Lynn paces down the aisle of the gallery. She knows that Francisco isn't going to get punished heavily, especially for a first time offence, but she is tired of waiting for the judge, who is currently running late.
"I can't believe that this is taking so long," Lynn whines, "You'd think that judges would be on time for their own jobs. I mean seriously they get paid well and can run late?"
Francisco looks at his watch, "Lynn, it's only been a few minutes, besides it's no big deal."
Lynn groans loudly, "Do you want to delay the inevitable?" she asks him. "It's gonna happen either way, so better now than later."
Lisa turns towards her sister and reminds her, "Speaking of 'paid well', do keep in mind; I begin charging for my services from the moment I step into the courtroom."
Francisco and Lynn are surprised to hear that, he asks, "I thought that you said that we were getting the friends and family discount?"
"You are – two hundred dollars an hour, I normally charge more."
"Are you kidding?!" Lynn yells out loud, "It's a traffic ticket, not a murder trial!"
The bailiff stares at Lynn after her outburst and she takes a seat behind Francisco, "So you're charging us now? But the judge isn't here yet."
Lisa shrugs her shoulders, she glances over at Francisco's watch, "Actually, I began representing my client twenty minutes ago."
Lynn begins doing the math, "So we currently owe you about sixty-seven dollars for nothing? Fine, then I'm putting you to work, go get us some coffee."
The younger sister scoffs, "Excuse me? I've never had to fetch coffee for a client."
"I'm sorry; didn't you say that you began charging for your services the moment you step into the courtroom? You never said what services, so we're counting it," Lynn tells her sister, who scowls as she steps out of the room.
Francisco turns to Lynn, "You do realize that if the judge appears while Lisa's gone then we may have to wait while she returns and it could cost us more, right?"
"Let me have my win," she groans.
It hasn't been long since Francisco lost his license, but Lynn is beginning to feel exhausted by her new role as chauffeur. Before, the couple would split trips for necessities, but now Lynn has no choice but to handle it all until the state of Michigan lets him drive legally again.
"I can't wait for these next couple of months to be over with," Francisco remarks, "How bad can community service be?"
"Depends on what the judge sentences you to," she says. "It's your first time; it probably won't be so bad."
"I'm hoping…"
Lisa quickly walks into the courtroom, "Great news, I met with the judge in the hallway and I might able to waive your community service."
Francisco is surprised, Lynn mentioned that community service was to be expected, but if Lisa is able to waive it; he's not going to complain.
"How'd you plan to do that?" Lynn asks.
"Simple," Lisa starts as she searches through her briefcase, "My client isn't physically capable of participating in such tedious manual labor, so I recommended an alternative – mental rehabilitation."
"What?!" Francisco asks, "Are you kidding me? You want me to go to rehab? It was only one time, I doubt that the judge is going to go harshly on me," he complains.
"Are you nuts, Francisco? You don't want to know what a melted cherry Flippee in a cup full of pee smells like on a hot summer like me. Besides, you can't be on your feet for hours a day, how do you plan on picking up trash on the side of the road?"
Lisa tries to erase the image that Lynn painted out of her head, "You will only be in a rehabilitation facility so that you can be medically supervised as you undergo the withdrawal process. As I'm sure you're aware, the process is difficult and full-time staff devoted to your recovery will be ideal."
"Do you understand? It's to help you get clean," Lynn chimes in.
Francisco groans. It's bad enough that he can't see his daughter, but now he's going to be put into a facility until a doctor says he is better and there's no telling what else he's going to have to do.
Lynn pats his back, but it doesn't make him feel better, especially since he knows his fate.
Bud slowly steps out of the grocery store; he likes visiting the store early in the morning to get the best pick of the food, but also avoid the crowds that come later in the day. As he walks to his car he spots a familiar blue car parked a few spaces over. He tries not to pay any attention to it, but his eye notices messy brown hair pressing on the rear passenger window.
"Is that? Nah!" he tells himself, dismissing any thoughts he has about the car and the owner, whom he knows.
He unlocks his car and looks around to see if there are any other people in the parking lot that can act as witnesses; luckily, there's a store employee, who is walking across the parking lot. He peeks inside through the window and his suspicions are confirmed – it's Lynn Loud.
