Chapter Eight

In Therapy

A/N: Thanks to Shiny Jewel for beta-reading this chapter.

"Hey. I'm Deacon. And I'm an alcoholic."

He clutched the podium and looked out over the crowd at the Westminster Presbyterian Church, rocking back and forth nervously on his heels. The familiar rows of well-worn, metal folding chairs were more than three-quarters full this Saturday morning and the double doors in the back of the room were shut. The smell of percolating coffee and musty hymn books filled the air.

Deacon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. A murmur of approval and some shouted encouragement arose from his fellow AA members, who recognized his struggle. He had spoken in many group therapy sessions and even gotten up in front of this AA meeting in the past, and it was never easy. But this time was more difficult than ever.

Over the weeks that had passed since his breakfast with Gus, Deacon had begun examining the origins of his addiction. It had been at once liberating – finally confronting the memories he had hidden away for so long - and emotionally wrenching. He still didn't know how analyzing the worst parts of his childhood would make him happy, let alone keep him from drinking. But Gus seemed to think it was the thing to do, so he did it.

One thing had become powerfully clear early on: The sessions with Gus felt different. Far removed from anything a sponsor or therapist had tried before, despite his five stints in rehab and nearly a decade in and out of AA. The work he was doing now, looking seriously at his past and how it had affected the choices he'd made in his life, made him realize that he had never really done the "searching and fearless moral inventory" that the Twelve Steps required.

The thing was, he'd always been a quick study. That was one of the reasons he'd excelled at music so early: He'd been the type of child who was happier watching than participating, never comfortable at the center of attention. And music had fascinated him since before he could remember. He had spent hours studying his relatives who played - guitar, banjo, mandolin, fiddle and bass. By the time he'd gotten his first guitar as a birthday present, he could hold it and look authentic well before he learned any chords.

He realized now that he'd done the same thing with recovery: Faked it. He'd learned from watching - exactly how to dot the I's and cross the T's necessary to persuade everyone that he was making progress. Even himself.

He'd said the right words. Things like, "I'm getting sober for myself."

But truly: Blaming himself for all the pain in his life? Listing his failures one by one? Confessing his sins and shortcomings? Making amends to those he'd hurt? All those things were difficult but do-able for Deacon. But getting sober for himself – because he wanted a rich, full life and because he deserved happiness just like everyone else? That had always seemed impossible.

No matter what kinds of platitudes he'd spouted, underneath he'd always known he was getting sober for Rayna. And since he'd learned about Rayna's pregnancy, his focus had immediately shifted to cleaning up his act for her and the baby.

But Gus – biker, ex-junkie, junior-high-school-dropout Gus – had seen through that trick inside of five minutes. And he was determined not to let Deacon get away with it. "You gotta do it for yourself, man, or don't fuckin' bother doin' it at all. 'Cause otherwise, you're just gonna be wastin' your time and mine."

So Deacon had been trying to do what Gus was asking. The problem was, all this hashing and re-hashing of the abuse he and his mother and sister had suffered was depressing the hell out of him. And depression was usually what came before a fall, for Deacon.

Now, he cleared his throat anxiously and looked toward the back of the room, where Gus and Jill were sitting side-by-side. Gus nodded and Jill smiled at him.

"Thank y'all for lettin' me say a few words today," he said, looking around at the sea of mostly familiar faces. "My sponsor, Gus – he's sittin' back there - he asked me a question a couple weeks ago. He wanted to know about the very first time I ever had a drink. 'Well, to tell you the truth,' I told him, 'I can't remember.' That's not so surprisin' for me, 'cause there's been a whole lot of things – good and bad - that I haven't been able to remember lately.

"But I thought about it a while and I did remember somethin'. I remembered one summer night – I couldn't have been more'n eight years old – when my mama asked me to call my daddy in for dinner. He had a work bench in the garage, so I went out there lookin' for him. He didn't really do any work out there, but he'd sit there listenin' to the ball game on the radio. Mostly, I think he was out there drinkin', 'cause if he was in the house he knew my mother'd give him a hard time about it. She's one of those Southern Baptists won't have anything to do with liquor. I'm sure y'all know some of those good folks."

Several people laughed or nodded, and Deacon began to relax, loosening his grip on the podium. His voice was stronger and his words less halting when he continued.

"Well, like I said, I went out there, and sure enough that's where I found him. He must've been passed out, but I thought he was sleepin'. He was sprawled out right across that workbench snorin', I remember that. And he had a bottle of Old Crow sittin' up there next to him. That was the whiskey he always drank." Deacon paused and looked around. "Yeah. He was a cheap son-of-a-bitch."

