Chapter 5: Ground Zero

A tall glass of coconut water. A bowl filled with strawberries, grapes, and bananas. Toast slices teeming with honey. Cheesy potato and smoked salmon pie. All came courtesy of Roy, the Executive Chef of Belmont House. If Reesa hadn’t known any better, she’d think this was a breakfast date set-up.

But no. It was a hangover meal.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Reesa looked up from the table in the southeast corner of the room where she’d laid out Roy’s handiwork. “You’re very much alive, Mr. Sartori,” she said to the man on the sofa.

Myko’s eyes, heretofore shut, popped open. “Oh, no,” he said and groaned in response to the sunlight.

“I thought of closing the drapes. Then I didn’t.”

“You’re upset,” he said. “Because of me.”

She didn’t acknowledge his observation, only returned to adjusting the dishes. “You know,” she said conversationally. “Between hating the sun and your hair being down to your shoulders, you could pass for an aristocratic vampire.”

“I—”

“Save it. I happen to like the length, and I’ll close the drapes for you now. Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Face aflame, he came forward to obey her.

As Reesa set about her task, irritation borne of worry, stress, and sleep deprivation heightened. Her body felt like it would implode.

Less than ten minutes later, the sound of utensils clinking against a plate announced that Myko was finished. “Thank you for all of this,” he said.

Reesa didn’t respond.

“You’re shaking. Talk to me. What have I done?”

Covering up the last source of natural light, she turned back to look at him.

“What have you done? You scared me. You’re still scaring me. Somehow, I’ve gotten used to seeing you hungover, which is problematic in and of itself, but actively drunk is too much. And The Harbor Room’s far from my scene. Do you know how many handsy, disrespectful people I had to get through before I found you in a corner imitating Pavarotti?”

He cringed.

“Then I had to call Kaleb in the middle of studying for his LSATs because I couldn’t manage you by myself. That’s above both our pay grades.”

Myko looked mortified.

Sighing, Reesa picked up her purse. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to police your behavior. I just have to be honest. And honestly, you’re spiraling, and I’ve enabled you.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve put you in an impossible situation.”

“I’ve put myself in an impossible situation. I’m the one who chose not to say anything for so long, to try and cover for you because I’ve seen how your heartbreak played out. But that ends today. Please understand, I’ve lost a lot of relatives on both sides of my family to alcoholism.” Eyes burning, she wiped errant tears. “I want to keep working for you, but this is one thing I can’t take, and if choosing between peace and work is necessary, I will choose peace.”

Myko stood and gingerly approached her. “I do understand, Reesa, and I never want you to be compromised. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make that choice unnecessary.”

“How?”

Myko went back to the sofa, moved the divorce decree papers, and picked up a small pile of pamphlets. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed the changes in me. I’ve noticed them myself, and at my last doctor’s appointment, I made up my mind to get these.”

Reaching out, Reesa took the pamphlets and skimmed them. Some covered alcohol misuse, and the others divorce therapy. All had lists of mental health providers.

“I haven’t followed up on them sooner because, to be completely transparent with you, I was starting to give up on myself. But you just reminded me how much there is to lose.”

“So, you’re going to get help?” she asked, unable to hide her hopefulness.

Retaking the pamphlets, he nodded. “I’m going to get help.”

***

Two months after their talk in his suite, Reesa could happily say that Myko was sober, growing Sartori by leaps and bounds, and ready to end his long stay at the Belmont. There remained, however, an area with no real progress: Reesa was still juggling her work as a secretary with the assistant’s job.

At home on November 27th, the Sunday that followed Thanksgiving, she contemplated this circumstance. Cornbread muffins, green beans, Gullah red rice, lemon doberge cake, and praline cookies—all leftovers from the recent holiday—were before her on the kitchen table, tempting her to focus on eating them, but this wasn’t happening.

Even the conversation between Tamara and their mother, Hazel, both of whom were excited by Hazel’s newest test results, failed to distract her. Instead, her mind was filled with overwhelming schedules, dwindling accounts, and the reality that she was paid money for one job while she worked two.

Her invisible burdens were chafing.

“Are you alright, honey?” Hazel asked. “You barely touched your food.”

“I’m fine, Mama,” Reesa said, though in truth, she felt kind of lightheaded.

“She’s been working too much,” Tamara said. “Her phone rings every time I look, and her bed’s always covered in paperwork.”

Hazel frowned. “You can’t pour from an empty cup. Are you sleeping?”

“I try,” she said. But at night she tossed and turned.

Hazel, as the spouse of a firefighter who died in the line of duty, received survivor benefits, and as a retired nurse, she had a pension, but these were gobbled up by what insurance wouldn’t pay. And Hazel’s treatments took so much out of her, especially since this wasn’t her first cancer battle, that no one wanted nor expected her to go back into the workforce.

As for Tamara, her education was covered by scholarships, but she still had living expenses, and since she used all her meager free time to advocate for their mother, Reesa didn’t expect her to get a job on top of it.

So, she’d decided it fell to her to make up the difference. Keeping up with utilities, the old two-bedroom house in constant need of repair, and everything in between—that was her contribution to her family.

But only one job helped with that.

“Reesa,” Hazel said. “What’s wrong?”

She clutched her head, her vision dimmed, and when darkness closed in, she heard her mother scream.

“I’m alright,” she tried to say, but if there was a reply, she didn’t hear it. A pounding had started in her ears, like the beat of a thousand drums.

From somewhere behind her, she felt a gentle touch she knew was Tamara’s. Although filled with thankfulness, Reesa couldn’t voice it.

The world was fading away, and she was fading out with it.