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Redemption in Big Fork Lake

By Mary L. Ball

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Redemption in Big Fork Lake
CHAPTER ONE

Jerking his hand from the mass of curls his fingers caressed, Robert Turner turned away from Connie. Memories of a night long ago, rather than the scotch, made his stomach churn. In his attempt to get away, he knocked over a chair and stumbled. A long line of curse words spewed forth at the obstacle blocking his path.
“Rob, what’s up, man? Where ya off to in such a hurry? The celebration just started.”
Laughter and confused stares greeted him as his bleary eyes searched for the person speaking. “I’ll be back. I just need some space for a minute, Jerry.” Robert’s words slurred as he turned on unsteady legs and made a jagged beeline to the front door.
The cold night air blew against his face. Robert felt his cheeks sting with unwelcomed reality as he battled his inner demon that rose forward and taunted him. Why did this happen again? My drinking was supposed to make me forget. Connie likes me, and I would probably enjoy her company, except… her smile, it’s so familiar. A face flashed through his mind. I was having a good time. Why is it when I find a woman I like, this happens?
Robert trudged down the neighborhood street followed by his own horrendous thoughts. He hunched his shoulders and swayed, with zigzagged steps he walk unsteadily down the path and circled around to the back door of the residence he shared with Jerry. The narrow hallway paneling scraped his shoulder as he slipped down the corridor to the security of the ten by twelve accommodations he called home.
Robert fell on top of the bed covers. Minutes later the room twirled in his head. He slung one leg over the side of the bed to stop the movement. When the area continued to rotate, Robert flung the other foot sideways and braced himself with the floor. His world spun, like a boat pitched by the waves, tossing back and forth. With a few struggles, he perched upright on the edge of the mattress and hung his head, supporting his face in his hands. The next instant his stomach churned as he rushed to the adjoining bath and kneeled.
* * *
The morning sun shone through the curtains as music from the alarm blared in the quiet room. Robert turned, and slapped at the off button. He rubbed his eyes, and the bed gave way with his weight as he stood. After Robert swallowed three aspirins, he joined his friend in the kitchen.
“Man, you all right? You don’t look too hot,” Jerry snickered, “heard you last night bowing to the porcelain goddess.” Laughter filled the room as his buddy straddled a kitchen chair.
Robert blew out a breath and ignored the last statement, “I just need a mug of caffeine. Then I’m off to work. The diner can’t run without a cook.” Stroking his nape, he turned his head toward the direction of his college roommate. Five years earlier, Robert graduated. A few months ago, he moved in with his old school pal. Now, in the light of the day, Robert second-guessed the decision as he finished a cup of java and headed out the door. Things will get better. They have to.
The morning was busy at D’s Cookout. Robert counted each hour. Several quarrels with the owner, and a headache caused his emotions to roller coaster up and down. At four-thirty, the proprietor approached him once again.
“Robert, how many times do I need to set you straight? You got this meal wrong, and what happen to the order for table ten? Either get your act together or get out. I need a responsible person.” The owner glowered at Robert, “a person who can follow the customer’s instructions. All week you’ve done nothing but screw up.”
With tightly crossed arms, Robert heaved air into his lungs. Isn’t this the fourth time the guy jumped down my throat today? No, if I count the breakfast ordeal, this would be about the sixth, Anyway, too many. Robert hastily pulled the apron off and tossed the white wrap onto a nearby counter. He offered a quick, tight-lipped smile and hurled words. “Well, how about you fix the food? This place is a hassle, and I’ve listened to you rant all day. I’m finished with this dive.”
The clouds covered the sun, befitting to his mood as Robert walked across the parking lot to his truck. Thankfully, payday was yesterday. Tomorrow he’d worry about a job. For now, he had other things on my mind, one being something cold and a lot stronger than a cola.
* * *
“Hey, man, here’s your drink.” Jerry handed Robert a glass filled with amber liquid. Even though this wasn't the first cocktail of the night, he savored the taste. Robert returned the tumbler to his mouth and took a swig of the slightly sweet mixture. The ice touched his lip as the flavor of the rum and Coke, mingled with a slice of lime, still fed his thirst from a bad day. He drank a mouthful of the brown liquid, glad that Jerry had used dark-colored rum this time. Laughter filled the house while Robert nursed his glass of spirits and joked with another person. The door opened. Connie, Jerry’s cousin, who had been Robert’s date the night before, strolled inside. She made her way to corner of the room where he stood.