Everyone laughed now, and Deacon began to feel that connection with his audience that made performing so irresistible. He steeled himself and continued.

"There was still some liquor in the bottom of that bottle and somethin' about it looked real pretty to me. So I pulled a stool over and climbed up on it. And I picked up that Old Crow and tipped it back and took a little swallow. I remember just coughin' and chokin' on it, and I was afraid my daddy'd wake up and get mad at me. But he must've been out cold.

"That whiskey burned all the way goin' down. I figure most kids probably would've put that bottle down and never gone near it again – at least for a few years, anyway. But not me. I loved it. About a minute after that Old Crow hit my stomach, I got that feelin' – y'all know what I'm talkin' about – that warm feelin', kind of like the whole world's friendlier and happier than you ever knew. And everythin' was glowin' in this kind of golden light. See, my life was pretty dark back then. But at that moment, it seemed like maybe it could be real easy."

Deacon paused. The room was dead quiet. "And after that day, just about all I ever wanted to do was to play my guitar and get that feelin' back. And I spent a lot of years blamin' myself for that."

He looked toward Gus and Jill again, blinking back tears. They were watching him intently. "But thinkin' about it now, lookin' at it from the age of 30, I'm realizin' some things. Like maybe a child of eight hasn't got the good sense not to pick up a bottle, and his daddy should've taught him that. And his mother should've been there to protect him."

Deacon looked down and cleared his throat, wiping his cheek. "And anyway, I got a child of my own comin' into this world before too long, and I want to do right by it. I don't want to be like my old man was, passed out or mean. I want to be there for my kid. And … for myself. And I know I can't do that if I'm always chasin' that bottle." Deacon took a deep breath. "Uh … I guess that's all I wanted to say. Thank y'all for listenin'."

Deacon quickly took a seat in the front row, a round of applause following him. He was shaking but happy. He'd been scared, but he'd gone through with it. And he'd been honest. That was all anyone could ask. That was all he could ask of himself.

After the meeting several people came up to hug and congratulate him. Gus stood nearby, beaming, and delivered a bear hug of his own after the others had drifted off. "I'm proud of you, man."

"Thanks Gus. It's all on you."

"Man, it'd just about kill you to ever take credit for a blessed thing, wouldn't it. You know the other day, when you told me about leavin' home an' makin' your way to Nashville when you was a kid?"

Deacon nodded, not sure where this conversation was going.

"I was thinkin' on that, and the way I figure, you must be the luckiest two-bit picker alive. You just manage to drift your way up outta Mississippi and get yourself a music career and hook up with the likes of Rayna fuckin' Jaymes, huh? It wasn't like you had talent and ambition and guts, I 'spose. Or like you worked your goddamned ass off to get where you are. Jesus, man, don't you ever think that maybe you had a little somethin' to do with all the good things that've happened to you?"

Deacon stared off into space, thinking. "Well, yeah, I guess I worked hard. Everybody does. But any talent I got – that's all my mama's doin'. She has a beautiful voice. Sang in the church choir up until just a few years ago. She's the one got me singin' and playin' early. Everyone on her side of the family's musical."

"Uh-huh," Gus said. "And how many of 'em are in Nashville headlinin' tours and cuttin' best-sellin' albums and pullin' in more work than they can handle?"

Deacon just looked at him.

"Hmmm. That's about what I thought."

Deacon sighed and passed his right hand over his mouth. "All right, look here: I got some lucky breaks - but I did work hard. And I guess I got some talent to go along with it." He smiled at Gus and shook his head. "There. Are you done bustin' my balls yet?"

Gus smiled widely, revealing a few missing teeth. "Yeah. I think you done your work for today."

"Good. 'Cause I'm not gonna lie to you, it hasn't been easy thinkin' about all this crap."

"I know," Gus replied, looking over at Jill, who had just joined the conversation. "And you ain't done yet."

"Shit," Deacon said, looking over at Jill and shaking his head "When the hell am I gonna be done?"

She smiled at him. "We can't tell you that. But when you are, you'll know." She glanced over her shoulder, through the now-open double doors and into the hallway. "It looks like maybe somebody out there wants to talk to you."

Deacon looked up, following her gaze. Rayna was standing in the hallway, her left shoulder leaned up against the wall, a dark scarf wound around her throat. Her hair was loose and she had on a bulky red coat, still buttoned up. But it didn't hide the fact that she was unmistakably pregnant. Deacon's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"You two're headed out on your tour next week, ain't that right?" Gus asked.

Deacon looked back at him, distracted. "Yeah, we leave Thursday. We'll only be gone 10 days, though. And you and I are gonna keep in touch, like we talked about. I'll be callin' you every night, for sure."

