Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

“What?”

“Jane would want you to be happy, dear. So would Ryan. Neither of them would want to see you all alone in this world.”

Wanda’s response was nothing like he’d expected.

“Thank you… Mom.”

“You’ll always be my son, Marcus. In my heart. You gave my daughter the best years of her life.”

“And some not so good ones,” he reminded her.

“Jane never dwelled on that stuff. She loved you. You loved her. You just went missing for a while. And you’ve been lost ever since she and Ryan died.”

Marcus lowered his head and turned his back to the nurses’ station, while wiping away a wayward tear. “So you forgive me?”

“Of course, dear. I forgave you years ago. So did Jane and Ryan. The question is, Marcus, do you forgive yourself?”

“I do.”

As he hung up, Marcus realized he’d stated the truth to Wanda for the first time in six years. He did forgive himself. Another realization hit him. His new life had finally begun.

But first there were a few loose ends that needed to be tied up.

“My name’s Marcus,” he said, following the decades-old ritual, “and I’m a drug addict.”

He took a moment to examine the faces of the people who understood him, although all were strangers except for Leo, who sat in the front row. These people had come from all walks of life. Some young, some old. Male, female, it didn’t matter. Addiction didn’t discriminate.

“Until today,” he said, “I’ve mainly listened while others have shared their stories. I’ve admired you for your courage, something I’ve been lacking in for far too long.” He thought of the NA group in Edson. “I’ve selfishly listened while you’ve laid bare your souls, not once giving you the same respect. And for that I am deeply sorry.”

He bowed his head and took a deep breath. Then he lifted his eyes and stared into the faces of the bravest men and women he knew, drawing upon their strength and remembering Leo’s wise words: “ Admission is good for the soul.”

“The first time I used,” Marcus began, “it was an excuse to stay alert, stay awake. I rationalized my behavior, telling myself I’d save lives. I was a paramedic. I stole drugs to feed my habit. I forged signatures on prescription pads I stole from doctors I’d worked with. I betrayed their trust—and everyone else’s—all the time telling myself I could stop any time. That it was no big deal.”

His audience was transfixed, each identifying with the rationale that all addicts turn to―excuses.

“I tried to quit after my wife and son died. I killed them, or at least that’s what I’d always thought.”

There were gasps from some of the new members.

“I didn’t kill them with my hands, but it doesn’t matter. My actions―using drugs―led to their deaths. At the time, I convinced myself I had it under control, that the drugs weren’t affecting my life. I was fooling myself. I honestly believed I could quit anytime and that I was using so that I could be on top of my game. Alert. Quick to act.”

He caught Leo’s eye. His friend knew the game. How common it was for paramedics and other high-stress career people to take something to keep them alert. Most started with high-energy drinks. When these stopped working, they moved to the small stuff―codeine/caffeine combinations usually. Then the stealing would begin. Leo and Marcus had been resourceful thieves.

“I was cocky and stupid,” Marcus said. “I tried to separate myself physically from Jane and Ryan, thinking they’d be safer that way. That was a mistake. One I can never, ever , take back.”

A young woman in the front row nodded in understanding.

“My wife was worried when I took off to clear my head,” he continued. “She tried calling me, but I didn’t answer my phone.” His voice cracked. “If only I’d picked up. Maybe I could have convinced her to stay home. But instead, Jane and Ryan drove from Edmonton to Cadomin in a torrential rainstorm, with almost zero visibility.”

As he gathered his courage, Leo gave him a slow nod. In that instant, Marcus knew it was time to let go of the terrible burden he’d been keeping close to his heart. The secret that kept him from living. His guilty soul passenger.

“They hit a patch of ice and water,” he said in a subdued voice. “The car spun out of control and flipped. There were no other vehicles in sight when they flipped upside down and landed in a ditch filled with about four feet of freezing water.”

Murmurs of compassion filled the room.

“Keep going,” Leo urged him from the front row.

“Jane and Ryan drowned. They were dead when rescuers found them.” Marcus’s voice turned bitter. “Dead because they were coming to save me .”

For a long time after, he’d thought his life wasn’t worth saving, and if it hadn’t been for Leo, he’d probably be dead. And with Jane and Ryan. That thought teased him day and night. In his dreams. In his waking thoughts. Some days he yearned for it to be true.

“They died six years ago,” he said, staring into Leo’s eyes. “And for a long time I wanted to die too. But someone reminded me that life is for the living.”

He saw Leo blink back tears. So did some others in the group.

“It hasn’t been easy,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I still think about using. I still crave it. And I’ve slipped sometimes. I still carry the weight of guilt, but I’m trying to grasp the concept that I didn’t kill them. It was an accident, a terrible tragedy. They could have died going for groceries.” Closing his eyes, he pictured Jane’s sexy grin and twinkling emerald eyes. “If nothing else, Jane taught me how to live. And I’m still alive. I’m here and they’re not. I survived. I was given the gift of life, and I can’t waste that gift.”

His gaze swept across the sober faces, faces that now knew exactly where he’d been, what he’d done. He’d expected to find condemnation in their expressions, but what he found was forgiveness and understanding.

“One day at a time.”

His words were softly echoed by the group, and he stepped away from the podium.

“You did good, man,” Leo whispered as Marcus sat down.

“I survived, Leo.” His voice was thick with emotion, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

When Marcus showed up at Rebecca’s house, she took one look at his red-rimmed eyes and hugged him.

“You can tell me later,” she said. “For now, just relax. It has been a long few days. Come on.” She tugged on his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To my room.”

Though his mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts, he didn’t argue when she led him into the house. His body felt like mush, like it would fold in on itself any moment. Each step felt like a lead weight had been strapped to his ankles. With the light from the hallway to guide them, they reached the bedroom.

Rebecca turned on a lamp, then pulled back the comforter and sheets.

“Are you trying to get me into bed?” he said with a sardonic smirk.

She arched a brow. “Your talent for deduction is mind-boggling. Come here.”

He maneuvered around the side of the bed, and she began to unbutton his shirt, careful not to disturb the bandages around his arm.

She kissed his chest. “Tonight you will sleep like a baby.”

With careful movements, she unbuttoned his pants, which seemed to propel him out of the fog he was in. He stripped off the jeans and his socks, then reached for her. But she pushed his hand away.

Confused, he said, “Aren’t we gonna…” He wiggled his brows.

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So we’re just gonna―”

“Sleep, yes. We have plenty of time for the other, once your arm has healed. And my ribs.”