Hope

By Carolyn Roosth

Larry and Lucille Sherman begin their life together full of confidence and with hope for a bright future. Larry struggles with unsatisfying jobs, and they both grow tired of the press and rush of big city life. As they search for a way to get their lives on the right track, they face disappointments and tragedies that pull at the very fabric of their love for each other. Even when they find the perfect place to live and at last experience the joy of two beautiful children, their ideal world cannot be sustained. Death and alcohol addiction are the faces of monsters too powerful for their marriage to survive. When Larry's drinking spirals out of control, Lucille forces him into a rehab facility. There, Larry and his friend Ludy bemoan their fate. As Larry recounts stories of the good times and struggles in his life, he decides that he needs and wants to be forgiven and to go home again. Thwarted escape plans and illness cannot keep him from at last recognizing some ray of hope for the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolyn Roosth
• Release date: Oct 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370693962

Carolyn Roosth

I grew up on a farm outside a small East Texas town. I graduated from the University of Houston with a BA in English and Speech and completed my Masters of Education at the University of Texas in Tyler, Texas. My twenty-two years spent in teaching ranged from stints in elementary, middle school, and high school to graduate level at the University. An avid reader, I believe that reading is a wonderful educational doorway to the world. My husband and I are both retired and enjoy traveling, hiking, snorkeling, and watching movies. You can find my books in print at CreateSpace.com.

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Hope

by Carolyn Roosth

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 by Carolyn Roosth

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

For

David and Natalie

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul

and sings the tune without words

and never stops at all.

—Emily Dickinson

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

1

NEW BEGINNINGS REHAB

I watched and waited as his eyelids fell to half-mast above a pair of fat lips dripping a string of saliva almost to his regulation white pants. All I’d have to do would be to tip the rocking chair in which he sat forward a couple of inches, and he’d fall on his face on the faded green linoleum floor.

Instead, I gently touched his arm and blew a sour breath onto his wrinkled face. Wake up, Ludy!

His bloodshot brown eyes looked back at me from under white grizzly eyebrows that matched the sparse hair left on his balding head as he wiped his gnarled hand across his mouth.

Have you been listenin’ to a word I said, you ole goat? Here it is our only visitation time of the day, and ya hafta take a nap on me. I may as well be talkin’ to the lamppost out in the yard.

Ludy slowly raised himself from the rocking chair and stretched his five-foot-six-inch frame. Come on, he said slowly, let’s go out and watch the clouds fly away jus’ in time for sunset. Maybe the gals’ll think we’ve done gone to bed.

You crazy ole buzzard. I was jus’ gettin’ to the best part uh my story.

I know, he replied. I reckon I’ve done heard that same story at least a hunnerd times this month, and it always ends the same. Your ole lady got sicka your drinkin’ and stuck ya in this god-forsaken place and took off to San Antone, now didn’t she? And she don’t send ya no love letters and nary any cakes or cookies neither, now do she?

Ludy, why ya keep sayin’ San Antone? I told ya I don’t know where she went to. She might as well of moved to Alaska as far as I know.

Ludy laughed his booming laugh, the breath rolling out of him sounding like a bass drum. I pushed myself up and slowly followed him out the screen door. We were, you see, the best of friends. As a matter of fact, we were the only friends each other had, so we tried to stick together and make the most of our situation.

# # #

’Cause Ludy was right. Lucille dropped me off like a stray dog here at New Beginnings one stormy night and left me, crazy drunk—yelling and cursing her for the devil. The already-moonlit sky that night allowed me to get a glimpse of my boy, Phillip, waving like he was watching a Santa Claus parade from the back glass of the car.

Just as I lifted my hand to wave goodbye, two women built like linebackers with pink curlers in their hair to match their pink lipstick and pantsuits tackled me. I did not resist as they hobbled me like a roped calf into a long-sleeved jacket that pulled my arms into a forced hug. The next thing I remember was waking up in a narrow bed. The jacket was gone, but my arms were tied to the side of the bedrail. My feet, also attached to the bedrail, stuck out of the bottom sheet like still and silent puppets.

Dear Lord, what’s going to become of me now? I thought. I reckon I won’t be nursing any bottle of whiskey. No, not even sneaking a drop of wine. As this thought occurred to me, I started to shake. With my eyes and teeth clenched shut, I shook till my bed began to rattle. Before I could open my mouth to call out for help, one of the old pink nurses rushed in with a syringe full of what looked like piss and shoved it into the plastic line following the needle stuck in my arm just above my shaking left hand. And that’s the last I remember from my first night here at New Beginnings Rehab.

When next I could focus my eyes long enough to look around, I was lying on a small pallet in a green room about the size of the chicken coop at the house Lucille and I stayed when we first got married. Someone had hung what looked like sleeping bags to the walls, and even the floor felt soft and squishy as I raised myself up on my elbows. After a few minutes, the dizziness passed, but as I started to get up, a hidden door with no knob opened, and pink lady number two came in. A two-hundred-pound man, who looked like a sumo wrestler, stood guard at the disappearing door. He gave me a stern look as if to say Don’t you dare cause any trouble as the nurse approached me.

Git yourself up now. It’s time for your pill, the nurse said with authority.