The old man knocks on the window with his cane and Lynn snaps awake, looking at the source of the sound. She turns around and sees her old neighbor and she gives him a tired wave.
With Bud sure that she's alive, he walks back to his car to put his groceries away, but he hears the car door open behind him, and he regrets waking her up.
"Mr. G! What's up?" she greets.
He looks over at her; her hair is a mess, her clothes are dirty and wrinkled, and he's sure that he can smell sweat, alcohol, and dirt on her.
He turns back to his groceries, "Nothing. Just doing some grocery shopping."
"That's good," she says.
Bud can tell that she wants to talk, but he isn't in the mood; he wants to go home. He does his best to ignore her, but he can't do it, especially when she stands next to him with her hands trembling, "If you want money, you're barking up the wrong tree," he complains.
"What? What makes you think that I need money?" Lynn claims.
He gives her a knowing look, "Gee I don't know, maybe because you're living in your car."
Lynn scoffs, despite being found out, "It was just one night. Haven't you ever spent the night in your car?"
"Only when I've gone camping," he says as he slowly puts a bag into his car. "You know that the first game of the regular season starts today. Do you want to come over to watch it?"
Her eyes begin to light up, "Yeah, that sounds nice," she tells him before remembering that Dutch has been acting up and she hasn't been able to move it. "Is there any chance that you would be able to give me a ride to your place?"
Bud mumbles under his breath, "Fine! I'll give you a ride, but I'm not making any stops anywhere."
"Deal!"
He leaves the cart and walks towards the driver's seat, "Put the bags in carefully, then get your tow ropes ready."
"Wait, I don't know if I have any," she says.
"Then we can leave your car or you can stay here," he threatens.
Lynn groans, "Just give me a minute to look for something or maybe a place to buy them."
"I can't wait around, I've got frozens!"
"It'll only be a minute!" she tells him as she finishes putting his groceries in the trunk of his car.
Francisco looks at the front entrance of the facility in front of him. According to the judge, he will be here for the next thirty days, and while this is, according to everyone, a second chance, all he worries about is how he's going to be away from everyone he knows while being in the facility. At the moment, Francisco plans on trying to get out as quickly as possible, but he can't be sure that it'll be easy once his withdrawal symptoms kick in.
"This isn't what I pictured," Francisco tells Lynn.
She looks at the building and wonders, "What did you picture? Twitchy people? Smokers? Sociopathic staff members?"
He turns to her, "What? Should I be worried?"
She shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know I've never been to rehab."
"Seriously? I have to go, but you never had to," he complains.
"Hey, I got punished by picking up trash, paying fines, and spending time in jail. Meanwhile, you had a nice lawyer who was able to get you something that will actually help you get better, so stop complaining!"
He rests his head on the head rest, "Just a month, right?"
"Yeah, and I promise to visit as much as I can, and not to ruin the house, or the restaurant. So let's go get you better!" she says with a smile.
Francisco doesn't move. He doesn't want to go in; he would have been happier doing this in private, not in a building full of medical staff, who have to report how he's doing to a judge, or with other men around him. He tried to remind himself that they're all in there to get clean, but it never does comfort him to know that other people have to know why he's an addict.
Lynn looks over at the entrance as well, "Do you want me to go in there with you?"
"Yeah, I'm probably going to need a little help with my bag."
The two walk inside and are greeted with a white room with posters concerning mental health, how to get help, and the signs to watch out for. Francisco can feel his heart pounding as he slowly steps to the receptionist's desk to check in.
"Thirty days…" he reminds himself.
"You can do it," Lynn reminds him. "Just one day at a time. Heck, this is your day one! Soon you'll have weeks, months, and years."
He doesn't say a thing as he looks at the floor, 'One day at a time…I can do it…"
The receptionist calls for a nurse to escort Francisco. His heart begins to pound; this is it, in a few short minutes he's going to be walk down that hallway and he's going to be away from everyone and everything he knows. Everyone is expecting that he'll come out better, he can feel Lynn, Caroline, his mom, Chuy, and Elena counting on this place to help him, but he can't imagine the thirty days will undo nearly twenty years of problems.
