excerpt from the novel


Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life was ever intended to be taken seriously. Love is all that matters.


As Alex walked through the door from the garage to the utility room, a smothering sense of dread overcame him. Distantly, he could hear his five-month-old daughter crying. This was the cry he had heard often enough to recognize it as the mad, hungry cry. Where was Jacqui?

Frantically, desperately, he ran through the house calling her name, hearing no other sound but Allie’s incessant crying. The terror he felt was nothing compared to the horror he experienced upon opening the master bedroom door. His first reaction was, “no, not in here, keep looking.” In the instant before he turned to exit the doorway he had barely entered, a glimpse of Jacqui’s foot at floor level, extending just past the foot of the bed from the opposite side, arrested his motion. At the same moment, the distinctive smell registered in his nostrils. From this too-intimately known stench, Alex knew what he was going to find.

He forced his leaden feet to move in what seemed a surreal, slow motion. As his eyes passed the plane where the corner of the bed had blocked his view of the unimaginable specter, Alex suddenly felt as if he were dead inside.

Jacqui’s cold, stiff body lay supine on the floor. Vomit had run down both sides of her gaping mouth onto the carpet. The needle was still extended from her arm. Her eyelids were open. The loving, dancing eyes into which he had once loved to gaze were fixed, lifeless, and unexpressive.

Like an automaton, Alex immediately responded according to the dictates of his professional training and the experience of too many nights at the trauma center. Jacqui had been too long dead for any attention to benefit her. “Focus,” he admonished himself. “Call 9-1-1. Take care of Allie.”

Alex had managed to calm Allie’s crying by the time the police and the EMT’s arrived. He showed them where Jacqui’s body was and recounted his discovery of her. The two police officers, while perfunctorily expressing condolences for his loss, were relentless in asking him for details, whether  these details were meaningful or not. What had he touched? Was there a sign of anyone else having been in the house? Were the lights on? When was the last time the two of them had spoken on the phone? Had he spoken with anyone else since he called 9-1-1? What was the last he knew of her activities prior to his coming home? Did he know she was using?

This question hit him with such an impact he had to stop to catch his breath. “God, no. She had not used since a year before I met her and to my knowledge had not had a relapse.”

“Do you use drugs?” came the officer’s next query.

“None at all. I have been in recovery for six and a half years plus. Five years of it I was subject to weekly screenings, dictated by the medical licensing board.”  Alex saw no reason to conceal anything.

“Would you submit to a screening now?” the second officer interjected.

“Of course I would,” Alex replied. “I am clean. Am I a suspect of any wrongdoing?”

“No. These are just routine questions. This appears to be nothing more than a heroin overdose. By law, in cases such as this one, we are required to call in the medical examiner. If his findings corroborate ours, there will be no charges of any kind filed. The M. E. will be here for a while tonight. Is there anyone with whom you can stay?”

Alex did not feel close enough to anyone at work or in the program to prevail on them. “No,” was all he could utter.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, the lead officer offered a business card to Alex. “Here is the phone number for a corporate housing company we use sometimes. They rent out apartments by the day or week, but they come equipped with everything you need: sheets, towels, kitchen stuff, maid service. I would recommend you pack some essentials for you and the baby and not be here for a few days. And here is my card. Let us know where you are in case we need to reach you.”

Alex gave the officer his cell number and told him he would use the corporate housing. As the officers left, Alex called to arrange to pick up keys for a place to stay nearby.

Allie was no longer crying, but before they could go anywhere, Alex had to clean her up and feed her. He changed her diaper and carried her into the kitchen where he heated a bottle. When it was warm enough, he walked into the family room where he sat in the rocker and held the very eager Allie, who practically took the bottle from his one free hand. As he looked up, he saw himself in the mirror.  His normally handsome face was ashen and marked with grief.  He quickly looked back down to his daughter. When her bottle was about half gone, Alex took it from her and lifted her up, turning her so that she faced the blanket he had positioned on his left shoulder. A few gentle pats on her back and she rewarded him with a noisy burp. He silently thanked God for the little things. Anything remotely resembling normalcy was as comforting and welcome to him as a dry diaper and a bottle were to her. He positioned Allie so that he could look in her face and gave her the rest of the bottle. Suddenly, the thought central in his mind was that he was her entire world. And she was his.

Allie finished the bottle. Exhausted from the crying, she was falling asleep as the second burp was coming out. By the time Alex changed her again and put her back into her bed, she was sound asleep.

While Allie napped, Alex called Jacqui’s parents. He would have preferred to convey the bad news in person, but there was no time to drive to South Atlanta. Her mother was devastated and became hysterical on the phone. Alex patiently waited until she regained some composure, then continued, loosely describing the details of her daughter’s death. After that, they talked for a while, making plans for Jacqui’s funeral, and making sure that Allie was cared for while they dealt with arrangements.

Moments after Alex hung up the telephone, the coroner’s team arrived. They quickly assessed the scene and moved Jacqui’s body to a gurney.

Alex stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “The police advised me not to touch anything. Can I say goodbye to my wife now?”

“Of course, take all the time you need.”

