Chapter Two
The Definition of Insanity
The drive to The Riverside Center was familiar to Rayna, starting out south on Highway 65. It was the road they had traveled so many times over the years to get to Deacon's cabin.
She cranked up the volume on the CD in her car. It was a track for a new song she needed to learn before a performance next weekend, and the car was the perfect place to practice. She and Deacon had done it many times, singing along with tapes or CDs, happy and carefree at the start of a long weekend or a vacation.
Her mood on this Sunday afternoon was not quite so upbeat. She was happy about seeing Deacon, but nervous too. In the past, he had always gone to rehab clinics across the country. She'd never had a chance to visit him before. What would this place be like? And how would he be feeling? Rayna wasn't at all sure.
She hadn't told anyone where she was going. Everyone thought she was crazy for sticking by Deacon for so long, even the tabloids. Even Coleman, his sponsor - the person who knew him best, besides her - had recently told her she needed to cut him loose or he'd never get better. Sometimes Rayna herself wondered if she was insane.
Why did she do it? She loved him, of course. That was a given. She wasn't the only person who knew how sweet and wonderful he was when he wasn't drinking. She loved his wicked sense of humor and the way he made her feel when he looked at her with that familiar hunger in his eyes. And the two of them shared so much, not only their music, but their outlook on life, their goals. They had been together for so long, looked out for each other for so many years, that she sometimes didn't know where she ended and he began.
And then there was this: He loved her. He loved her more than himself, more than anything in the world. The seas could rise, the sky could fall, she could get sick, grow old, stop singing, stop breathing - and Deacon would love her still. As the years passed, he would take care of her. They would take care of each other, just as they had done since they were teenagers.
You and me forever, baby.
The loyalty went back to when they were first starting out, both scared and alone in the world. If only he would stay sober, she knew with absolute certainty that she'd never regret one minute of her life with him. If only.
And so she had stayed. She'd gambled on him, and so far she had lost every bet. And now the stakes were higher, much higher than they had ever been. She could take the uncertainty, the brooding, the seeming inevitability that one day he would end badly. But she couldn't put a child through that, she knew that much. Teddy, who had left five voicemails for her since Friday night, was right. And his offer was more than generous. She knew that, too.
The route to Riverside turned off Highway 65 about three-quarters of the way to the cabin, and it was only a couple of miles west from there. Rayna found the place easily, parked her car and dropped her keys into her purse. She got out and walked toward a low-slung building of beige concrete with wings branching off from either side of the main entrance. It was nondescript enough to be indistinguishable from a small hospital, or convalescent home, with a covered entryway and an automatic door that slid open as Rayna stepped on the rubber mat in front.
As she walked in, she was immediately assaulted by a sour odor, so strong that she felt her stomach lurch. Waves of nausea had been hitting her at all times of the day and night lately, and she'd learned to keep a roll of crackers by her bedside and in her purse. Nibbling on those seemed to calm her stomach.
This smell, though, did more than nauseate her. It made her physically recoil. Pine-Sol disinfectant was the top note, but she could tell it was there to mask something else, another smell that was unfamiliar and highly unpleasant.
What was it? Sickness, maybe. Desperation. Longing. "Rehab sweat," Deacon had called it, repulsed. Now she knew what he meant.
The lobby was quiet and Rayna wondered where the other visitors were. The young woman behind the front desk smiled at her.
"Here for the open house?"
"Yes, I am, thank you."
"And which resident are you visiting today?"
"Um, Deacon. Deacon Claybourne?"
The woman pulled out a sheet of names, searching down the first page with a pencil. She flipped to the second page, and Rayna pointed to his name halfway down the list.
"Oh! Deacon!" the woman looked up at her again, smiling. "You must be Rayna. I'm sorry, I should have recognized you. Deacon talks about you all the time. He's going to be so happy you're here."
"I hope so. Where is he?"
"He's in the community room. They all are. Walk down this hall to my left, make a left at the very end and then go in the third door on your right. You'll hear 'em before you see 'em," the woman said, pointing. "They can make a lot of noise when they all get together."
"Thank you so much."
Rayna took a deep breath, relieved that the smell wasn't so noticeable now, and headed in the direction the young woman had indicated.