A man in scrubs approaches the receptionist's desk to get the information about their new patient. He turns to Francisco, "Right this way," he says, leading him down the hallway.
Before he goes, Lynn gives him a hug, "Promise me that you're going to try to get better."
He smiles and kisses the top of her head, "I'll try."
She lets go of him and he follows the nurse, who leads him away from the reception area and down the hallway towards the rooms. As they go down the hallway, Francisco looks at his surroundings, but all he sees is the same white walls and the same white doors.
The nurse points to pair of double doors, "In there, is the commons, that's for when you have visitors and where you'll eat your meals." He points down a hallway, "Over there is the way to the recreation area, and that same hallway is also where we have some of our group therapies. Now the rest of our–" The nurse, who notices that he walking faster than Francisco, turns around and asks him, "Are you okay?"
He shakes his head, "My back hurts…a lot…"
The nurse walks towards Francisco and walks side-by-side with him, "Have you been off your medicine for long?"
Francisco shakes his head, "I took one last night."
"Do you know what to expect when you're detoxing?"
"A little…I was told that doctors would be supervising me."
"They are, but let's get you settled into your room, and probably a wheelchair."
For the rest of the day, Francisco quietly avoids talking with others. He tries not to attract attention, but he can't ignore the sounds of talking. At meal time, the others are eating and talking, but all Francisco can do is stare at his food; he isn't hungry and can only think about going to bed in hopes of feeling better the next day. At group therapy, he quietly sits in his chair, but doesn't take in what anyone else is saying.
That first night, Francisco looks around the room, trying to calm his mind, but after going hours without his medication he is struggling with his pain and wishes that he can go home. He slowly moves himself to his bed and wipes away the sweat from his brow. He can feel his stomach growling, wishing to eat food, but he's too afraid to move his body.
'How much longer is this pain going to go on for?'
Bud opens the door from the garage to enter his house, "You can set the groceries down on the kitchen table," he tells Lynn as he takes a seat.
She walks in behind him and sets all the bags down, "Hey, I appreciate you letting me–"
"You can start putting the groceries away, and I know that it's early, but you wouldn't happen to know how to make your dad's lasagna, would you?"
Realization dawns on Lynn, "Is that why you asked me to come?"
"One of the reasons," he says as he takes a seat for breakfast. "I also wouldn't mind having someone around to help me out with some chores."
"What make you think that I'll stay? I can just leave right now."
"Fine, go, but you're going to have to move my car to get yours out of the garage, Miss I-don't-want-my-car-outside," he tells her as he gets up to put the groceries away himself. "But can you do me a favor and pick up my newspaper from the mail slot." Bud mutters under his breath as she leaves the room, "Have to tip the dang delivery boy extra so that I don't go outside," he complains.
Lynn walks to the front door and she realizes how messy the house is; she hasn't visited the man in years since she left for college, and now she's surprised that his house seems to have fallen apart over the years.
She grabs the newspaper and walks back to the kitchen where Lynn sees that he's struggling to put his groceries away, "Do you need help?"
"What do you think?" he complains as he puts down the canned vegetables onto the counter. "Can you handle it on your own?"
She nods her head and begins to put the food away. Lynn hears Bud sigh in relief when he takes a seat and she wonders how long he's been like this. She can't imagine that it would be that long since he can still move, but the state of the house makes her question that thought.
Lynn assumes that this is the real reason that he invited her over, but she shakes her head; there's no way that Bud Grouse would admit that he needs help. Besides, they're sports buddies and they haven't had a chance to watch a game together in years.
She keeps a mental inventory of the food that she's putting away and asks him, "What kind of snacks are you looking forward to? Ribs? Cheese puffs? Nachos? I haven't had some good nachos in a long time."
"Did you watch the preseason?"
Lynn doesn't answer. She doesn't want to lie to him, but the truth will bring up a lot of questions, especially when considering their past as devoted fans.