“Hey, Rob.” She closed the space between them and slid her hands up his arms, trailing a path of kisses down Robert’s neck.
Robert pulled her tight against him as they kissed. Then, as if someone threw water in his face, instantly he pushed her out of his arms, “Connie, not now.”
Connie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Whatever. Your kiss tells a different story Robert. I’m tired of playing these games.” With that, she sashayed to the other side of the room.
Robert wet his lips. Suddenly an exit from the room and into the night couldn’t come quick enough. What is wrong with me? Connie’s a pretty woman, but a long-ago night popped into Robert’s mind. A panicked look from a different woman’s face dashed across his memory.
Robert headed to his truck parked alongside the curb. Placing the key in the ignition and turning, he listened to the hum of the motor after it started. As he shoved the pickup into gear and smashed the pedal to the floor, tires screeched, and the truck slid sideways. Robert turned the steering wheel hard. The tires hummed and kicked gravel as he straightened the vehicle and put the old truck between the traffic lines once again as the memories of that night a few years back continued to flash before his eyes. Even though the air was cold, he reached up and wiped sweat from his brow. A vile taste rose in his throat as he pressed down on the gas and increased speed. Three miles later Robert weaved the vehicle across the traffic lane.
The thumping inside his chest beat faster and faster. Robert’s throat scratched. He swallowed hard and watched the guardrail barreling to the front of the old pickup. A deafening furor of broken glass, squealing tires, and metal crashing against metal broke the stillness of the night. The air filled with burnt rubber as he slammed on the brakes in an effort to stop too late. A flicker of a bridge on the overpass came into view, and the loud, inhuman screech of metal and glass shearing apart made his ears ring before silence filled the night.
* * *
Robert lay in bed. Before he opened his eyes, he felt the cotton material of a sheet covering his body. He inhaled a fragrance, vanilla and honeysuckle—the smell of his mother’s favorite cologne. Pain increased as a sharp pinch to Robert’s ribs made him grab his side. He hurt all over. Something was wrong. Where was he, and what happened?
“Mom, is that you?” Robert’s words barely sounded as his blurry vision adjusted. He turned his head and glanced at a curtain pulled around the bed. The beep-beep of a monitor confirmed his suspicions. He was in the hospital.
He squirmed on the bed, and his body stiffened. A tight pulling sensation that threatened to cut off his breath made him gasp. Slowly, Robert lifted his hand to his face. Soft gauze, instead of skin, met his fingers. “Why am I here?”
“Son, don’t wiggle too much.” His mother voice quivered. “You were in a wreck.” Standing beside the hospital bed, Martha Turner closed her eyes and murmured, “Thank you, Jesus.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Rob, I’m terribly worried about you. It seems like things have only gotten worse since you moved out of Dot’s apartment building. My sister let you rent the place at a discount to help. Is something going on you haven’t told me about? I realize you like to drink, but you’ve become more dependent on alcohol lately…” She pressed her lips together before continuing. “Rob, you’re smart with a degree in journalism. You could be a reporter on television. It seems all you do is work odd jobs and stay out with friends.”
“Can you just tell me what happened?” He hissed.
“You ran off the road. At least the guardrail stopped the truck from going over the bridge. It was only by God’s grace you survived with just a broken arm and some cracked ribs.” His mom lightly touched his face. “You have a deep cut. It’ll probably leave a scar.”
Robert gritted his teeth and grabbed hold of the bed sheet, balling the cloth in his hand. I’m so stupid.
* * *
The next day a knock sounded on Robert’s door. He held his side as he raised his voice. “Come in.”
“Robert, hello. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
Robert glanced at the holder on the side of the wall where the nurses kept rubber gloves. Mother’s minister.
“Pastor Marsh, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I know, Son. It’s been a while. The last time you were in church, I believe, was when you were a teenager.”
Robert nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Son, you know the Lord is always waiting for you to return to the flock. I know your mom prays for you all the time.”
Robert turned his head and faked a cough. “Yeah, I know. Mom never gives up.”
“Well, Robert, she’s holding onto faith. I remember when you were younger. You enjoyed helping out in Sunday school class. Robert, what happened to that guy?”
“I don’t know, Pastor Marsh. Somehow, other things in life… I’ve just changed. I know Mom has told you about my drinking. My life’s messed up.”
