One For the Road Ch. 05

This is the final chapter of this story and it should bring the tale of James, Myra, John and Joel to an end. It might have felt wordy to some but I didn't rush it and let it tell its tale at its own speed. It is not for everyone, and that's ok. Some people like Vanilla, others Chocolate, and still others prefer New York Super Fudge Chunk.

The resolution of this tale is based on the real world that we live in, not the fantasy world of "man, if I had money to burn, the feelings of a snake, and there were no consequences for anything I do I could get away with whatever I want!"

My tale does not fit comfortably into any sub-genre, and that's not a problem.

Thanks to everyone for reading. Please vote and comment. J

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know.

Again, no...actually this time, for this last chapter, there are no restrictions. ;). However, this is still as close to reality as I can get it and tell the story.

Enjoy! -V

*****

Eventually John, Joel, and I all calmed down enough from our reunion to take a look around us. My parents were openly sobbing, mom hunched into pop's chest. Father Michael was wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeves. Even the CPS bitch was crying, rooting around her purse for a tissue and trying to dry her nose and face.

"How?" I began choking, trying again. "Was this planned? How'd you boys know to come here? Is this ok? Where's..."I swallowed, looking towards the gate, "Where's mom?"

John wiped his cheeks on the side of my shirt, not letting go of my neck to do so. "Mom's not here. She set up the visit for us with Gramma and Granpa and Father Mikey. Said we had to be on our bestest behavior no matter what. Were you surprised, Dad? Were you? You didn't know? Did you?"

"No, John-boy. You got me good." I ruffled his hair, just amazed to even look at him. He and his brother had changed and grown so much in the six months ; letting me know just how much I missed out. "And you, Joel," I cupped him under his chin and tilted his head up to me. "Have you been a good boy for mommy?"

"I..." my youngest made to speak but the words seemed to get caught in his throat. He stammered a bit and then shook his head. "No, Daddy. I wasn't good. Not at all."

I felt sad, lost in my younger son's words. "Why Joel? Why?"

He sniffled. "Because Mommy didn't want you home anymore. It's her fault. And she knows I miss you." He pulled himself tight against me, holding on like I was going to disappear on him.

Fuck me. My kids were fucked up over this. For the millionth time I hated myself and my drinking. "Joel, look at me," I said, holding his chin until he met my gaze. "Don't blame Mommy, ok? It's not her fault. Daddy was...sick. And I couldn't come home."

"Can you come home now, Daddy? Are you better?"

I smiled, lying to my son. "I'd love to come home, champ. Both of you," bringing John into my refreshed embrace. "But Daddy is still a little sick and needs to stay with Grandma and Grandpa for a bit." I looked over at the CPS worker and asked, "But maybe it would be ok if I could call and talk you both soon? What do you think?"

She once again wiped her tears away and said, "I can certainly see if that would be a problem. I'll let you know soon."

I spent the next two hours with my sons, never letting them out of my sight for a minute, touching them constantly, holding their hands, and eventually, rough housing with them on the lawn after we ate lunch. But this was not to be a long visit as evidenced by the CPS rep and Father Michael checking their watches and then indicating to my boys that it was "just about time to go."

"But!" They complained loudly. "But we don't WANT to go! Can't we stay longer? Daddy, don't make us go! We want to stay with you!"

Each cry was a fresh dagger to my heart. I could only look at the two of them with pleading eyes and offer them my arms to hold. Nothing came out when I opened my mouth, only squeaks and moans instead of words. What the hell could I possibly say to my sons? Anything? Nothing?

I stood up, lifting both of them with me, turning to Father Mike. "It's ok. Where do you want me to bring them? Is...is Myra coming here to pick them up?" He nodded and I swallowed the rock in my throat. "Ok, then. I guess she's here?"

"Yes, Jimmy. She texted Rebecca and me a minute ago."

Rebecca. Ok, the CPS bitch had a name. Good to know. "Alright." I gave John and Joel a fresh squeeze. "Ok boys. Mom's here. Let's get you out there."

As I was walking around to the gate John asked, "When can we see you again, Daddy?"

"I don't know. But I promise you it will be soon. You have my word."