When she doesn't answer, Bud knows that something is wrong. An idea pops into his head, but isn't sure if it's a good one; his son has been checking up on him nonstop lately now that he's getting older, and he wants to put him at ease. He isn't thrilled at the idea of having someone living with him, especially his former neighbor, but he wants to put an end to the phone calls. "I have a spare room upstairs, you can stay here…if you want," he offers.
She scoffs, "What makes you think that I need a place to stay?"
"Quit being stubborn! Look, I don't have much, but I figure a place to live is something, and all you have to do is cook my meals and clean the house."
"I'm fine…"
"So you liked sleeping in your car?" he asks, hoping to rile her up.
"No! But at some point I'm going to need money–"
"Then take the offer and get a part-time job at night, hell I don't even care so long as it doesn't involve one of us getting killed."
Lynn doesn't like the accusation, but she knows a good deal when she sees it. After all, winter is coming up and she can't sleep in her car forever; she nods her head, "Fine, but just cooking and cleaning the house," she stresses.
Lynn takes a seat at the table in the commons. She is looking around at the others patients and their visitors, but she can't see Francisco. Since she dropped him off, she hasn't had any contact with him, and she knows that he's not going to be in the best mood, especially when he's been off his medication.
"Just remember," she tells herself, "he's going to be moody, but that's okay, because he's going to get better…he's going to get better…he's going to get better." A few minutes pass, and Francisco rolls over to Lynn, who is surprised to see him a wheelchair, "What the heck happened?"
Through his teeth, he answers, "I am in so much pain, that I can barely walk to get around, so the nurses gave me a wheelchair to help."
"Is it permanent?"
"I don't know!" he yells, grabbing the attention of everyone in the commons. He slouches in the chair, "I am so sick of withdrawal symptoms. I'm sick of vomiting at random times of the day, I'm sick of sweating, but always feeling cold, and tired of spending my day looking at the same white walls and being stuck in this chair."
Lynn checks Francisco's forehead, "You're warm."
"I can't wait until all these symptoms are gone…"
"I know that life."
Lynn remembers the times that she has gone sober; it was hell, but apparently she had to learn the lesson three times before it was able to stick.
"Did they tell you how long it would be until you got to talk to a therapist?"
After Francisco was admitted into the facility, Lynn was informed on what his month would entail; after his withdrawal symptoms begin to subside, he'll have to start therapy, and then he'll be allowed to leave after the month has passed, assuming that he is cleared to go.
As she can see, he is still bitter, but that isn't an excuse to ignore her question, "Hey! Can you hear me?" she waves her hand in front of her face.
"Yeah…they said that I can go when I'm done detoxing. So far, I've been going to group therapy, and I can't stand it."
It isn't that he isn't sympathetic to the stories that the other men have shared; some have had worse things to overcome from homelessness, abusive households, and undiagnosed mental disorders, meanwhile, he can't relate to any of the others. Francisco doesn't feel as though he belongs here; that a simple outpatient treatment would have done the trick, but he can't do anything, but endure the next few weeks.
"I talked with Lisa, and she said that she sent the x-ray to the doctors here and some colleagues. Most of them seem to have the same recommendation for how to fix your back pain, but…"
He's heard this before – surgery or physical therapy. He knows that he'll be recommended the physical therapy and if it doesn't work, it'll be surgery, but it'll take some time before that second option is offered.
"Let me guess," he starts.
Lynn rolls her eyes. She knows that he knows the doctor's recommendations, but she isn't sure if she's the right person to tell him about the risks of going through with the surgery or the risks of not taking it.
"I've heard it before, Lynn, I've had imaging tests done, and it's usually the same thing. I'm guessing that Lisa's colleagues want a CT scan done and they're going to tell me the same thing."
"Yeah, that's it. I think Lisa said something about decompression therapy, massage therapy, and steroid injections and I forgot the rest, but they aren't going to prescribe you with opioids anymore."
Francisco takes a deep breath. He expected that, better yet, he knew that. When doctors noticed how long he was on his pain medication, they would recommend other medicines to prevent addiction; of course, that doesn't matter when you search for multiple doctors to get treatment from.
He sighs, "I guess it won't matter if I'm supposed to be getting clean in here."