She started down the long hall, surprised at how institutional this place felt. It cost so much, she had thought it would be nicer, more like a hotel. Rayna was walking briskly, glancing in at the offices along the hallway, when her progress was stopped abruptly by a short, square woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere.
"I'm sorry," Rayna said, attempting to go around the woman's left. But she moved into Rayna's path, her arms crossed over her thick midsection. She appeared to be deliberately blocking the corridor.
Rayna's eyebrows shot up and she looked at woman more closely.
She looked to be in her late fifties and was wearing a maroon polyester pant suit with a floral print blouse buttoned all the way up under her chin. Her thin, salt-and-pepper hair was cut short in front, with square bangs that hit exactly at the tops of her eyebrows. It was longer in back, reaching to her collar, reminding Rayna of the unfortunate mullet cut that had been so popular in the '80s and still threatened occasional comebacks.
The woman was staring up at Rayna with a fierce gaze under glowering eyebrows, wearing no makeup at all, her blue eyes bright with intelligence behind wire-rimmed glasses. She studied Rayna intently, saying not a word.
"Can you excuse me, please? I'm trying to get to the community room," Rayna said, annoyed but also slightly intimidated by the force of this woman's stare.
"You Rayna Jaymes?"
"Yes, I'm Rayna Jaymes. I'm sorry, I can't sign autographs-" Rayna's voice trailed off, stifled by another withering stare, this one followed by a roll of those blue eyes.
"I don't want your autograph." The woman's voice was low and gruff, her flat accent revealing some Midwestern origin. Chicago, Rayna thought, or Detroit.
"Then, do you mind? I'd like to get to the party." Rayna's patience had come to an end. She wondered if she could push her way past this woman, but she wasn't sure she could. The woman was short, but otherwise built like a linebacker.
The woman's eyes narrowed and she took a firm grip on Rayna's elbow. Before she knew what was happening, Rayna was being steered down to the end of the hall and into the corner office. The room contained a large window but it was small, and taken up almost entirely by a metal desk piled so high with stacks of paper that Rayna could barely see over it.
The woman let go of her elbow and walked behind the desk, nodding toward a chair for Rayna to sit in. "I'm really just here to see Deacon-" Rayna started, sure there was some mistake. But the woman pointed sternly toward the chair, impatient, and Rayna sat down, feeling like a child in the principal's office.
Just then, the telephone on the desk rang and the woman lifted a finger, indicating that Rayna should wait, and picked up the receiver. Great. Rayna considered leaving the room, but the woman was staring at her with such ferocity that she didn't dare move. Instead, she looked around the office.
It was anything but luxurious, but it felt cozy somehow. Nothing like the rest of this place. The walls in here had been painted a warm yellow and there were potted plants scattered around on the dingy linoleum floor, all of them thriving. Large, framed photographs – some of scenery but most of smiling people – took up the better part of three walls. The fourth – the one behind the desk where the woman had settled herself into an enormous office chair – housed a collection of framed diplomas: B.A., M.A., Marriage and Family Therapist, Addiction Counselor, Ph.D.
All were in the name of Jill McClanahan.
"Checking out my credentials? You'll see they're all legit. No diploma mills."
The woman had finished her conversation and hung up the phone before Rayna had noticed. One picture in particular had caught her attention and she was still staring at it. The woman turned to see what she was looking at.
She chuckled, softening a little. "Oh yeah, that one gets 'em every time. Yep – that's me. Or, it was. Sister Margaret Alice. I go by Jill now."
The woman in this photo was much younger and thinner, but still recognizable. She wore the same style eyeglasses, and the eyes behind them were piercing blue, but she was clothed in a traditional black-and-white nun's habit.
Rayna met the woman's gaze and raised her eyebrows. "Was? I didn't think that was a temporary assignment."
Jill smiled. "Nope. It's not supposed to be. But addiction ruins the best-laid plans of mice and men. And women, for that matter."
Rayna was stunned. She didn't mean to be rude, but she couldn't help asking, "You?"
"Oh, hell yeah. What, you never heard of communion wine?"
Rayna stared, shocked, until Jill burst into a high-pitched giggle that was so utterly unlike her speaking voice that Rayna finally laughed too.