We wandered out front and there was Myra's Sedona at the bottom of my parents' driveway. She had the sliding door open and was wearing a pretty pink short-sleeve shirt and a pair of cut off blue jeans. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail and she had on a thin layer of makeup. In short, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

However, even though she was standing there next to the open sliding door, one hand on the handle waiting to load up our kids, what captured my attention was the guy seen through the window in the driver's seat. Some guy, driving my wife's mini-van, coming with her to pick up my kids from a supervised visit.

I stood there, staring at my wife with a stunned expression. She was just as surprised to see me come around the front of the house. Her surprise changed to embarrassment as she realized the very awkward and explosive situation she had placed us both in. There was some terrible anger in my chest swelling up like a windblown storm, bringing a flush to my neck and a river of sweat down my spine.

With reserved care I lowered my sons to the ground, not trusting myself to walk any closer to Myra. "Ok boys," I said with a friendly smile that failed to reach my eyes, "Give your DAD one last hug and remember how much I love you and missed you." They each latched on to me one more time, holding me far longer than expected, venturing into embarrassing as I had to pry their hands away and remind them that their mother was waiting. "I'll see you both soon. Scout's honor."

"Bye Dad! We love you Dad! You're the best Dad!"

They finally made it to the Kia where they immediately bombarded Myra and Mark...fuck you Mark, just fuck you...with how great it was to see me and how much they wanted me to come home. Myra was absently listening, her entire being troubled as she buckled them in. Once done she shut the door and turned back to me, almost 20' away. "Happy Memorial Day, James," she said, giving me a small wave.

"Thanks, Myra," I replied, barely holding my combined rage and pride in check. Ok, this was a flash point, a trigger moment for me. I could feel the rising tidal wave of the want that was my desire for a drink suddenly swamp over my internal shores. But I was not going to cave in to it. No fucking way, Myra. Not a chance. You are NOT going to drive me to drink.

Fuck no.

"I wanted to thank you for your note." She looked into her car at Mark and then back at me. "Listen, I'd like to call you. Can I call you later this week?" I nodded, not trusting myself to talk. "Terrific. Thanks again." She waved to everyone else standing behind me, wishing them all a happy holiday, and then climbed into the vehicle while Mark...fuck you Mark, just fuck you...drove my wife and waving kids away.

When it was obvious that they were out of sight, I felt the last of my energy burn out and my legs collapsed underneath me. I hit the blacktop like a sack of wet shit and lay crumpled over my own midsection, tears silently falling down my cheeks. On one side I could feel my mom hugging me and on my other Father Mike was slinging one arm over his shoulder. My pop was standing between my splayed out legs, hoisting me up from under my armpits and saying, "It's alright there, Jimmy. We've got you. Come on, boy. Up and at'em."

They got me upright and walked me like an old man back behind the fence. Even that bitch Rebecca steadied my chair and then gave me a glass of water once I was seated.

"How do you feel, Jimmy," Father Michael asked, staring at me deeply. I could tell by the reflection in his piercing eyes that he knew exactly how I was feeling...and more importantly, what it was I wanted.

"I feel like crap, Father. I feel like crap because I miss my kids terribly, I have no one to blame for that except myself. I feel like crap because I miss my wife, but Myra showed up with that...fucker Mark. Fuck you Mark, just fuck you." I bowed my head. "But more importantly Father, I feel like crap because after what I just experienced - I would really like a drink."

No one said anything, just watching me. "Ok, Jimmy," Father Mike said supportively. "I can hear that. This has been the most terrible of days for you." He paused. "Would you like me to get you a drink?"

I wrestled with my tongue, my heart, my brain, my guts, my wants, my needs, my desires. I combated with all the parts that were Jimmy Skelly, doing battle in the burning field of my mind until I had an answer for that dangerous question. "Father Mike, I would like you to get me a drink. But, I do not NEED you to get me a drink. I'm here now...because of my drinking. And I don't want to be here anymore. So no, I'm good." I could feel my lips twist into a smirk as I said it. "I've got it. I'm good."

Rebecca hung out for only a few more minutes before excusing herself and telling me that she was going to give her superiors a complete report of the day and how positive it was for the children. Ok, thanks, maybe you aren't a complete slack-jawed bitch. Maybe.

After she left Father Mike dug out a small package for me. "Here you go, Jimmy. A little something from me to you; assuming that this visit and your conduct afterwards was going to go well."