"That's the spirit!" she says with joy in her voice, despite knowing that he is going through a bit of a tough time right now. "You're gonna get through it, trust me when I say that you're gonna want to stick to it."
Francisco rarely brings up Lynn's sobriety or anything associated with it, he assumed that it would have been tough to bring up, not that he ever thought about it for than a few minutes.
"Was it that bad?"
"It sucks the first time and it sucked the next two times too."
"Why'd you break your sobriety?"
She stops to think about it, then answers, "The first time, I thought that I that I didn't have a problem, so I took it up again. Then the second time…the second time, I had to handle the back to back deaths of two people that meant a lot to me. Everyone was sad about Pop-Pop dying, and I just stayed quiet, completely in shock."
Lynn sets out all the snacks as Bud snores the afternoon away. A few hours ago, he gave her a list of snacks that he would like for the game, but now she wonders if she wasted her time, since he's been asleep since she started cooking.
She grabs some of the snacks and sets them down on the tray to take to the den. Lynn can hear the snoring man and wonders, "Jeez," she complains, "How the hell can you still be sleeping?"
The timer goes off and Lynn grabs the oven mitts to pull out the barbecue ribs from the oven, "I hope these came out okay."
She has spent the last couple of hours cleaning up the living room and making the game snacks, but now she is ready to sit down and enjoy some good old Lions football. As she takes the tray of ribs to the den, she realizes that Bud didn't decorate it like he used to when they she was younger – there are no pennants, no Honolulu blue and silver, no helmets, bobbleheads, or other fan gear; the room felt lifeless.
After setting down the snacks and changing the tv to record the game, Lynn walks over to Bud and snaps her fingers in front of him to wake him up.
"C'mon G-Man! It's game time!"
Bud's eyes snap open and he looks at the sportscasters on his tv screen talking about what they are expecting, "About damn time, I was falling asleep."
She laughs, "You were doing that since breakfast."
Bud rolls his eyes at the comment. He leans over to grab a plate of food and looks over at his guest, "Let me get first dibs. I don't want to lose a finger because I wanted a particular rib," he jokes.
Lynn doesn't mind, but she's also not hungry. Normally, the food would be tempting her, but it has been hours since her last drink, and it is wreaking havoc on her stomach. Luckily, it seems to be calming down a bit, but her heart is racing and she's sure that eating the salty snacks in front of her is not a good idea.
Bud notices that her hands are trembling, which he attributes to anxiety involving the game. He takes a bite of the ribs and it surprised by the spiciness. He immediately spits it out, "What the heck, Loud?! Are you trying to burn a hole in my gut?"
She shakes her head, "I guess, I overshot it with the hot sauce."
"I'll say," he complains, before taking a drink of his pop.
The game begins and for most of the first quarter, Bud is able to stay awake and enjoy it with his former neighbor, but it isn't long before Lynn is left alone as he begins to doze off.
To get his attention, Lynn loudly hollers after the Lions intercept the ball. Bud is snapped awake again and he looks around before asking, "What happened?"
"We intercepted the ball!"
"Alright, Lions," he cheers.
The two watch the screen intently, but the interception comes to nothing as the Lions fail to cross the ten. Neither one is in the mood to do their usual good luck rituals to help their team, but one bad game isn't the end of the world. Lynn looks over at Grouse, whose eyes show how tired he is, and she is almost jealous of him being able to sleep while she has been feeling crummy since she woke up. Her withdrawal symptoms are bothering her and this is only the beginning – she still has worse symptoms to look forward to and she knows that it's going to be hard to explain if Grouse notices.
Bud notices her looking at him, "Alright, Loud," he says as he gets up from his chair, "I'll join you in your silly good luck ritual."
She shakes her head, "I'm not in the mood…"
He is surprised, considering that she always had some silly ritual to help their favorite teams, but he's not going to try to convince her, especially with his aching joints.
As the game goes into another commercial break, the two silently watch the screen, until Bud breaks the silence, "So how'd you end up sleeping in your car?"
Lynn shrugs her shoulders, "Forgot to pay rent. Landlords are ridiculous and expect me to pay every month."