"I like the sound of that," Gus said.

"Oh, and a couple of the crew guys who're travelin' with us – I found out they're AA. We got to talkin' the other day, and I think they're gonna be real helpful."

"Good," Gus said. Then he looked at Deacon a minute and chuckled. "Okay, quit starin' at her and just go get your woman."

Deacon smiled at him and then hugged Jill. "Thanks," he said, looking at both of them.

He walked quickly through the dissipating crowd to the back of the room, his eyes locked on Rayna's. Her smile was so joyful that it nearly broke his heart. He opened up his arms when he reached her and pulled her close to him, registering the unfamiliar feeling of her bulky abdomen wedged up against his midsection. His arms didn't go around her as snugly as they used to, but she wrapped hers around his waist, burrowing her face into his neck.

"Hey, babe. It's so good to see you," she murmured.

"You too, darlin'. What're you doin' here?"

"Al-Anon," she said, her voice muffled in his collar. He tightened his arms around her. She wriggled and let out a little moan of discomfort.

He dropped his arms and pulled back, realizing that he'd been squeezing too hard. "You okay, baby? I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just... this is the highlight of my week, seein' you here. Hell, it's probably the highlight of my month, the way things are goin'."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

He stepped back and his eyes traveled up and down her body. "Looks like things are comin' right along," he said, grinning.

She smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "Mmm-hmmm. Tandy helped me pick out a bunch of new clothes." She unwrapped her scarf and shrugged her purse off her shoulder, setting both down on the floor beside her. Then she started unbuttoning her red coat. Something about watching her disrobe - even though she was taking off a bulky outer garment in a busy hallway - was irresistibly sexy. Deacon felt his heart quicken as he helped slide the coat off her shoulders, folded it into the crook of his arm and then turned to look appreciatively at her. She was wearing black slacks and a clingy, long-sleeved, periwinkle-blue sweater that outlined her rounded tummy. She spun around slowly in a circle for him. "What do you think?"

What did he think? He thought he'd like to press her up against the wall and kiss her right there. And then he thought he'd like to wander down one of these hallways, find an empty room with a lock on the door, and take her inside. He smiled to himself, wondering what the good Presbyterians would say to that. "Nothin' could look bad on you, darlin'. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you look prettier."

She rolled her eyes a little, but looked pleased nonetheless. "Thanks. You're awfully sweet. How are you, anyway? I was hoping you'd be here. I got here early so I wouldn't miss you."

"I'm … okay. I been doin' eight or ten meetin's a week, this past month."

"Wow," she said, looking at him critically and reaching out to run her hands down his sides. He shivered at her touch. "You've lost weight," she said, frowning. "I can feel your ribs. Are you eating?"

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, I just … it's hard, what they got me doin' in therapy these days. That might've put me off my appetite a little."

"What have they got you doing – running laps?"

"No," he said, chuckling. "They just got me thinkin' through some things that are kind of tough." She looked at him, her brow furrowed, but he sighed deeply and looked away. "I don't wanna talk about it right now, Ray. If you don't mind."

"Yeah, I mean - I'm just worried about you, is all."

"Well, don't be," he said. "Hey darlin', I've been thinkin' about this tour we're doin' and I'm a little worried about you keepin' up with it. That schedule looks pretty tight."

"I'll be fine. We're playing small rooms, doing short sets. And we'll be sitting down for a lot of the songs. Plus, I'll have the master suite on the bus and we've got a few nights in hotels." She rolled her eyes again. "Believe me, Tandy made Bucky absolutely promise I'd get my rest every day. You'd think I had some kind of dread disease, the way those two are going on."

"Well, I'm glad they're lookin' out for you. I just wish I could do more for you, myself."

"I'm fine, Deacon. Really."

"If you say so," he said. Then his face turned serious and he looked into her eyes. "Hey, Ray? Don't lose faith in me, darlin'. I think this tour'll be good for me. It'll be good to get out of town and get out of my head for a little while."

"Good. I hope you're right," Rayna said, though she still looked worried. She glanced into the classroom, where a group of women were rearranging chairs and setting up tables. "I guess I'd better go, babe. My meeting's going to start."

"Okay, I'll see you at rehearsal Monday," he said, putting her coat down next to her purse and hugging her again, more gently this time. He hesitated a moment, then he whispered into her ear. "I miss you, baby."

"I know. Me too."

Pregnancy was truly a strange phenomenon, Rayna was realizing. Now that she couldn't hide it, her over-sized tummy had become everyone's business. Strangers commented, people on the street and in stores asked personal questions. Worse, some of them reached out unexpectedly and laid their hands on her. It was as if the privacy she had always cherished had evaporated overnight.