It took me quite some time to get my knees bent and to convince my arms to push me up from the soft floor. Well, I thought to myself, they sure are careful about a person getting hurt in this soft place.

I took the cup she held out, tipped the blue pill into my mouth, and followed it with the paper cup of water, chasing the pill like downing a shot of Jim Beam.

That’s real good now, Mr. Larry, she said with a smile. How ya feelin’ today?

The cup of water had wet my mouth enough for me to answer, I feel real rested. Can I . . .

No, not yet. But jus’ keep on being good, and we’ll see ’bout gettin’ ya outa this . . .

She looked around as if she couldn’t quite put a name to the green room, but I spoke up for her. Cage, I said, ’bout the size of a chicken coop, I guess. But I ain’t no chicken, and I need to be outdoors. Ya’see, I used to spend a lot of . . .

Before I could finish, the pair of them had vanished like ghosts, and I hadn’t even heard the knobless door open or close. My head began to spin, and I felt so dizzy I sat back down on the soft floor and tried to think of what it was like to be outside in the sun, the pull of the burlap sack strung out behind me, the ache in my knees, the feel of the hot breeze on my face, and the hard, prickly boles of cotton in my hands.

2

LARRY AND LUCILLE

Yes, I won’t lie to you. Even though I spent many days crawling down cotton rows so long you’d have thought they might just go all the way across Wharton county, that time Lucille and I spent in East Bernard was just about perfect. When Lucille had not gotten a job at the clinic, she adapted to being a stay-at-home wife. You see, we were in love, and nothing could dim our affection nor cast a shadow on our happiness. It seemed we would never shed a tear nor speak a sad word. That is, not until about another year into our marriage.

Lucille came out to the cotton field one day with my sausage and biscuit lunch and a Mason jar of her famous ice tea, as dark and sweet as a RC Cola. As I tipped the jar, Lucille sat down beside me under the oak tree at the end of the cotton row and started to fiddle with her hands like she had an itch in her palms.

What’s eatin’ ya, hon? I mumbled, my mouth full of biscuit.

Oh, Larry, I have some wonderful news. I went over to Miss Lulu’s, and she told me I was at least three months along now with a child. I asked her did she think I was gonna have a boy—ya’know—to help ya with the cotton.

Lucille, listen to me. Why ya wanna get tied down with a baby, and us not settled in a place of our own?

Well, Larry, I reckon I didn’t plan on a baby, but don’t ya see, it’s gonna be whether you’re ready or not.

I laughed at my beautiful Lucille being so anxious, but I could tell she was proud and excited to be expecting.

You’re right, Lucille. It’s time we start on a family. I want to place my order for about four sturdy an’ healthy boys to help me when we get our own place. And that’ll be soon, I swear to ya.

Whoo-ee, Larry, you sure set your sights high—four boys—my goodness gracious. That’ll be a lotta time walkin’ around big as the side of the house, plus . . .

I cut off her protests, covering her mouth with mine and pulling her up to stand by me so I could take a feel of her small belly. This child is gonna need some growin’ ’fore it’s time to be born. How long ya’think it’ll be?

Miss Lulu say by the new year, maybe even Christmas, I hope. Wouldn’t that jus’ be the best present ever?

# # #

The fall brought the plowing under of the cotton stalks and the harvesting of the corn. Old Man Lewis—Mr. Lewis to me—put me in charge of gathering the corn. An ornery old mule called Sal tried my patience and put me in a foul mood before noon. When I pulled the reins to stop the wagon, she’d start backing up and loudly braying her hee-haw. The young workers alongside, who were supposed to be pulling the corn and pitching it into the wagon, would start laughing and forget about doing their job. I even tried tightening the muzzle on Sal, but that caused her to sound like a dying calf and expel a stinking cloud of gas out her rear end. Oh yes, life on the farm was a laugh a minute. Never a dull moment, but days just seemed to leap off the calendar, and Halloween had arrived before you could even get the dust out of your overalls.

There was to be a barn dance down the road at Old Man Hargraves. Now that was a man who knew how to keep his workers happy. Besides the fiddling music to cheer you up and get your toes tapping, he spiced up the lemonade punch with a heavy-handed portion of hot-dog-that’s-good-stuff moonshine.

I was pleased when Lucille insisted that we go, even though she now walked like a duck to support her big belly. I’d begun to wonder if she could be carrying twins. That way, I thought, we could get two boys in one delivery. I figured getting her out of the house for a barbecue and music could only do both of us some good.

You could hear the fiddler tuning up in the crisp fall air all the way from Old Man Hargraves’ place. The full moon shed enough light, and the gentle breeze pushed us along the half mile or so to the Hargraves’ barn. I held Lucille’s arm lightly to steady her waddling walk. I began to relax and look forward to having a good meal, and, hey, maybe I’d try a cup or two of that famous lemonade.

The lively music and the smell of barbeque floated a welcome from the barn door. Lucille went straight to the women’s corner, where they made way for her to sit on one of the hay bales.

I sat jawing with a couple of field hands, but the fiddling got so loud, and the dancers were kicking up so much dust and hay, that I edged my way over to the punch bowl. Miss Lulu was pouring and asked