He rolls his eyes, "I'm serious."
"I am too. Can't believe I lost a whole lot of decent furniture," she complains. Her eyes go straight to the snack spread in an effort to avoid looking at the beer commercial.
Bud notices. He never pictured that she would have an issue with alcohol, but it would explain some of her issues, why she slept in her car, and why she was kicked out of her old place, but with such a large family, one person was bound to fall, but he can't believe that it was going to be her; he was sure that it was going to be the one with the guitar.
For the rest of the game, neither one says much except to ask the other to pass something; both of them are tired and the Lions losing isn't making things any better for either one.
When the game is over, Bud gets up and heads towards the stairs, "I'm heading to bed."
"Goodnight," she tells him as she watches him leave.
"Don't forget to clean up before you go to bed," he reminds her.
She hears the stair lift go upstairs and when his bedroom door closes, she gets up and begins to look around the house to see if she can find something to drink. It has been hours, and she can feel the withdrawal symptoms kick her butt, however, when she finally found the crystal decanter, she hears his voice from upstairs.
"Loud! Turn off those darn lights, a man can't sleep with those bright lights shining through my curtains!" he complains to his neighbors.
Lynn sighs, "It was just my family…just my family…" she looks at the decanter and sets it down. She can't bring herself to drink, especially with her family so close and how temperamental Grouse can be. If he catches her drinking his alcohol, then she can imagine that he'll kick her out and she won't be able to explain anything to her family.
She takes a seat on the couch and watches the sportscasters talk about the game, "I ain't no dang quitter…" she mutters to herself.
Francisco rolls back and forth as he waits for the doctor to let him into the room to start his session. He can imagine that the other doctors have told the therapist how resistant he's been, but it isn't as though he's disobeying and trying to get back his medicine, no matter how tempted he is by the pain.
All week, he's had an opportunity to rehearse what he plans on saying – he'll explain how everything started, that his dependence on medicine was based on the real pain that he's feeling and then the doctor can see that he will be fine and probably get a shorter stay at the facility.
He taps his fingers on his knees to rid himself of his nervous energy and forget about the headache forming, 'It's only an hour…just an hour…in and out…what if he thinks that I need to be here longer than the judge sentences me to? Can this guy change the length of my stay? I can't spend the rest of my life here…What about Elena? Lynn? Caroline? Mom and Chuy? Jackson? They'll start to wonder where I am. Would I even have a job anymore? Maybe, it's not like Lynn wants to do my job, so at least there's some job security, but I can't be gone at rehab for long before they try to hire someone else.'
The doctor steps out of the room and sees the man in the wheelchair, "Francisco De Los Reyes?" he asks, extending his hand out to shake his patient's hand, "It's nice to meet you, would you like to come in?"
Francisco nods and rolls into room as the doctor closes the door behind them. The doctor takes a seat in a leather armchair across from Francisco and introduces himself, "My name is Dr. Hutchison, and I've been a doctor at this facility for over fifteen years. I know that this can be scary for new patients, but this is a safe place." Francisco nods his head to silently inform the doctor that he understands, "So would you mind telling me a bit about yourself?"
Francisco takes a deep breath, "Um…I'm currently employed at my girlfriend's restaurant as the manager…I have a thirteen-year-old daughter…her mother and I have been separated for years…and all because I'm addicted to pain pills…" Dr. Hutchison writes down the information that Francisco gave before he continues, "It's been a long time that I've been taking them…but now my ex is keeping my daughter from me, I've considered drinking, but that's much more recent."
"Has your ex kept your daughter from you before?"
He nods his head, "Once, when I was twenty-six, that was the longest time, and after that, it happened a few times, but never as long as that. Usually, when I get back to a more normal use."
"What is a normal use exactly? Are you referring to the last recommended dosage that you were prescribed by a medical professional?"
Francisco nods his head, "It hasn't really changed much over the years, although I did get recommended higher doses as I got older. When I got into the car crash years ago, I took them, but I never really thought much about them. However, I couldn't play hockey anymore, but I still had baseball, then eventually I lost that too…"
The doctor looks over at Francisco; he heard the man's voice break a little. "Can you tell me a little bit about how you felt?"