On the other hand, there was something uniquely isolating about being pregnant. Tandy, and her friends, and her band members were interested and helpful and supportive. Even Lamar had greeted the news surprisingly well; he'd already had a beautiful crib sent over to her apartment. But none of them could really relate to what she was going through.

She had been talking a lot with Dave, over IM and in person, and had quickly grown to understand why his patients loved him so much. No matter what fear or worry she confessed, he could reassure her and make her laugh. Dr. Madsen had also been wonderful, true to her word about being available to talk night or day.

And then there were these Al-Anon meetings, which had become something of an oasis in Rayna's week. Most of the other women were mothers and could sympathize with her complaints – physical and otherwise. Plus, they were intimately familiar with the terrible uncertainty she felt around whether or not Deacon would step up to be a real partner for her and a father to their baby.

Rayna had also warmed considerably to Jill since she'd become a regular at the meetings. Jill's bluntness and abrupt manner – even her flat Illinois accent – still grated. She was so completely different from the polite, charming Southern women that Rayna had grown up with. But it was refreshing, in a way, to know that Jill wasn't hiding anything behind a sweet smile. If she thought something, she said it - no doubt about that.

And Rayna also had to admit that she was starting to learn a few things from Jill. Not so much about Deacon or his addiction, but about herself. And that had been the last thing she'd expected.

Her confusion about Al-Anon's purpose had been cleared up when she'd asked Jill one day why the members talked about themselves and spent hardly any time talking about their partners' addictions.

"Al-Anon recognizes that most friends and family of alcoholics are traumatized by addiction. It dominates their lives, even though they aren't addicts themselves. They need emotional support and understanding that they're not going to get from their partners," Jill had explained. "For instance, you've been fighting Deacon's battles for him for a long time, haven't you? Did you ever think about letting him do some of that work for himself, and maybe putting some energy into figuring out your own bullshit?"

As usual, Rayna had been taken aback by her statement. "Me? I don't have a problem! I'm not an alcoholic."

"Maybe not, but you've stayed with one for more than 10 years." Jill looked at her, as if the number alone said it all. When Rayna continued to look at her blankly, Jill sighed and continued. "Did you ever wonder why you've put up with him for so long? Hell, most women would have been out of this relationship after rehab number one didn't work. And everyone would have called them saints just for sticking around for that long. You're on rehab number five and counting, right?"

"Right," Rayna had admitted, sighing.

"So, maybe you want to think about that. About why you've stayed with him for so long. I mean, I know you love him, we all do. But it's kind of remarkable, don't you think?"

Rayna had heard this before, many times, from her family and friends. Even from Deacon's family and friends, to be honest - starting with Coleman. And she'd always stubbornly refused to consider that there was anything wrong with their relationship outside of Deacon's drinking. She loved him, she needed him, and he felt the same way about her. That was all there was to it.

But now Jill was prompting her to question herself. The older woman looked at her intently for a moment, then continued, speaking more gently. "What is it in your life that has made you so different from other people, when it comes to dealing with Deacon?" she asked.

"I don't know," Rayna said, looking troubled. "I mean, I lost my mother when I was 12. She died in a car accident. That was really a horrible thing to go through, especially at that age. And then my father kicked me out of the house when I was 16, right after I met Deacon."

She stared off into space for a moment, her gaze unfocused. Jill watched her, waiting patiently. "But even before all that, I mean – I knew my parents weren't happy. Don't get me wrong: We were always the perfect family, on the outside. We all put on a good show for the Belle Meade Country Club and the Chamber of Commerce. Status is real important to my father and his business interests. But my sister and I used to sit in the hallway late at night, listening to our parents screaming at each other in their bedroom. And my mother, she used to go away and leave us with the help whenever my father was out of town. When she got back, she'd make us promise not to tell him. My family … we've got a secretive streak, I guess. We're all very private. We don't talk about things like feelings."

"Um-hmm. That's a lot of shit to be dealing with, Rayna. Maybe some of this is what you want to be thinking about and talking about with the group. You don't have to get into anything you don't want to share, of course. But there's a lot in what you're telling me that might have something to do with how you and Deacon have interacted over the years."

And so Rayna had begun opening up about her feelings. Once she tried it, she found that Al-Anon's focus on honesty, clarity and accepting responsibility was a breath of fresh air; completely new to her. But thinking more deeply about her relationship with Deacon was also terrifying, especially after she learned about co-dependency. It seemed like the two of them could be the poster kids for that particular dysfunction.

