Roman sat. It was supposed to be quite a nice couch. It was attractive, the arms were just the right height. The cushions sat only an inch or two high, and with time, they would beat down to a very comfortable position. If there was one criticism, it was that the seat was tight, so there wasn’t any convenient and easy way to clean it other than simply vacuuming. Which wasn’t simple or convenient at all.
The problem, which was all his own doing, between himself and Tommy, was that it was too stiff. He’d owned the couch for three years now, and the only thing that had been on it for more than a matter of hours was a cloth to keep the dust off.
That was a shame. It should have been such a nice couch. It looked so pleasant, and as soon as everything broke in, he guessed that it would be. But it wasn’t there yet, and because it wasn’t very comfortable or pleasant, because nothing was broken in, he didn’t use it, which only perpetuated the problem.
He checked his phone again. They should have arrived ten minutes ago. He’d gotten a text from the driver that they’d be a few minutes, but it wasn’t near enough time. Tommy tapped his thumb on his leg irritably. Everything he did seemed to be irritated, like that was the only thing that he was particularly capable of feeling.
Whatever had crawled up his butt, it was starting to get on Roman’s nerves. He sucked in a breath and stood up from the couch. It involved reaching down to the floor just slightly, which just reminded him why he didn’t sit on that couch again.
“Where are they?”
“You know, maybe they’re just… taking their time, or something,” Tommy said. He didn’t sound particularly worried. If anything, he was pleased, which sounded right for him because he seemed to think that the preferred solution was dropping Mary off in a ditch somewhere. “Maybe she met up with someone. You know how the groupie types are. Flightly.”
“Well, Tom, maybe you could just keep your thoughts on the subject to yourself a little.”
“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Shut up, they’re here.” He could see the car pulling up through the blinds. And he could see Mary step out, walk around the back of the car, and pick her son up. Pete, he thought. Peter? Roman made his way to the front door and opened it up, his stomach churning nervously. He stepped onto the porch.
The driver walked around to the trunk and opened it up silently as Mary started towards the house.
“How was the drive in? Not too bad? Driver alright, car alright, flight alright?”
She held up a finger and nodded towards the boy. He was asleep. Roman nodded and beckoned for her to follow. He guided her through the house, up the stairs, and into a guest room. It was as tastefully furnished as anything he had. Which was to say that it wasn’t much. Nothing in the house really said anything about him, except the recording room. Which said that he had a recording room, and had a few spare guitars stocked on the walls in case there was some reason he couldn’t have the Strat with him.
They closed the door behind and walked out.
“Everything alright?”
She shrugged and looked at Roman. He wasn’t sure it was supposed to communicate anything. There was nothing clear in the gesture, but he took it as something that he wasn’t going to like, and when they finally did get down the stairs, in a place where they could talk without worrying about her son hearing, he discovered he was right.
“I’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Not me, personally, I guess. A friend.”
“Oh?”
“I think she’s using again.”
“You think?”
“I mean, she didn’t say ‘Mary, help me stop doing drugs’ or anything, so yeah. Think. She had the look, and she was wearing long sleeves and still covered herself up when I saw her, so I’d say the signs were all pretty much there.”
Roman stuffed his hands into his pockets and thought for a minute. That wasn’t the kind of romantic getaway he’d hoped for. But then again, it begged the question. What had he hoped for? Had he hoped to ignore whatever had Mary worried?
“This friend of yours. You’re worried about her, yeah?”
“She was my sponsor. I’ve known her since… I dunno, a little while after I met you.”
“The first time, you mean? So that’s… what, ten years?”
“Something like that.”
“And she’s off the wagon?”
“You were so good back in Detroit. I don’t know how you do it, but you were just… you knew what to say, okay? I’m not asking you to heal her with your magic hands. I just need someone there with me. Another set of eyes. I need to talk her into rehab or something.”
“I don’t know how much help I can be. I don’t really know what it is she’s going through.”
“No? After how you were?”
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you, Mary. I’m not an addict.”
She gave him a dubious look.
“I’m not. I don’t touch the stuff. And I’m glad that you don’t any more, either.”
“You knew, though. Like, you knew what to do. Cold.”
“I have some experience with that kinda stuff. I’m not an addict, and I never was. But I was in Al-anon. My dad…”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. They don’t publish that kinda stuff in the official guidebook.”
“No, I guess they wouldn’t.”
“So… I saw your guy was struggling, and I tried to help. Same as anybody. I just couldn’t stand the thought, you know, he goes home and gets all strung out, and whatever. Beats his wife or something.”
“Well I was glad when you did it.”
“Thanks.”
“And I just want you to try to do it again. Please. For me.”
“I don’t know what I can do.”
Another voice joined them. Tommy stood in the doorway. How long he’d been standing there, Roman wasn’t sure. “You could let your ex-junkie friend’s junkie friend deal with her own problems.”
Roman was impressed at the strength of will it took not to flatten his nose. And more impressed that Mary found it, too.