Francisco clears his throat, "What's there to say? My back hurt, the doctor said no contact sports, I was able to run for a while longer, so I was still able to play baseball, then once I got to college it got too hard. That's about it."
The next morning, Bud gets out of bed and heads downstairs. As he gets off his stair lift, he turns towards the den and notices all the snacks from yesterday's game still on the table, "Dang it, Loud," he growls. "I asked you to do one thing."
He looks around at the mess – there are chips everywhere, he's sure that the table has rings from the now-warm pop bottles, and she even made a mess of the rest of the room. Bud tries to arrange some his things back the way they were, when he notices his decanter moved from its usual place, "What the?"
He grabs the decanter and notices that it is still full, "Well at least you had a little decency," he says as he places it back in its proper place.
Bud heads towards the stairs and calls out to his roommate, "Loud! You can't sleep the day away!"
Lynn jumps out of the bed. She untangles herself from the blankets and runs downstairs, "What's wrong?!"
"It's seven a.m. are you planning on staying in bed all day?" he asks.
She groans, "Are you serious? I barely got to sleep a few hours ago, besides what do you need this early in the morning?"
He walks to the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, "Breakfast would be nice," he says with a smile.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, I'm serious, remember the agreement?"
Lynn sighs as she starts making him something to eat. It isn't ideal, but if all he wants is food and a clean house in exchange for a free place to live, she is happy to go along with it, although she would prefer it to be during normal business hours.
All night, she spent tossing and turning. Lynn assumed that her first night in a real bed would conk her out, but between her headache, the vomiting, and her stomach, she couldn't sleep, not that it was ever easy. She has a few more days of this, but assuming that Bud doesn't need her to leave the house, then it won't be a problem to spend them here, especially since he keeps falling asleep.
She begins making him an omelet and she asks, "How come you live alone? What about your son or any other family members, can't they help you out these days?"
He scoffs, "I'm not going to trouble them, besides I'm not in such bad shape that a nurse needs to be hired to watch after me."
Bud isn't fooling her with that line, but he was always been hardheaded, so it isn't surprising that he doesn't want a helper. Regardless, she can't blame his son, it's hard to see parents struggle, especially when they live alone.
"I don't blame you. Why deal with a stranger?"
"Exactly!"
Lynn sets his breakfast down in front of him, "So why are you letting me stay?"
"I remember you offering to push furniture around for the neighbors, we can talk sports, and if you're around, then my son won't waste his time looking and paying for a nurse that I don't want."
"Fair enough," she says as she takes a seat across from him to eat her breakfast. "Are you sure you want me to stay?"
"Do you want me to kick you out?" he threatens.
She decides to playfully call his bluff, "You won't do it. You love having me around."
"I love my family, but I do miss having company."
That was the response that Lynn wanted to hear, as much as Bud loves pretending that he's happy alone, their years of hanging out showed her that he does like having somebody around that shares his interests.
"But don't think that I'm going to be okay with you ransacking my house," he sternly tells her, "or with you forgetting to clean up after I told you to last night."
Lynn wonders what he is talking about until she remembers that she didn't clean up the den and that she didn't put back everything she moved when she was searching for alcohol, "Right…sorry."
"You better be. What were you looking for anyway?"
She shrugs her shoulders.
Bud knows what she found, his decanter was moved, but it was still full. He doesn't know what stopped her from drinking, but he is sure that if he brings it up she'll deny. He looks her straight in the eye and reminds her, "Don't let it happen again."
"Promise," she says. "So do we have to make this whole work arrangement legal or is it going to be a whole trust thing?"
Bud takes a bite out of his breakfast, "I'll have my son send some paperwork and it'll go from there, but you're working starting today."
"I know," she answers flatly.
"First, you'll need to clean out the den, then, I have some boxes down in the basement that I need you to take out and bring upstairs, and when you're done, we're going to have to fix up that den. It didn't feel right rooting for the Lions without my lucky gear."
Lynn didn't pay much attention until the words 'Lions' and 'lucky' were said, and then she smiled knowing that Grouse had in mind with his little chores.
