Wyoming Refuge by Millie Copper

Author:Millie Copper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CU Publishing LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

Sam

We took Interstate 80 heading toward Laramie, stopping at a gas station to top off the tank and buy a map of Colorado. It was well after midnight before we finally reach our chosen destination—a campground in the Grand Mesa Colorado Forest.

Willie had the sofa, Chloe had the converted dinette, and Georgia and I slept above the cab. It’s been hard for me to remember to refer to them by their new names. Chloe has reminded me several times to call her Abigail.

The next day, we’re outside of Alamosa at a good-sized private campground. Bob reserved us a spot far from the office.

We stopped in a couple of stores along the way to get the supplies we felt we’d need. We tried to stick to smaller stores, ones we hoped wouldn’t have video surveillance, and took turns going inside.

One of the stores was nothing more than a convenience store attached to a restaurant and bar. The options there were rather limited. The hardest part was when I went to pay, which was at the bar. The small bottle of Jack sitting by my left arm seemed to keep inching closer. I started to negotiate with myself; just one bottle, and I’ll make it last. A sip or two each day to take the edge off.

I admit, I’m angry. Bitter even. Part of me wants to go home and make a stand. I hate that these people, whoever they may be, forced me to flee my home, my life. I’ve fought hard for the life we have. There was a time when my path didn’t look too promising.

Drinking and partying in college wasn’t a big deal, or so I thought. When I tried to continue the party lifestyle into medical school, I was almost booted out. I couldn’t keep up, and my grades suffered. One of my professors took me aside, told me to get it together and then directed me toward Alcoholics Anonymous.

I started AA on a wet and windy day in January. Georgia supported me but didn’t think she had a drinking problem. Two weeks later, after a blackout-drunk session, she also started visiting the Rooms.

When talking with Ray, I’d told him I was sober twenty-four years. That’s not exactly true. I’ve had a few relapses following deployments and other stressful times. It’s been nine years, eight months, and four days since my last drink. The day Georgia told me she was pregnant.

She also gave me a final ultimatum: return to sobriety or she’d raise the baby on her own. Baby. At that time, we had no idea we were expecting twins.

My sponsor wouldn’t have been impressed that I lied to Ray. Why’d I lie? Maybe because I didn’t want Ray to think less of me? Not good. Definitely not good. My disease has made me an excellent liar.

It’s so easy for me to think about how I deserve a drink, to justify it. After all, my life is in shambles. A sip or two would at least ease the stress a bit.

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