Pastor Marsh laid his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Son, you never go too far that the Lord won’t accept you back. God will also give you the strength to stop drinking, if you let Him. Come back, Robert, to church and to Jesus. Let Him help you.”
Pastor Marsh straightened his back. “I’m going to pray for you, Robert. Pray with me, will you?”
Robert focused on the blue tie the preacher was wearing. “I don’t know… I need to think some more.”
“That’s fine, Robert. Consider what I’ve said. Anytime you need to talk I’m here, but I will pray for a fast healing.”
Robert watched the door close behind the minister. His knuckles turned white. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He turned his face to the window. As the blue sky turned gray, Robert waited for the pending storm to come. Would my life be any better if…
* * *
Robert’s dad placed the hospital bag in the backseat. They drove the eight miles home.
“Thanks, Dad, for letting me stay here a while. I hate I put this thing on you and Mom. A police officer came by while I was in the hospital. I suppose I really messed up. I’ll have to go to court. Face those DUI charges, I guess.”
“Robert, remember Fred Porter from church? He’s a lawyer. I’ll take you by his office, and he’ll help.” A serious tone from his dad’s voice filled the space between them. “Listen, Son, your mom wants the best for you. I do, too. If we can help you, we will, but… Robert you need to take this time to think about your life. What you want. You can’t keep on like this. You’re a grown man. It’s time to decide how you want to spend the rest of your life. Drinking every weekend isn’t cutting it. ”
Robert let out a frustrated breath as he got out of his Dad’s car and with measured steps and walked onto the porch. The front door opened, and Martha greeted her son. “I put clean sheets on the bed, and snacks are in the kitchen when you’re hungry. Rob, while you’re staying here, I hope you’ll let us help any way we can.”
Herbert Turner carried his son’s suitcases to the bedroom. “Son, your old bedroom is home as long as you need, providing you respect our wishes. No drinking while you’re here.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll do my best.” Robert spoke an automated response and looked around the familiar space. Long gone were his childhood relics. His parents had transformed the room into a guest bedroom with only a few reminders of his school days left behind.
The next couple of days frazzled his nerves. He battled with the longing for a drink. Robert rubbed at the sweat on his face and devised a plan of temporary escape. I have to get out of the house. I feel like I’m dying.
Thanks to a wedding his parents attended, Robert found himself alone on Friday evening. He dialed Jerry’s phone number. “Hey, dude. What’s going on? Come by and pick me up? We can go to Fred’s bar.”
“I called you a few times, and your folks said you were resting. Meet me outside. I’ll be there in thirty.”
The tan all-terrain vehicle pulled alongside the curb. Robert got inside, and they sped off, heading in the direction of downtown to the corner bar they frequented. The dim atmosphere welcomed Robert. The men found a small table in the center of the room and ordered.
“Robert, how much longer are you going to stay at your parents’ house? Man, that’s gotta be a drag. You know you can come back to my house. The spare room’s still yours.”
Lifting the stein to his lips, he savored the malty, sparkling liquid. Robert let the rich flavor slide down his throat. The memory of the hardships, the sweat and hallucinations of several days’ absences from the spirits slipped away. “Thanks, Jerry, but I don’t know right now. I need my folks help. Not to mention, I have to get this cast off." He raised his arm. "My ribs need to heal, and then I gotta find a job. I guess I’ll go to court because of the accident. My parents took me to talk to a lawyer yesterday. The guy said because this is my first offense, he might be able to plead my case and keep me out of jail.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
The hours wound down. Jerry slid his glass across the table. “Wanna go to my cousin’s party?”
The ice clanged against Robert’s glass as he swallowed the rest of his drink. “No, just drop me off a couple blocks from the house.”
Robert got out of Jerry’s car and with staggered steps, made his way through the door of a diner. The place was famous for homemade donuts and various coffee flavors. He scooted onto a stool. The waitress behind the counter finished stacking cups and turned to face him. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have regular coffee and a couple of glazed donuts.” He spoke the words slowly. The lady scrutinized Robert as she placed a cup and plate with the sweets before him. He held the handle with a firm grip and sipped the hot liquid, his thoughts focused on getting sober and walking a block to the house. A television positioned high on the wall showed a ballgame playing, and the crowd cheering in the background. Robert consumed three cups of coffee and devoured the glazed goodies while he kept an eye on the sports team. The man sitting on the other side of the stool glanced at Robert and smiled in approval of the touchdown the team made.