Dr. Hutchison finishes writing in his notes. He looks over at Francisco, who is nervously eyeing the exit. There are still thirty minutes left until their session is over, but it hasn't stopped Francisco from giving off subtle clues that he's ready to leave. It isn't new, especially with first-time patients, to be resistant to therapy and have their emotional walls up while looking for the shortest or easiest path to recovery.
"That's it? Your pain and addiction is only caused by being prescribed pain medicine after a car accident?"
Francisco nods his head, "Yes, I made that clear."
"I understand. You have thirty minutes left in your session, would you like to speak about anything else that's on your mind?" asks the doctor.
"I-I think that it's the only reason. Before the accident, I was never given such powerful medication, and I eventually turned to addiction. What else is there to say?" he asks, frustrated at hearing the doctor repeat what he just said.
Hutchison looks through his notes and sees the note he made about his patient's daughter, "You said that you want help to keep your daughter in your life?"
Francisco nods.
"Is that the only reason you want to overcome your addiction?"
Francisco thinks about it; he wants things to stay stable for his daughter's sake, but that is never going to happen with his bad back. He shakes his head, "I also want to quit for everyone…I've been on these damn pills for so long and…I'm just afraid that I'm going to sink further down…"
"Why is it that you're doing it for others, but not for yourself?"
"What?"
"You said that you want to quit for everyone, does that include you? If not, then why are you getting sober for other people?"
"Because I care about them!" Francisco says in frustration.
Hutchison takes a deep breath, "Francisco, I'm asking if you're quitting for yourself–"
"What's the difference?!"
"The difference is that if your sobriety is dependent on other people, then you aren't doing it because you want to,; you're letting other people have power over you."
"Which would be…"
"Trading control from pills and in this case, onto other people," Hutchison finishes. "Francisco, it's nice that you don't want your addiction to have a hold of you, but think about why it does, and what started it."
"I already told you why, it was a car accident."
The doctor realizes that asking Francisco to elaborate isn't going to make him dig deeper on his own, so he resorts to asking another different questions, "Can you tell me a bit more about that car accident?"
"It was snowing, my dad and I were both in the truck, someone hit us, and I woke up in the hospital, while my dad died. That's it."
"What was your relationship like with your dad? Or even the rest of your family?"
Francisco rolls his eyes. If television has taught him anything, it's that shrinks will always say that family is the source of everyone's problems. However, aside from Kiké enabling his addiction, he can't say that it's their fault.
"I have a daughter, Elena, my mom, Alicia, my brothers, Chuy and Kiké, and my dad, Juan."
Hutchison looks at him, as he waits for more information.
Francisco notices, "Right, umm…I see my daughter two days a week, so I don't get a lot of time with her, my mom was stressed when my brothers and I were growing up, I could always count on Chuy to look out for me, and Kiké…Kiké was the one who gave me my pills."
"And your dad?"
Francisco stays quiet as he tries to think of anything to say, "He liked to drink and spend time with his friends. Let's see…Elena, she likes artsy stuff. I was hoping that she would get into sports, but she only pretended for my sake, and then she told me that she wanted to quit. I let her, but she told me that she only started so that she could see me more. Meanwhile, I used to work with Chuy while I lived with him and my mom after she was born, Elena, not my mom. We worked together until I was fired, I should've been more mad at Kiké, but I didn't care and I was sort of afraid that he wouldn't come by to see me if I gave him crap. Anyway, Chuy used to look after me when we were growing up, especially since Kiké liked messing with me, and because my parents worked. As for my mom, we got along pretty well, I know that things were strained because of the drug use, but she was okay so long as I was seeing doctors…"
Hutchison makes note of Francisco quickly changing the subject, and lets his patient continue talking about his family.
Apparently, as of last chapter, I caught up with myself. Last summer, I started writing with a semi-finished outline, but the writing was rather simplistic, and I eventually wrote myself into a corner. Luckily, filling in the chapters helped me get out while still maintaining the idea and recently, I used this time to plan out the next few chapters.
I want to thank you all for your patience, I hate keeping you guys waiting, and hopefully it won't be this bad again in the future
