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Running Out of Sand by Mary Jo Thayer
Silvester Fandel didn’t intend to become a drunk. He vowed not to. But his inability to save and protect those he cares about leaves him with emotions only alcohol can tame, just like generations of men on his mother’s side.
When Sil’s myriad of shortcomings flood his mind, he becomes desperate to handle the stress in the quickest way possible. His drinking threatens not only his faith but also his standing with his family, his career, and his relationships with women. When he hits rock bottom, he fears being unable to save any of those things. Mostly, though, he questions the strength of his resolve to save himself.
Running Out of Sand is a story of tragedy, endurance, love, and the grip that alcohol can have on a really good man.
Excerpt
He lumbered across the driveway and onto the patio. He did a few push-ups, a lousy attempt to sober up a bit. The house was dark, indicating everyone was asleep. He stood on the cement, shook out the blanket, rubbed his hands over his body, and moved his fingers between his toes to get as much sand off as possible. His mother hated it when he or his siblings dragged sand through the house.
He checked his watch. Midnight. Good. There was close to zero chance anyone would awaken to the sound of the liquor cabinet opening. He used the edge of the steps to snap open the skinny green bottle of 7Up and stuck the cap in his pocket before going into the house. He dropped his blanket next to the mound of shoes in the laundry room and entered the kitchen.
Sil drank a few gulps of pop before hoisting himself onto the counter and opening the cabinet above the refrigerator. He spotted the Seagram’s 7 whiskey and pulled it out to determine how much was left. A little over half. Worth the risk. He peeked around the edge of the cabinet to make sure no one was coming. He poured about two inches of booze into the 7Up bottle. Corking the whiskey, he placed it into the cupboard exactly where he had found it.
He flattened his palms on the counter and lowered his body to the kitchen floor. He slunk into the bathroom and used the end of his toothbrush as a swizzle stick. A guilty face stared at him from the mirror. “I promise!” he whispered. “I promise to stop once I land a job and a new girl.” But, please, God, not Barbie Bennett. Sil downed the 7 & 7, brushed his teeth, and rinsed out the bottle. He filled it with water to take up to his room. He finished up his nighttime bathroom needs, taking long enough for the liquor to take effect. He let out a relieved sigh. He was calmer and happier. That is, until he opened the bathroom door.
His eyes bugged out of his head. “Dad! You scared me!”
His father’s eyes were trained on Sil. “How was your night?”
“Great, Dad. The band was great,” Sil replied as he slid past his father.
“Good to hear it. Happy graduation again, son. Your mom and I are so proud of you.”
Sil cringed. He didn’t deserve that compliment, but he couldn’t let on. “Thank you, Dad. I’ll be up in time for Sunday Mass tomorrow.” Sil breathed into his hands on the way up the stairs to see if his breath smelled like booze. All he could smell was toothpaste.