Jill cleared away a stack of paper, so Rayna could see her better, then scooted her chair closer to her desk. She placed her forearms in front of her and clasped her hands in what Rayna thought must have been a familiar pose from her convent days.
"Rayna – can I call you Rayna?"
"Yes. Sure."
"What are you doing here?"
If nothing else, Jill McClanahan knew how to keep people off-balance. "I'm here to visit Deacon. He sent me an invitation," Rayna started, lamely.
"Okay. But why did you accept that invitation? I mean, what do you think you're going to accomplish, seeing him today?"
"I don't know, really," Rayna admitted. "I'm just here to support him, I guess."
"Do you love him?"
Rayna was startled by the bluntness of this question from a stranger and she drew back in her chair. "Is that what he told you?" she asked.
"Anything our residents say here – in group or one-on-one – is confidential. I couldn't tell you what he's told me even if I wanted to. And I don't want to. However, Deacon's given me permission to discuss his progress generally with you. He's listed you as his next of kin."
Rayna was surpised by this and her face showed it.
Jill seemed to soften again. "Rayna, can I be honest with you?"
"Yes, please. I want him to get better – to get help. I want that so much."
Jill plucked a file folder out of the pile of papers nearest her and opened it, leafing through the first couple of pages.
"You're paying for his treatment with us, aren't you? I see he left early the first time he was here, eight weeks ago. And he's been in and out of rehab several times in the past few years."
"This is his fifth try, counting the first time he was here."
"And you've been footing all those bills?"
Rayna nodded, looking down at her lap.
"When are you going to stop throwing away your money?"
Rayna looked up, shocked. "What?"
"He's a four-time loser, Rayna, and I'm sure you're out a pretty penny with nothing to show for it. You don't look stupid, but you're acting like it. You know what Einstein said about the definition of insanity, don't you?"
Rayna felt her blood boiling. She'd had about enough of this. She didn't know exactly who Jill McClanahan was to Deacon, or why she was even in this office, but she did know that no one spoke to her like this. No one. She wouldn't hear another word of it. She pushed her chair back, furious, and started to leave.
"Did it never occur to you – not even once - that you're part of his problem?"
The words stung, hard, like a physical blow. Rayna stopped at the door and turned around, meaning to say something cutting in reply. But no sound came out when she opened her mouth.
"Rayna, he gets sober for you – don't you get that? And then as soon as he gets out of places like this, and he wins you back, he's got no more motivation. The fact that you've made yourself available to him every time he cleans up his act means that he doesn't have a reason to keep trying."
The truth of these words gripped Rayna. Suddenly, they made all the sense in the world. She'd known this; known all of it for years. But she'd never consciously admitted it before, not even to herself.
"I love him!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes. "I just want to help him. He's sick! He's trying so hard to get better."
"Sit down, Rayna," Jill said, her tone softening again. "And shut the door, if you would."
Rayna did as she was told, sinking slowly back into the chair in front of Jill's desk.
"Look, addiction's a battle that never stops, not for a minute. Deacon's fighting that battle hard while he's in places like this, and he does well while he's inside. Then he's released and he gets exactly what he wants – and that's you. I bet he buys you all kinds of nice things when he first comes home, doesn't he?"
Rayna just looked at Jill, the truth plain on her face.
"Fancy jewelry and clothes, I'd say from the look of you. Has he bought you an expensive piano, or a guitar? Or how about a house? That one's usually the topper."
Rayna felt her face go red, thinking about her dream house on the lake. She'd known Deacon wasn't supposed to be making big decisions back then. But she'd let him do it anyway.
"Uh-huh. Thought so. And then things are lovey-dovey between the two of you for a while, right? You figure it's all going to be okay; that he's finally licked it. And then, just when you start to relax, let down your guard around him - he gets lazy. He stops fighting. And he goes right back to doing whatever he has to do to keep from feeling the pain that lives inside his head, every single minute."
This description of their lives these past few years was so spot-on that Rayna felt like Jill had been spying on them. No one had ever gotten their dynamic quite so right before. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered, her face desperate.
"Well, you could start by not being so lazy yourself."