Alex gently touched her face. “Jacqui, I don’t know how we are going to go on without you. I didn’t see this coming. I probably wasn’t looking. Honey, I’m so, so sorry.”

The men were waiting a respectful distance down the hall when Alex walked out of the bedroom. “Thank you. I would like to walk with you to see her out of the house.”

Alex packed a few days’ worth of clothing and toiletries for himself. He then gathered everything of Allie’s he could find. He packed diapers, formula, bottles, wipes, blankets. She could sleep in her infant carrier. She had done so for weeks earlier, when she was colicky.

“I guess that’s everything,” Alex mumbled as he made the last of a few trips to load everything into Jacqui’s minivan. The van already had the car seat module for the carrier in it and was generally much more baby friendly than his European sport sedan. He was probably going to be driving the van much more from now on.

The two stopped by the rental office to check in and pick up the key. Ten minutes later they were under way again. The rental apartment was quite clean and comfortable with all the amenities they needed, although totally sterile in its décor. The neutral shade of carpet, the bland tones on the walls, the nondescript furnishings – Alex was sure they had been replicated exactly in a hundred other units with carbon copy floor plans. Allie was still sleeping, so he set her carrier down on the laminate coffee table and carried in three loads from the minivan.

Checking his watch he noted the time, 11:40 p.m. Five minutes shy of four hours since his arrival at the house. The nightmare already seemed a little less nightmarish. Perhaps he was experiencing the numbness following the shock, but the emptiness he felt inside could not be ignored. Turning to the sleeping Allie, Alex mumbled more to himself than to her, “You can sleep as well at the midnight AA meeting as you can here and I could desperately use it.”

The drive to the Triangle Club was only about ten minutes that time of night. People brought their kids all the time, and especially in a time of crisis, no one cared. Alex walked in a few minutes before the meeting began. A dozen or so attendees were already there, some standing around chatting, some sitting and talking, some just sitting and blankly staring at nothing in particular. Alex took a seat with space in front of him where he could put the baby carrier so that it would be out of foot traffic. The Triangle Club had gone non-smoking a few years ago so he wouldn’t be exposing Allie to second-hand smoke.

Alex closed his eyes and said the Serenity Prayer to himself and tried to focus on his higher power’s presence in the room. This was a spiritual practice he had often done since he had been in the program, especially in times of challenges.

“Challenges,” Alex reflected, did not do this one justice. “The end of the fucking world” was infinitely more descriptive. “Just focus on God’s presence,” he kept reminding himself. Clearly the people in the rooms sharing their experience, strength, and hope did not have the power to fix themselves or each other, but when he sought God’s presence, he always got better.
The chairperson opened the meeting on schedule and after the reading of Chapter 5 of “Alcoholics Anonymous,” the AA big book, and the Traditions, he asked if anyone had a discussion topic. Alex’s hand shot up in the air and the words, “My name is Alex and I am an alcoholic and an addict,” came from his mouth nearly automatically.

 “Hi, Alex,” came back in unison from the group in the room, which had grown to about twenty.

Alex began, “I came home from work tonight to find my wife Jacqui dead in our bedroom from an overdose.” A collective gasp could be heard from every occupied chair in the room. The tears began streaming from Alex’s eyes. As if on cue, two Kleenex boxes appeared, one handed to Alex, the other set on the side table next to him in case he needed a backup. Alex took a handful of the pop-up tissues and dabbed at his eyes. He continued.

“Less than three weeks ago, the man who singlehandedly handled my intervention and got me into the program six and a half years ago was shot and killed in the Vine City detox he started. Two of the four people in my life who meant anything to me at all are now gone. I have a daughter less than six months old, my mother is old and in assisted living and I don’t know what I am going to do. Damn it, I should have seen it coming. I spent too many long nights at school, at work, at the hospital sacrificing something I would give anything to have back for something that doesn’t mean shit to me. How could I have not seen it? I could have done something. When I lost Dr. Wright I made a vow to get out of the rat race and get back to what is important.”

Alex’s voice quavered.  “Did I do it? Hell no, I’m too chicken shit. Just climb one more rung. Well just one more after that. Before I knew it the climb had consumed me again. For what? For this kind of emptiness? How could I be so stupid? I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, I’m not falling for that lie again. It’s almost like a drug. Deep down in my gut I know there’s no reward but more despair and defeat, but I can’t say no to the rush. I am grateful I haven’t had the urge to drink or use, but I know I am not bulletproof either. My sobriety and my daughter are all that mean anything to me and I am not willing to risk losing either one.”

The group had a guideline to limit what you had to share to two to three minutes to allow as many as possible the opportunity to talk. Alex went on for another twenty. No one uttered a peep. He needed to talk and they let him.

Alex blinked and realized that all eyes were upon him. He hadn’t expected to speak for so long at the meeting, but his life’s story had come tumbling out of him. The meeting ended soon afterwards, and after a number of hugs and words of concern, he took Allie back to the rental to catch a few fitful hours of sleep before facing the reality of morning.

Copyright 2009 Gary Fisher. Use of this material is strictly forbidden.