"I assume since I'm opening it, you're not unhappy."

"Well, not terribly," he said with a grin. I unwrapped the brown paper and was looking at a small stack of CD's. "I understand from talking to your parents that your original collection, although not extensive, did not survive your time off the ranch. So I figured a few from me to get you back on track couldn't hurt."

"Metallica? AC/DC? Meatloaf? Again I ask you, what kind of priest are you?" We all shared an easy laugh. I held up the 4^th disk, a plain writable CD. "What's this one?"

"That one is from me. It's a small smattering of inspirational stories I had collected over the years as my time as a counselor along with some positive things to help out people going through the same stuff you are now. Think of it as a personal gift from me to you."

I shook his hand. "Thanks, Father Mike. For this and just about everything."

"My pleasure, Jimmy."

I sighed. "It's a shame though. The radio in my Charger has been missing for some time. I'm getting it replaced maybe in a few months when I can save up for it. My bills are climbing pretty damned high lately."

"Well, Jimmy," my pop volunteered, "I guess that's where your mom and I come in next." He motioned to Father Mike. "We sort of knew what was coming your way, especially since we told him what you like to listen to." He was smiling.

My mom reached behind her chair and handed me a gift bag. "So in honor of you getting through today and making us proud, your father and I got you this."

"What is it?" I took it from her and looked inside past the tissue paper. I pulled out the compact box, turning it around to reveal a Dual XDMA car radio/CD player with Bluetooth. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed, flipping it over. "Wow! Guys, I'm really touched! Hot damn!" I reached over and gave my parents each a warm hug, coming back around to Father Mike and offering him one as well. "Shit. This is god damned sweet. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to install it now." They wished me well, laughing as I worked my way to my baby and began working under her dashboard. It took the better part of the remaining afternoon but I got the radio in. It sounded great, the CDs worked fine, and if I had a phone once again, I'm sure the Bluetooth would be a boon. One thing at a time, Jimmy. One at a time.

The rest of the shorter week was fairly uninteresting, which didn't bother me in the slightest. I could use some boring. Tom continued to be a terrific boss and I worked my ass off for him. I never bitched about the heat, never tried to slack off, and watched everything his workers did, trying to learn by observation.

It was Thursday night, the sky was filled with heat lightning from the scorcher of the day, I had come back from an AA meeting just a little while ago. My mother knocked on my door and asked, "Jimmy? You decent?"

"Yeah, mom. What's up?"

She stuck her hand in and gave me the cordless phone. "It's for you." She paused, eyes hooded. "It's Myra."

I took it from her and whispered, "thanks," and then sat down on my bed, phone held in my hands. Steeling myself I lifted it to my ear and said, "Hello?" softly.

There was a moment of silence and then my wife's voice came on. "Hey, James. Thanks for taking my call."

"No problem, babes...er...Myra." I wanted to punch myself.

"James, I wanted to call and talk to you about the separation."

I held the phone away, staring at it like it was full of shit. "Sure, Myra. But I want to remind you, I'll never sign any paper. Ever. We're married, till death do us part."

"James," she said slowly, the voice filled with the same drawn out lilt that she often adopted when I was pissing her off slowly. Tough shit. "I don't want to fight with you."

I counted to three very slowly and then let my breath out. "Ok. You're right. Let's talk. Tell me why you can't wait to divorce me and get it on with Mark the Moneybags."

"I thought you didn't want to fight?"

I sighed. "Maybe a little bit. Myra, how could you do this? How could you do this to me?"

"James!" Her voice grew sharp and filled with emotional tacks. "Don't you see?! It's all stemmed from you! You! You're the start and middle of this entire mess! You! All we're trying to do, any and all of us, is pick up the pieces YOU shattered in your wake!" She lowered her voice slightly. "You were NOT here. You have NO idea the sacrifices I've had to make, the stress I've been under, and the weight I've been knuckling down to. All you KNEW was where your next god damned drink was coming from and then that horrible day before Thanksgiving. When you...you put your hands on me. Oh god, James."

All I heard was weeping on the phone. Gut wrenching weeping. The old me would have fired back with happy horseshit but two months of diligent sobriety had given me a clearer view of my part in this. And my part was tremendously huge. Time to man up a bit, Jimmy.

