"Can't we be both?"
At a crossroads, they would have to be both—or nothing at all. But then he'd pretty much already figured that one out for himself.
"There's a support meeting tomorrow night." Make or break time. He'd seen plenty of families and marriages saved by Al-Anon, but most of those people had a foundation before the troubles hit. He and Nikki were starting out with the baggage. He couldn't dodge the dark-cloud feeling that the night would only accomplish one thing. Helping her walk away for good.
As a trio of C-17s roared overhead for a night takeoff, Nikki stepped from Carson's truck into the parking lot outside the base chapel housing tonight's support group meeting. She hadn't expected the gathering to take place on base, and a smaller group promised less anonymity. Apparently Carson was cool with that.
They weaved around cars and other stragglers making their way toward the entrance, faces shadowy in the dim glow of the overhead halogen lamps. There was so much riding on this night and her nerves were wobblier than the funky heels she'd bought with the intent purpose of making Carson swallow his tongue.
Mission accomplished in that arena, at least.
He slid an arm around her waist as if he expected her to sprint before they reached the looming double doors of the social hall. "If you want to leave at any time, just say the word and we're out of here."
"You've said that twice already. Once when you picked me up, and again at dinner."
And dinner had been so sweet, a back corner table with candlelight and hand holding. He was trying so hard.
Or saying goodbye with a last supper.
"Nikki, I mean it. You don't have to do this."
Stopping by the front sign, she spun on her new heels with an old spunk that she refused to lose now. "Do you even want this to work? Or are you hoping walking in there will discourage me? You've talked about the genetics involved in patterns repeating themselves. Well you decided to break that cycle and sober up. Do you know how freaking outstanding that is? I think it's tough and heroic."
Shaking his head, he swiped aside her hair blowing in her face. "You're seeing things in me that don't exist."
She blocked his hand. "Stop that condescending BS. I'm seeing things in you that you've never allowed yourself to see. You even tried to hide them from me, but I said heroic and I meant it."
Was he subconsciously trying to sabotage this before they even made it through the door? And why? She touched his elbow. "Are you going to walk with me into that meeting, or do I go by myself? Because like it or not, I'm involved with an alcoholic."
"Believe me—" his jaw went tight "—I understand that well or we wouldn't be here. I just don't want you to get your hopes up for some magic pill answer tonight."
"There you go with the fatalism again." She couldn't stop the irritation from seeping into her voice when she knew this wasn't the time or place. Backing up the steps, she held up a hand. She refused to cry. "Hold on. I don't want to fight with you before we even get started. Just...just let me freshen up."
And pull herself together.
She spun away and shoved through the front double doors, head ducked as she made tracks past people to the restroom, Carson's stark, resolved face imprinted in her mind, his oh-so-calm, logical—depressing—tone echoing. He almost sounded like Billy Wade Watkins, always expecting the worst.
Wait.
She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her face paler than the white porcelain in her grip. Carson sounded like the child of an alcoholic, who'd numbed himself to expecting good things because then nobody could let him down.
Ohmigod. Why hadn't she seen the pattern before?
Because she hadn't been objective—like a teacher—when it came to Carson. Instead of picking a fight with him, she needed to hold firm and simply show him through her steadfast actions. He was right in saying she'd been unrealistic to expect everything to settle out because of one meeting.
A toilet flushed, announcing an end to her solitary haven. She smiled in the mirror at the stranger stepping from the stall. Resolute and ready to find Carson, Nikki yanked open the bathroom door and into the now-packed entry way.
So much for a small gathering. Where had all of these people come from? And why did so many of them look familiar?
Billy Wade—along with his father. She hadn't realized the teen's father was getting help for his drinking, and gambling, too, apparently. Vic Jansen stood at their side in what seemed like a supportive role when she hadn't even known Vic had a problem, either. Beyond them, more military acquaintances milled around.
Had each of them been told to put on their perfect face when on base, as well?
She'd been so judgmental of her home life problems growing up, never once realizing all the other military families in pain...drinking, gambling, even some parents supporting teenagers kicking a drug habit.
How many times had she told her students she wasn't looking for perfection, just their best effort? Something Carson needed to hear, as well, for both of them, because there would be no perfect reactions to all of this.
Just a very human, fallible best effort.