The Redemption(5)

“Barstow.”

I sit straight up. “Barstow? I can’t go to Barstow today. I have a meeting in three hours.”

“Dex needs us.”

Closing my eyes, I exhale, knowing he would do it for me, just like I would do it for any of the guys if they needed me to. “I’ll reschedule.” I call my part-time assistant and ask her to move the meeting to tomorrow or Wednesday. Then I call Cory’s mom to pick up Neil for me after school. When I hang up, I ask, “What’s he doing in Barstow?”

“He wasn’t clear on the phone when he called. I think he called me by accident.”

I’m still in shock over hearing this news. I feel so bad for not knowing, for not noticing. “He’s relapsed?”

Tommy hesitates to answer. I only know of two reasons why: one, because he doesn’t know or two, because he doesn’t want to tell me. I’m thinking it’s more the latter. His large fingers turn the dial of the air conditioning up so it gets cooler inside the vehicle, then he replies, “By the way he sounded, my guess would be yes.”

“And your gut?”

“Same answer.”

“How can I help him?”

“I’m hoping he’ll listen to you, so I need your help to either get him home or checked into rehab.”

“Why me?” I ask, but I think I know the answer already. My hunch is confirmed when he remains silent. I sigh, letting the burden of the situation be heard. “What is he trying to do to himself? What is he trying to prove?” Tommy doesn’t answer because he knows I’m not asking him.

The miles pass as I return emails and phone calls, set more appointments and touch base with Johnny. It’s been our thing since Cory died. “So you doing okay?” Johnny asks.

“I’m okay.” Fine and well aren’t answers either of us can give these days. He sounds better since he and Holli moved to Ohai a few months ago. He’s writing music, playing his guitar and moving forward with the band.

My sadness and guilt haven’t left my side or my heart. My kids are daily reminders of their father’s death. I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough for them, if I can fill the role of both parents the way they deserve. But I get out of bed and try my damndest every day despite my secret fears.

Johnny says, “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

He goes with us sometimes. I like the company. “Okay. Pick us up at 4?”

“See you then.”

“Bye.” I see a mileage sign just as I look up from the phone. “Ten miles to Barstow.”

Tommy says, “Ten miles. Johnny doing okay today?”

“Getting by.”

“And you?”

I reply, “Getting by.”

Tommy has never been one for forced conversation, which I’ve come to appreciate over the years. He may not have started with the band back in the day, but he’s been with us for eight years, so he is one of us. He’s also someone we all can rely on even when it’s not band related.

A sand colored motel with blue doors is visible up on the right. When we pull into a parking space, I wonder if it’s painted that way or if it used to be white and the surrounding desert colored it naturally. “Which room?” I ask.

“Twenty-two.” He leans forward over the steering wheel and points to the top right.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. It’s either the girl’s age or the room number. We’re about to find out.”

A sick, sinking feeling fills my stomach and I push open the door and step out. “Great,” I reply sarcastically.

Tommy follows me up the side stairs to the second floor. Room twenty-two’s door is cracked open. The music is loud and I recognize it as Jane’s Addiction’s “Summertime Rolls.” We glance at each other, take a deep breath, and then he moves in front of me before pushing the door open further. Our eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness of the room after being blinded by the brightness of the desert.

The curtains are drawn on the only window, which resides next to the door. A broken coffee table is in front of the loveseat that has some girl with long brown hair asleep on it. She’s in what looks like Dex’s T-shirts and by the way it rides up, I can tell nothing else. The bathroom light is on, the door to it closed, the sound of the shower coming from inside. Dex’s shoes are on the ground and two empty bottles of Jack Daniels and Fireball are on the floor next to them. White powdery residue is on the nightstand. Dex is passed out on the bed next to it, lying on his back. He’s wearing his leather jacket, revealing a shield tattoo on his chest, one that he’s become known to show at concerts when he plays. His jeans on with the button fly are wide open. His hair covers his eyes, his signature bandana fallen and knotted tightly around his neck. My heart breaks seeing him broken like this. This is not the man I’ve know all these years. This is the shell of what remains when someone sells their soul to the devil.

I push down my emotions and rely on logic. Besides immediately wanting to check and see if he’s even alive, my second thought is to look for needles. My third, for condoms. No needles are found, but I see three condoms near the trash bin. That relieves me for some reason.

Tommy looks at me and says, “Stay outside the door.”

I see the concern in his eyes, so I step back without asking questions. Peeking inside, I watch as Tommy goes to the bed and shakes Dex. Dex doesn’t respond, so he calls his name, grabbing his face to look at him. Dex shifts, but doesn’t come to. Tommy grabs his phone and turns off the music right when the door to the bathroom opens. I lean back, not knowing who to expect. A female comes out with a towel wrapped around her body and stops when she sees Tommy. As if this is a normal situation, nonchalantly she says, “He’s been out like that for a while. Is he okay?”