Two weeks later
Sunlight streamed into the apartment as John continued to beat on his alarm clock. As the buzzing continued John realized it was his phone and not the alarm clock making this horrible racket. As he focused his eyes on the name on his phone John groaned. “Mommy” continued to flash across the face of his phone as John set his feet on the floor and held his head in his hands. It wasn’t his real Mother of course. His real Mother refused to speak to him now, which was fine by him. In fact, John couldn’t remember speaking to any of his family since the funeral.
The funeral. It had been three years, and it still seemed like yesterday. It seemed like just yesterday when his in-laws cussed him in front of everyone at the gravesite. It probably didn’t help he was three sheets to the wind while they were doing it. It probably didn’t help that he told them they were interfering wastes of human flesh. It probably didn’t help that he told them that he and Sam had never had children, not because of the job but because Sam didn’t want their interfering noses in the child’s life. It sure didn’t help that his in-laws were right about John. If John hadn’t been drinking . . . . If. . . John’s thoughts were interrupted by the phone buzzing again.
John stood up and stretched. He glanced out the window at the city. New York. Sam had wanted to live here. Where else can you find the arts, the different types of people, the nightlife, and all the other wonders this city held she had asked him. The most exciting city in the world. . .for John, it was also the loneliest city in the world. John had only one friend here. Most of John’s friends apparently agreed with the words his in-laws had spoken. In fact, except for Chet, none of his friends had spoken to him since the funeral. That was fine with John. He didn’t need anyone. No sirree, he was doing just fine one his own. “They say every cloud has a silver lining and the silver lining is I haven’t had to listen to your stupidity since I lost her. I don’t have to listen to your judgments, your foolish ideas, and I don’t have to listen to you speak.” Johns smiled. As he glanced over to the picture on his nightstand of him and the beautiful girl with him, his stomach dropped all over again. The smile fell from his face. “I know Sam. It’s a lie. I am not fine. I’m a damn wreck and I don’t know how to go on each day without you.”
The phone buzzed again. John walked out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and stared at the bottle of vodka. The bottle he had not touched since the funeral. If only he hadn’t touched it before then. . . . . John had fought the same fight every morning for more than 3 years. He had been to AA meetings, but he had never spoken. He left the FBI after the incident. He looked at the wall at his PI license and scoffed. If you watched TV in the 80s, you would think every other street in a city had a private investigator on it. What TV didn’t tell you is the majority of the work was process serving, chasing down debtors, and of course, spying on a spouse that someone thinks is cheating.
With the type of work he did alone, it was a miracle he had been sober over three years. John stared at the bottle and tears welled up in his eyes. “Blast it Sam . . . .I’m . . . He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. John wiped the tears from his eyes, shut the freezer door, sighed, and headed to towards it.