that until last weekend with you, I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in over six months? Now, this is the second time in a week. You must think I have a problem.”
“You don’t have a problem, but I do think something’s bothering you.”
“You could say that,” she said. “I used to think that I had things under control, but now I know I was just fooling myself.” Again, she laughed, but the sound was heartbreaking. “I’m probably not making any sense.”
No, I thought, you’re not. But I understood emotional turmoil and from experience I knew that talking about it would help only if she was the one who did most of the talking. My role was simply to listen and to empathize, even if I didn’t fully understand what was going on.
“Do you believe in God?” she finally asked me.
“Most of the time,” I answered. “But not always.”
I noticed a flicker of sadness in her expression.
“I do,” she said. “I always have. Growing up, I went to church every Sunday and Wednesday nights. Good Baptist. I used to enjoy it, and I thought that I understood the way things were supposed to work. But as I grew older, I realized that I didn’t. I know that God created us with free will, but I’ve never understood why there’s so much suffering in the world. Why would God, who’s supposed to be all good and loving, allow innocent people to suffer? I remember searching for the explanation in the Bible, but it’s not in there. It’s the biggest question there is, but there’s no answer. And I see it all the time in my work. I see it everywhere. But…why?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t say that I know much about the Bible, either. My favorite part of church was staring at the girls.”
“Ha,” she snickered, clutching her cup with both hands. Then, in a subdued voice, “Do you know why I came out here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Because this was one of the last places I can remember being truly happy. I’d never heard of this place before I moved here, but I remember coming out here late in the summer. The water was perfect, and I spread out a towel to get some sun. And as I lay there, I thought about how wonderful everything was. My life was everything I wanted it to be, and I was just…absolutely content. I wanted to feel that way again, even for an instant.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Did you feel it?”
“No,” she said. “That’s why I brought the wine. Because if I couldn’t feel happy, then I didn’t want to feel anything at all.”
I didn’t like what she was saying, my worry for her growing more pervasive. Perhaps she sensed my concern, because she moved the bottle behind us, then scooted closer to me. Instinctively, I put my arm around her shoulder and neither of us said anything. Instead, we stared toward the river, watching as the celestial light made the water flicker hypnotically.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said, sighing. “Being out here at night?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t think it was allowed.”
“It’s not. But I didn’t care.”
“Obviously.”
“You know what else I was thinking about while I was out here? Before you came?”
“I have no idea.”
“I was thinking about the bees. And the alligators and the eagles and the dinner on the porch. I was happy then, too. Maybe not perfectly content, but…happy. For the first time in a long time, I kind of felt like myself again and while I was sitting out here, I realized how much I miss that. But…”
She trailed off. When she didn’t finish her thought, I asked the obvious.
“But what?”
“I realized that I’m not supposed to be happy.”
Her comment jolted me. “Why would you say that? Of course you are. Why would you think that?”
Instead of answering, she took another swallow from her cup. “We should probably get going. Or at least, I should go. It’s getting late.”
“Please don’t change the subject. Why wouldn’t you think you’re supposed to be happy?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe I would, if I knew what you were talking about.”
In the silence, I heard the soft sound of her breaths, could feel the subtle movement beneath my arm. “Sometimes, in life, you’re confronted with an impossible decision, with no happy ending, no matter what you choose. Like…imagine you’re married with three kids, and you’re rock climbing with your wife, and something goes wrong. You’re dangling from the cliff, with no rope; one hand is on the