Idiot - Laura Clery Page 0,77

ready to be out in the world, so he had decided to go to an all-male rehab facility. I smiled, because that showed me he had a lot of willingness to get better. He knew that he had been inches away from death, and he saw everything he had to lose. He was timid and kind, and a lot closer to the Stephen I knew before, but the scars from the past months were still there. I hadn’t forgotten how he treated me.

I dropped him off at the rehab facility and went back to our apartment. He started on the 12 Steps again. Fifteen days after he began rehab, family and friends were invited to visit, and I went to see him in his room. After he had updated me on all the new friends he’d made, I knew I had to tell him something. This was the reason for my visit.

“Stephen, I’m going to move out of the apartment for a while.” I looked down at the table. This was so hard. Stephen looked deeply into my eyes and nodded, looking like he felt all the pain he had ever caused me. Finally I met his gaze. “I don’t want a divorce. I just think we need some distance so you can work on your sobriety, and I can focus on me.”

“I understand.” He tried not to show any regret or sadness, but I could see his disappointment in himself.

There I was, separating from my husband while he was sick in rehab. It felt complicated, because one of the tenets of my sobriety is to forgive, to see people as sick and doing their best rather than as evil. But all that didn’t change the fact that I did not trust Stephen. It didn’t mean that I had to sit and take the abuse when he turned into a monster. True, he wasn’t himself when he was using, but that didn’t change the fact that he was dishonest and verbally abusive. I knew Stephen was a good man. But I also needed to be sure that the drugs were gone.

After his second rehab program ended, I moved into the small apartment in Venice under a three-month lease. Stephen moved back into our apartment and worked through the 12 Steps.

I kept working and stayed as busy as I could.

When Stephen got to Step Eight, making amends, it had turned to autumn. He flew to Chicago for a day to see my parents. He had the cab drop him off at a flower shop near my childhood home, where he picked up a bouquet for my mom and planned to walk the rest of the way. Then, just like in the movies, a clap of thunder rang out and it started raining.

“A sprinkle never hurt anyone.”

With that cue, it started POURING. Stephen was instantly drenched, and the flowers looked like they’d gone ten rounds with a kangaroo. He knocked on my parents’ door and my mother opened it, completely surprised to see a wet man in a drenched suit.

“Erm. Hello.” Stephen waved awkwardly.

“I’ll get you a towel.” My mom rushed from the door, leaving Stephen to stand next to my dad uncomfortably.

My dad clapped him on the back. “Went for a swim, huh? Not very good weather for that. Weird decision to make.”

“Do you mind if we all sit down together? I’d like to read something to you both.”

My parents glanced at each other. My mom handed him the towel and led him to the living room couch.

Stephen pulled a soggy letter out from his pocket. He carefully peeled it open and drew a shaky breath, sitting on the long floral couch right where I used to watch infomercials every night as a child until I fell asleep. He read his amends to them.

My parents both stared at him. They weren’t used to apologies or direct, earnest communication. Or people who were willing to change. My mom felt the urge to fill the silence. “Ummmm. That’s really nice.”

Stephen continued, “Please, I want to work to make this better.”

“You’re still wet, let me—let me get you a new towel.” My mom rushed to the linen closet.

Abandoned, my dad tapped his heel awkwardly. Then he pointed to Stephen’s arms. “You been going to the gym?”

My mother was aware of what had been going on. I had told her about the pills and how mean he had gotten. But my dad . . . it was all news to him, and deep emotional confrontations