Rayna sighed deeply now, as she watched Deacon walk down the hall, away from her. She missed him; maybe too much. She thought it was probably unhealthy to be pining after him the way she had been doing. They loved each other and they were going to have a child together. She wished she didn't have to think about anything beyond that.

Rayna squared her shoulders and walked into the meeting room, greeting several regulars and taking her usual seat. Jill started the group with the statement of purpose and reminder about confidentiality. Thank goodness everyone took that rule seriously: Some of the confidences Rayna had shared recently would have made extremely juicy tabloid fodder.

The members took turns around the table, some reporting progress in their personal development and others talking about concerns or setbacks. Several were in crisis, with their partners back to drinking or doing drugs. One mother reported that she'd lost touch with her heroin-addicted son and feared that he was living on the street in Austin.

When Rayna's turn came around, she took a deep breath and talked about her relationship worries. She had fallen in love with Deacon at a vulnerable time, when she was young and needy. And she'd clung to him as her protector and champion when she was a teenager whose only parent had just rejected her, she told the group. She didn't know much about Deacon's childhood, but she knew that it had been troubled as well. Could they really salvage a relationship built on such a shaky foundation? What kind of family life could the two of them offer a child?

The question hung in the air as Wanda, one of the members about her age, handed Rayna a box of tissues that had been making the rounds during the meeting. Rayna smiled gratefully and dried the tears that had spilled over.

"Thanks for sharing, Rayna," Jill said, and she stood up to close the meeting. This – the way that members shared their deepest thoughts and concerns without any feedback – had taken Rayna some time to appreciate. It was part of the Al-Anon philosophy that feelings shared in group were what they were. There was a rule against commenting upon them or picking them apart, even to offer help or advice. Rayna had been dubious about this idea at first, but it seemed to work. Keeping her thoughts to herself meant they would come back to her again and again. Getting them off her chest in a meeting seemed to also get them off her mind. It was helpful.

After the meeting, she and Jill fell into their usual ritual of clearing up the room together and then chatting over whatever dregs they could siphon from the bottom of the coffee pot. Rayna picked up a white styrofoam cup and filled it nearly to the top with milk, adding just enough coffee to turn the liquid caramel color.

"What's on your mind today?" Jill started. She let Rayna set the agenda for their talks.

"Well, Deacon and I are touring together, starting next week."

"Um-hmm. This is something the two of you have done a lot over the years, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Rayna nodded. "When we first started out, we were on the road more than we were home. Played every county fair and dance hall and music festival we could get ourselves booked into. It was pretty crazy."

"What's it going to be like this time?"

"I don't know. That's something I've been wondering about. I mean, that was one reason we got so close - being on the road together for weeks on end." Rayna smiled fondly. "When I got an attack of nerves before a show, he used to walk me out into the seats where our crew was setting up. And we'd talk about who was going to be there, and why, and what we wanted them to feel, listening to us sing. That always just calmed me right down."

"Is it going to be different this time?"

"I mean, everything's different this time. You know we've been keeping our distance, but it's been hard on both of us. And I don't know what's going to happen once we're around each other all the time again. And man, being on the road was always so bad for Deacon."

Jill raised her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"Well, we're up all hours for starters. Nobody can sleep after a show - good or bad - so everybody goes out drinking half the night. And we all sleep it off the next day on the bus. That's just part of being on the road."

"But you won't be doing that in your condition, surely?" Jill asked.

Rayna stopped, realizing that she wouldn't, of course. "No."

Jill looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to make the leap.

"So … if I'm not doing all that, maybe Deacon won't be tempted to, either?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"I know," Rayna sighed. "It's just that I worry about him. Even seeing him today, I mean – I feel like he's depressed. And that's always a bad sign."

"Maybe so. But don't count him out. You know, you can worry all you want, Rayna, but it isn't going to help him one little bit. And it's not going to help that baby girl of yours, either," Jill said. She smiled and looked at Rayna's shrinking lap. "She's making her presence known these days, isn't she?"

Rayna smiled and rested her hand on top of her abdomen. "Yes, she sure is. Amazing isn't it?"

"It is." Jill looked up at the clock on the wall. "I've got to get going, but you call me anytime you need to talk while you're out of town, okay? And we'll look forward to seeing you when you get back."

"Thanks," Rayna said, getting up and gathering her coat, scarf and purse.

"Hey," Jill said, when she caught the still-troubled expression on Rayna's face, "have a little faith, okay?"

Rayna looked at her curiously. "You're the second person to say that to me today," she said, then she smiled slyly. "You're a good one to talk, Sister Margaret – Aloysius, was it?"

Jill laughed. "Oh boy. I deserved that one, didn't I?"

"You sure did," Rayna replied. And the two of them walked out of the church, arm-in-arm.