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Authors: Steven J. Daniels
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Everyone knew Craig would eventually leave without her. It was normal. Chrissie would tell her friends: “Why should I leave? He’s the one who wants to go. I don’t have to. Besides, I’m having fun.”
The next day, she and Craig would usually have a big blowout about her drinking. Most of their fights were. It was futile. Chrissie didn’t care what he thought. In fact, she was too far along the slippery slide to alcoholism to care what anyone thought.
* * *
Craig turned the house upside down searching for Chrissie’s secret stash of liquor. He looked in every hiding place imaginable. He even checked inside the light fixture in the kitchen ceiling. He secretly marked the bottles in both their bar and the kitchen cupboard. If she were sneaking drinks, he’d know right away. Craig figured he would catch her and then confront her. Hopefully, she’d see the light and stop.
The next morning, Craig kept an eye on Chrissie. Rita kept her eye on both of them, as she gave the children their breakfast. She hoped they wouldn’t fight in front of her and the children. She had grown up in an alcoholic home and knew the warning signs.
Chrissie grabbed a small bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, took Robbie by the hand and headed to the garage. Craig had already searched the garage and had found no liquor. He was confused. Rita said Chrissie was drinking first thing in the morning. So far, she hasn’t had one that I’ve seen.
Chrissie knew Craig and Rita were watching her. She believed her drinking was her business and no one else’s. They are both acting strange this morning , she thought, as she backed out of the garage. W atching me like a pair of hawks . Luckily, I always have a back-up plan.
Chrissie also had a back-up plan for her back-up plan. She would never be far away from a drink—when she needed one. All it takes is a little forward thinking. She looked in the rearview mirror at Robbie in the backseat. L ike the collection of miniatures hidden in my lingerie drawer. Sure came in handy this morning . I’d better find a couple more hiding spots—just in case.
As she turned off their street onto busy 16 th Avenue, Chrissie emptied a miniature of vodka into her orange juice. She merged into traffic and reached for the plastic juice bottle. The first sip did nothing. No warm feeling, no relief. She added another shot of vodka. A big swallow and her world was okay—once again. Chrissie finished her first double of the day before she arrived at Robbie’s playschool.
Meanwhile, Craig was convinced Chrissie had not had a drink that morning. He checked all the bottles he had marked and found no liquor missing. Another thorough search of the garage produced nothing. She’s either more devious than I thought or she’s not hiding booze. Maybe Rita is mistaken. Maybe Chrissie is not an alcoholic.
Sometimes, our judgment is clouded by hope.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunting
Chrissie was late that evening, later than normal. Craig called Towercrest, but the answering machine was on. He decided not to leave a message. The staff would hear it the next morning. He was worried about Chrissie. He wished she would either come home or call.
Rita had the evening off, so Craig ran the bath for the kids. He always liked to put the kids to bed even when Rita was working. He loved spending time with Robbie and Heather. He missed it on the evenings he had to work.
Robbie liked sports, riding his bike and spending time with his dad. Craig was teaching him about the world. Robbie knew how to throw and catch a baseball, ride a bike and fish for bass. They had wonderful times together. They did all the things a father and son should do.
Heather wanted to go everywhere with her older brother. Craig explained she was too young to follow Robbie and his friends on her tricycle, and she couldn’t reach the pedals on a Big Wheel. He also told her it’s a drag for a boy to have his little sister tagging along
The next day, she and Craig would usually have a big blowout about her drinking. Most of their fights were. It was futile. Chrissie didn’t care what he thought. In fact, she was too far along the slippery slide to alcoholism to care what anyone thought.
* * *
Craig turned the house upside down searching for Chrissie’s secret stash of liquor. He looked in every hiding place imaginable. He even checked inside the light fixture in the kitchen ceiling. He secretly marked the bottles in both their bar and the kitchen cupboard. If she were sneaking drinks, he’d know right away. Craig figured he would catch her and then confront her. Hopefully, she’d see the light and stop.
The next morning, Craig kept an eye on Chrissie. Rita kept her eye on both of them, as she gave the children their breakfast. She hoped they wouldn’t fight in front of her and the children. She had grown up in an alcoholic home and knew the warning signs.
Chrissie grabbed a small bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, took Robbie by the hand and headed to the garage. Craig had already searched the garage and had found no liquor. He was confused. Rita said Chrissie was drinking first thing in the morning. So far, she hasn’t had one that I’ve seen.
Chrissie knew Craig and Rita were watching her. She believed her drinking was her business and no one else’s. They are both acting strange this morning , she thought, as she backed out of the garage. W atching me like a pair of hawks . Luckily, I always have a back-up plan.
Chrissie also had a back-up plan for her back-up plan. She would never be far away from a drink—when she needed one. All it takes is a little forward thinking. She looked in the rearview mirror at Robbie in the backseat. L ike the collection of miniatures hidden in my lingerie drawer. Sure came in handy this morning . I’d better find a couple more hiding spots—just in case.
As she turned off their street onto busy 16 th Avenue, Chrissie emptied a miniature of vodka into her orange juice. She merged into traffic and reached for the plastic juice bottle. The first sip did nothing. No warm feeling, no relief. She added another shot of vodka. A big swallow and her world was okay—once again. Chrissie finished her first double of the day before she arrived at Robbie’s playschool.
Meanwhile, Craig was convinced Chrissie had not had a drink that morning. He checked all the bottles he had marked and found no liquor missing. Another thorough search of the garage produced nothing. She’s either more devious than I thought or she’s not hiding booze. Maybe Rita is mistaken. Maybe Chrissie is not an alcoholic.
Sometimes, our judgment is clouded by hope.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunting
Chrissie was late that evening, later than normal. Craig called Towercrest, but the answering machine was on. He decided not to leave a message. The staff would hear it the next morning. He was worried about Chrissie. He wished she would either come home or call.
Rita had the evening off, so Craig ran the bath for the kids. He always liked to put the kids to bed even when Rita was working. He loved spending time with Robbie and Heather. He missed it on the evenings he had to work.
Robbie liked sports, riding his bike and spending time with his dad. Craig was teaching him about the world. Robbie knew how to throw and catch a baseball, ride a bike and fish for bass. They had wonderful times together. They did all the things a father and son should do.
Heather wanted to go everywhere with her older brother. Craig explained she was too young to follow Robbie and his friends on her tricycle, and she couldn’t reach the pedals on a Big Wheel. He also told her it’s a drag for a boy to have his little sister tagging along
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