had become increasingly erratic since we moved, his mood swings and impulsiveness more noticeable.

“I’m exhausted,” he said.

I took the hint. “I’ll let you sleep, Nick. See you tonight.”

Nick had left his jacket and shoes on the floor just inside the front door. When I picked up his jacket, a baggie fell out. It contained half a dozen pre-rolled joints.

I wanted to shake him awake, throw the baggie in his face, and send him packing. He told me he’d been attending AA meetings on his way to or from the office. He knew I’d struggled with sobriety for years. Why couldn’t he share his struggle with me?

He probably thought he’d let me down. Like me, he was a flawed human being. I decided to say nothing until we had time for a heart-to-heart talk.

I left him a note on the kitchen table: Can we talk when you get home tonight?

Halfway to the salon, I regretted leaving the note. He’d know I’d found his stash and have time to concoct an excuse. He’d think I was invading his personal space and accuse me of not trusting him. But the damage was done.

When I arrived home from work, Nick was long gone. His reply read: Working late. Let’s talk tomorrow. Love you.

I spent another lonely evening in front of the tube, and another solitary night in bed.

We both had the following day off. Once he was awake, I brought him coffee and began the conversation.

“I found your stash.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted to talk about,” he said. “It’s not mine.”

An addict’s famous excuse.

He knew I didn’t believe him. “Seriously, hon, it belongs to one of the cub reporters. He’s trying to go straight and asked me to hold it for him.”

“But he knows your history, right?” I asked.

“That’s why he asked me. He knows he can trust me.”

I wanted to believe my husband. I took his hand, looked into his eyes, and said, “It’s okay if you slipped. Come to my meeting this morning. Get back on the program.”

“ I’m not using! ” Nick had never raised his voice to me before.

I didn’t want to argue. “I believe you but come with me. We haven’t been to a meeting together in weeks.”

“I’m sick of those damn meetings. Nothing but a bunch of drunks crying the blues.”

“Then I’ll see you when I get back.” I hated the anger in my voice.

He hugged me. “I’m fine, just tired.”

After my meeting Nick was in an upbeat mood. “Sorry about before.”

“No problem.” What else could I say?

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “You know how we’ve been wanting to redecorate? How about we get started?”

He knew just how to lift my spirits. “Can we go to Kachina Village?”

Nick and I were enamored with the Southwest and had talked about traveling to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, Arizona. Life kept getting in the way, so we fed our fantasy at Kachina Village, a shop devoted to everything Arizona.

From dreamcatchers to Kokopelli, from desert scenes to turquoise accents, we transformed our condo into a southwestern paradise.

“I love our new home, and I love you,” I said.

“It’s perfect, and so are you,” Nick said.

All it took was a trip to Kachina Village.

“All we need now is a new couch,” I said.

“Maybe we could hold off on the couch and take that trip to Arizona we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s a deal.” I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to cement our relationship and get Nick away from drugs.

We both had two weeks of vacation coming up in July.

“It’ll be hot out there,” Nick said.

“It’s not a problem for me,” I said.

“Me neither.”