Rayna started, thrown off balance and offended again, but not so eager to walk this time. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
"It means that you've got to work at this too, Rayna. I mean, I know you're a big celebrity and you have tours to do and albums to record. But you have to take this seriously yourself, if you want to stay close to him."
Rayna looked down at her lap. "I don't have a choice."
"What?"
"Nothing," she whispered. "I mean, I do want to stay in his life. Of course I do. Can I?"
Jill sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. To be honest, you two are a damned toxic combination. Deacon needs to work on himself, for himself – not for you or anybody else. An addict can't get sober for somebody else, that's not how it works. That's why it hasn't worked for him, all these times."
Rayna sat still, looking at Jill. No one had ever talked to her about Deacon like this before. Maybe, she realized, it was because she'd never asked. "What can I do?"
"I'd say you're going to have to find a way to distance yourself from him, at least for now. Maybe forever. Staying sober for himself, realizing that he's worth the effort - that's going to take him the rest of his life. If he thinks he's not worth bothering about unless you're with him, it's never going to work. And even if he does stay sober for you, it'll never stick. He might be able to hold out months – years, maybe – but it won't be permanent. Hell, this is never permanent. All of us are only one stupid impulse or one emotional breakdown away from starting all over again."
"One day at a time," Rayna said, gazing up at the familiar Alcoholics Anonymous motto on the wall.
"That's right. It's 10,425 days for me. And I could screw up 10 minutes from now and start all over again from Day One tomorrow." Jill pulled out her desk drawer and fished out a card, handing it across the desk to Rayna. "That's a schedule of the weekly Al-Anon meetings in Nashville. The ones that are circled in red are the ones I lead. You might think about coming by, if you really want to be with him again some day."
"I do. But how long will it take? I mean, how will I know when he's ready?" Rayna asked. She didn't have forever. She only had nine months.
"You'll know when he can be happy without you. But he's got a lot of work to do to get there. First, he's going to have to find himself - his true self. And he's been lost for a long, long time."
Jill pushed her chair back from her desk, making a loud scraping noise as she did so. "Okay, you'd better get going now. Get yourself down to that party if you want to catch them before it's time for group."
Rayna stood up slowly, realizing that much as she hadn't wanted to come into this office, now she didn't want to leave. She wanted to know more about Deacon; she felt like she didn't really understand how she could help him. But Jill looked at her watch, impatient suddenly, and shooed Rayna toward the door.
She started to walk out, but then Rayna stopped and turned around. "How come you told me all this, anyway? Nobody's ever said anything like this to me about Deacon before."
For the first time, Jill avoided Rayna's gaze, looking straight ahead with an uncomfortable expression on her face. Rayna was surprised when she realized that Jill was embarrassed.
"I guess I've got a little soft spot for Deacon," she admitted, finally. "I think he's worth saving. They all are, but … well, I play the guitar myself. I'm not any good; not like him. I'd like to see him stick around."
Rayna smiled. "Me too," she said softly, and she walked out of the office, the little card clutched in her hand.
She turned around again at the door, but Jill was already poring over another thick file folder, Deacon's paperwork set to one side.
"What is it, anyway?" Rayna asked. "I mean, what you said - about the definition of insanity?"
Jill didn't appear to hear at first, but after a moment she barked out a reply, her voice gruff once more. "Look it up."
Rayna stepped outside the office and closed the door. She leaned up against the wall in that antiseptic hallway, reeling. She'd taken in more than she could process and part of her was still discouraged, especially when she thought about Jill's pronouncement that she and Deacon were a "toxic combination." People had told her that for years, and she'd stubbornly refused to believe it. Having Jill validate it was frightening.
Another part of her, however, was hopeful. As difficult and annoying as Jill was, Rayna could tell that Deacon had a powerful ally in her, someone who wasn't as willing to write him off as everyone else seemed to be.
Rayna looked down at the card she held, noting the time and place of an upcoming Al-Anon meeting. Then something else caught her eye, a blur streaking up the long hallway. She lifted her head quickly and just had time to recognize Deacon, racing toward her with a huge smile on his face, before he caught her up in his arms and swung her around, crushing her in a joyful embrace.
"Darlin', you made it! Oh Ray, I'm so glad you're here."