“It’s about time they scored.” The man sitting beside him extended his hand toward Robert. “My name’s David Miller.”
He shook the guy’s hand in reply. “Robert Turner.”
“I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“No, it’s my first time. Nice little coffee shop.”
“Yeah, I like it. It’s a good diner to come get coffee and watch the tube.”
For the next thirty minutes, Robert and David discussed the competitive game on TV.
David glanced in Robert's direction and noticed a disfigurement on the side of his face . “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get the long scar? It looks fairly new.”
Robert debated whether he wanted to answer. Even though this was a stranger, and he’d never see him again, Robert chose his words. “I was in an accident. Totaled my truck. I remember seeing the railing of the bridge on Hazel Street, and then I blacked out. I guess I was drinking too much and couldn’t get stopped fast enough.” Robert lifted his arm showing the cast. “Broke my arm, fractured a rib, and the glass from the windshield cut the side of my face pretty bad.”
“Oh, man, sorry to hear that. At least, you got out of it. Things could’ve been worse.”
“I know. Truth is I need to slow down on the drinking, I guess. Lately, it’s caused a lot of distress in my life.”
David nodded his head. “I’ve been where you’re at, Robert. Long time ago, I had a problem with alcohol. It caused me many difficulties. One day, I met an older man in a fast-food restaurant. We started talking and became good friends. Turned out he was from Alcoholics Anonymous. He got me going to the meetings, and I started to see a way out. I gained a new awareness about what I wanted in life. The organization helped me discover how to let my faults go and accept things. Made me a better man. I run a chapter now.” David shrugged his shoulder. “Figure it’s the least I can do.”
Robert tried to shut out the biggest part of what the man was saying, but the words dug deep. He gazed at the man sitting next to him. “No kidding! You go to that Alcoholics place. Does it really help?”
“Yes, Robert, it does. The meetings give you encouragement to stay sober. I’ve been going for about six years. I realized I wanted to change my life.” He let out a chuckle. “If I hadn’t become involved with AA, well… I don’t know... I was going down the wrong track fast. I lost my job and several good friends. Thank goodness, the Lord intervened and sent someone my way to encourage me. Now, I’m a sponsor. It’s my turn to encourage others, show them there’s a way out. I won’t lie to you, it’s a struggle, but well worth the fight. AA is there to help anyone. They won’t push you, but the support with others gives you different way to view your life. Something we all need, especially, if we have a drinking problem. I’m not saying you do. I don’t know you well enough to make that statement.”
“Well thanks, man. I never thought of myself as an alcoholic. I don’t drink all the time, at least not every day of the week. I just down a few too many on the weekends.”
David turned up the mug and swallowed the last bit of coffee. He reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a leaflet, and handed the tri-folded paper to Robert. “Here’s a guide to read. It outlines distinctive kinds of drinking problems. Many people don’t realize there are different categories of alcoholics. The antisocial types are people who start drinking at an early age and use other drugs. Then you have what they call a functional drinker, folks who drink everyday and are good at hiding the problem. Sometimes, even their families don’t realize they have a problem until it almost too late.”
David took off his glasses, rubbing the lens with a napkin. “Next, Robert, there’s a young adult subtype. If you indulge in spirits too much, then you might fit into this crowd. People in this group usually start drinking in college or the early twenties. They don’t even realize they have a problem because they drink less often than other alcoholics, but when they do, they binge drink and often do irrational things.”
David put his glasses back on. “Anyway, I’m not judging, only sharing facts. If you ever decide to pay our group a visit, you’d be welcome to sit in a meeting and check it out.”
David got off the stool and reached inside his pocket. “Take my card. You’d be surprised at the changes a man can make when he sets his mind to. There’s a big world just waiting for us to conquer—except we need to be sober to grab onto the prize. Robert, only you can decide if you want to change, but help is waiting. That’s what Alcoholics Anonymous does. The organization motivates you to change. Plus God is on our side if we let Him.”
Robert released a breath and watched as the man walked out the door. He slipped the card into his shirt pocket. Even though he didn’t want to, Robert found himself reading over the flyer David had given him.
* * *
“Son, I found this in your pocket as I was getting ready to toss your shirt in the washer.”
He reached out and took the card his mom handed him. “Oh, I met this guy at the coffee shop last week.”
“I noticed it says Alcoholics Anonymous. Rob, are you going to a meeting?” The sound of hope sprang from her voice.