"Myra. Myra, babes. Calm down," I muttered into the receiver. "Come on babes, it's ok. It's ok. Calm down. You're right, Myra. You're right."

"What?" she croaked.

"You're right, honey," I said the words, hearing them rattle around my bedroom. And for a nice change, I sort of believed them "I'm...I'm a dick."

"Yes," she replied, which had us both laughing.

"I really fucked us up, huh?"

"For a while, Jimmy."

"Do you...do you think there's any hope for us Myra?" Fuck, Jimmy, why the fuck did you ask that? You sound pathetic man. Fucking pussy. Wimp shit asshole.

"I...I can't answer that, James. I can't." Her voice sounded like piled crystal, fragile and ready to crumble.

I sighed, "Alright. I wish you had more faith in me, babes."

"Jimmy, you broke me. I tried to believe you, I tried to look past, but after this last year or two, I don't have it anymore. And now, I have to do what's best for John and Joel."

"I'm what's best for them, Myra. Not Mark."

"James, that's not what I meant."

I lay back in the bed, head propped up on the pillow. "What did you mean, Myra? Tell me."

"The lawyers and Child Services have been so terrible. And they can come in whenever they want, James." I could tell she was crying on her end, so I gave her a few moments of silence to pull herself together and continue. "They would come by three, four times a week. And it was always when John was acting out, or Joel was mad at me. And the things they would say and write and report were just so...skewed terribly!"

"So it was after Valentine's Day and I was feeling very lonely without you, stressed out, and without any hope. There was almost no oil and I couldn't get a delivery which meant the boys and I had the heat down to 55 in the house and were boiling pots of water on the stove to keep warm. I was getting asked out almost constantly at work; everyone there knew our situation since I had to tell my manager Linda why I needed the extra hours and she can't keep her mouth shut for anything."

"Go on," I offered, getting into her tale besides myself; realizing that my family's issues during this time were again, my fault.

"So it was a pretty bad visit and I got the J's to sleep when Ms. Desano, that was the typical visitor from CPS, wanted to know how much longer I was going to risk my children since it was obvious I didn't want them. I was flabbergasted; didn't want them? How could she say that? Why would she say that? She then went on to say that since I was not filing for a separation from you at this time when it would be very easy to get one, I was therefore hoping to have you come back and be around the boys. And since the boys were already barely acceptable in my presence, she indicated that if you were coming home it was only going to have to force CPS to step in and 'make a drastic living change for the children and their welfare'."

I sat there, mouth open, stunned. "They said that?"

"I swear, Jimmy. Pretty much word for word. We can't afford a lawyer, I don't know any and neither do you, and they were already interviewing other people who would be 'better suited as interim guardians' for the boys."

"Fuck me," I swore.

"It was after that visit that I had a long talk with mom and your parents. I explained the situation and went over it again and again." She paused, I could tell she was wrung out. "Jimmy, the boys come first. More than me. More than you. The boys are first. You had months...years to get your drinking under control, and you didn't. So I had and have to make decisions that don't include you in them."

What was I supposed to say to that? Really, was there anything I could say? "I...Fuck, Myra. Just, fuck."

"I know, Jimmy."

"Now what?"

I heard her take a deep breath. "Can we talk about the separation?"

"I can't, Myra. I just can't. It's not in me to talk about it." I sat up. "Look, I'm not putting my head in the sand here. I just am not prepared to give you a divorce. Not now, not ever."

"Jimmy, please."

"No, Myra. In this I can't let you go. I can't. I'm fighting, babes. Every day I'm fighting an uphill battle against ice and rocks and god knows what rolling down at me. And yes, I might have gotten buried a bit, but I'm not going to just give up. Stubborn prick that I am; this time it's going to work for me. And the truth is: you're my wife. Those are our kids. And we're married no matter what."

She was crying on her end, and it tore me up. But I wasn't going to let it go. Not this. Not the last thing. Myra was mine - and fuck off Mark. Just fuck you. Don't get comfortable there you prick. Don't you dare. I'm coming for you in my own way. "Listen, Myra. Listen."

I heard her sniffle. "What, James. What?"

"I've got a job. It's been paying ok, and I'm learning a lot. Well, anyway. I know there's the order of protection and stuff, but could I come by once a week, say on Friday's after I get paid, and bring you some of the money?"