Free For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) by Selena Laurence Page A

me and saunters out singing De Colores , a song we used to sing in Spanish class when I was in school.
    "He doesn’t mean to be so harsh," Leanne tells me as she moves back to the stove and stirs the stew. She lays the spoon down next to the stovetop and turns to face me. "We get a lot of men through here. Some hardly cause a ripple, they come—they work, they leave, almost like ghosts. We try to help them, but a lot of times, they’ve damaged themselves to a point where not much can be done. We give them a safe place, good food, hard work, sunshine, and we hope that it helps them in some way, no matter how small."
    She begins taking plates and other dishes out of the cabinets as she talks. "Then there’s another kind of man who comes through—the guys who could go either way. They participate, interact, seem to enjoy the time here, but you’re never sure if they’re listening—really listening—to what they’re being told. Those guys are our maybes."
    She now has stacks of plates, bowls and glasses set out on the kitchen table, and she moves on to a large drawer where she keeps silverware. "But there’s one other kind of guy who comes here, Tammy. I’ve only ever seen two or three of them in all the years we’ve been doing this. They’re the guys who never should have been alcoholics in the first place. The guys who are beautiful souls.
    "You can see it the moment you meet them. They aren’t damaged the way the others are. There’s something inside them that’s unblemished by all this—the drinking, the addiction, the ugliness. Those guys can make it. They can leave here and be amazing people, do amazing things. My husband’s never given up on an alcoholic, but there’s something different about a guy like Walsh. Ronny feels like he’s been given the task to protect that special thing inside Walsh. He’s not trying to make you feel bad, hon. He just cares so much about getting Walsh well."
    I nod, because I get it. Get what they see in Walsh. He’s always had that something special. It’s why people are drawn to him—Joss, me, Mike, Colin, and nearly every kid we knew in high school. We all wanted to be near Walsh. I used to go to bed at night thinking how incredibly lucky I was to be the one he’d chosen. Until the day I let my fears get the best of me and threw it all away—threw him away. I give myself a mental shake. That won’t get me anywhere. I’ve got to stay in the present, where I have a goal—to get Walsh to see that we still belong together.
    "I understand. I do. Walsh is a really special guy, and no one wants him to get through this more than I do. I want him to be healthy and strong and ready to start his life again. I promise I won’t do anything to jeopardize that."
    Leanne smiles at me warmly and rubs a hand up and down my arm. "I know you won’t, hon. We just have to prove to Ronny you won’t and it’ll all be fine. Now, let’s get things ready. Those men will be here in thirty minutes and they’ll be hungrier than a herd of goats."
    I can’t help but laugh at her country-isms, and I spend the next half hour smiling while she shows me exactly how to set up a meal for a dozen or more hungry, dusty recovering alcoholics.
     
    T HE GUYS come in through the kitchen and go to the dining room to put up their hats up before they sit down to eat. I’m hiding in the walk-in pantry, too scared to go out there and face Walsh’s disapproval. What seemed like a great idea yesterday—and hell, even ten minutes ago—now seems like a disaster in the making. What was I thinking? Maybe if I sneak out the back door, no one will be the wiser and I can come up with another way to be near to Walsh.
    "No backing out now," Leanne quips from across the kitchen as I walk back in and load up a tray with stacks of tortillas and a huge vat of stew.
    "It’s that obvious, huh?" I ask.
    "You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t nervous about all of this. But you’re going to go on out there and