Robert watched his mother’s face change. He saw a spark of anticipation in her eyes. “I don’t know, Mom. I have thought about some things he said. Maybe, I could go and check it out… just see what it’s about…but I can’t make any promises.”
“I know, Son. Try it; you’ll never know anything about the meetings unless you go to one. I’ve heard good things about that organization.”
The door closed, and Robert studied the bent business card. Just great. Now, I have to go at least one night.
* * *
The parking lot held a dozen vehicles. It had been weeks since he met David in the coffee shop. Robert went to court for the DUI charge and ended up spending a weekend in jail, but the judge showed some leniency, at least. He gave Robert forty hours of community service, which he finished doing earlier. Now, because of the Georgia State laws Robert was dealing with a suspended license, so someone else drove him everywhere, at least for a year. When he called David, the man offered him a ride. As David pulled into the lot, Robert studied the older brick building.
“This is it, Robert, we have the meetings, in the end structure where the double doors are. Don’t worry—you’ll fit right in. We’re all here for the same reason.”
“Yeah, I know.” Laughing nervously, Robert opened the door. “We all have to start somewhere, but David, I’m only here to watch. I know I have a drinking problem. I just don’t know what I want to do about it.”
David led the way as they walked to the entrance. “Well, Robert, I hope you give us a chance to help you.”
David opened the entrance door. “If you decide to hang out with us, we’ll welcome you. We can always use another person in our support group. After all, each of the people in there has been where you’re at now, and you don’t have to say anything unless you want, not tonight.”
The chill from the cold metallic chair caused numbness in his legs. Robert felt like he was sitting on cement. He shifted his body to change positions. At least the discomfort kept his mind focused. Thirteen people attended the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, each seated around in a semi-circle. The men and women were from diverse backgrounds. Some dressed in designer clothes and others, like him, wore jeans. The people who came to the group were all in the same predicament, each susceptible to failing.
A long table positioned to Robert’s right held a large pot of coffee and disposable cups lined the far end. The other side of the counter displayed pamphlets for reading. A cooler sat on the floor filled with bottles of water.
The stories and comments from the cluster of people tugged at Robert while he listened. He couldn’t explain it, but with each testimony, his situation became clearer. Robert blinked hard, as if a bright light had shined in his eyes and highlighted his life. A desire sprang forth to take a leap of faith and at least try AA. When time was close to the meeting’s end, Robert sat his water bottle down and stood, determined to say something.
“My name’s Robert Turner. I’m an alcoholic.” He paused and searched the faces. Even though he understood these folks had difficulty, just as he, Robert still wasn’t sure if he was looking for support or condemnation. Robert cupped his hands in front of him tightly and aired the incident concerning his wreck. “I was lucky, and my DUI was a first offense, so I only surrendered driving privileges for twelve months. I also had to serve community service.” He gave a faint smile and added, “I was dumb enough to pick the Salvation Army. It’s a hard job standing in the cold, bitter rain ringing a bell. I know now that every time I see someone standing beside a red kettle I’ll drop a dollar in.”
After the meeting wrapped up, Robert walked outside. His mind focused on the last hour. The worst was behind him. He survived the uncertainty of not knowing anyone and the fear of judgment. He pushed his doubts aside of things to come, determined to concentrate on things that lay ahead. Despite the uncertainty, being in this assembly showed him Alcoholics Anonymous was the right path to take.
A short while later, he exited David’s car and leaned with his head inside the door. “Thanks for the ride, David.”
“No problem, Robert. Glad you joined the meeting. Can I pick you up next week?”
Robert hesitated only a second. “Yeah. I’ll go next week.”
“Robert, you have my number. Call me if you need to talk or feel like taking a drink.” David chuckled. “I guarantee my jokes will keep anybody sober.”
Robert hung his head and smiled. “I hear you, man.”
He walked inside the house. Both of his parents sat at the kitchen table eating dessert. “How did the meeting go, Son?”
“It went okay. I felt hesitant at first. I finally admitted to the members why I was there.”
He sat on the chair across from his parents and cut a slice of pie. “I’m going again, Dad. I realize I need help. I don’t understand it. Things seem to be happening fast, but since I started back to church with you guys… I have a different outlook and now with these meetings maybe, I can learn how others cope with my problem.”
Robert cut into his slice. “Going to worship service helped, too. It brought me back to the Lord and made me want so much more from life.” Fleeting words circled inside his mind, as he wondered, is this going to work?

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