“You told me to bring my notebook,” she said.
“I thought it would remind you—you have a notebook and it needs attention. So—what’s up?”
“My pregnant sister-in-law can’t help out at the Crossing as much—her ankles are swollen and her house is almost done,” she said. “I’m so happy to be doing that. Makes me feel better about that little cabin, which I love. I didn’t think I needed a place of my own, but I was wrong. I’ve been rootless for such a long time and I like having walls again. Walls I’m not sharing with anyone. It makes me feel grounded in a way. And I realized that when Cal said he needed me—it was pure joy. Sully calls me family, being Cal’s sister. My concept of family is a little screwed up.”
“How is it with your brother?” he asked.
“Very good. He’s very protective,” she said. “I kind of hung my addictions on him by telling him that everyone left me and I turned to booze. It appears he may have taken the bait.” Then she smiled.
“That’s a nice sister,” he said. “Do you plan on letting him off the hook or are you going to add him to the list of people you’ve wronged?”
“It would have to be both now, wouldn’t it?” she said. She had wronged Cal by blaming him for a problem that was entirely her own and yes, she fully intended to make sure he understood that even though it came as a result of her childhood, her disease belonged to her.
“That’s very mature,” Moody said.
She never knew when he was being funny, sarcastic or genuine. She frowned.
“Wanting a drink?”
She shook her head. “Not today,” she said. “I know I might tomorrow but I don’t today.”
“What I wonder is—do you feel isolated out there? In your new home? Because you haven’t called me lately.”
“Oh, Moody, I’m sorry. I should have been more honest with you. It’s true, Cal, Maggie and Sully need me, but what time is left I’m spending with Connie. Every day. Most nights. It’s been very nice. He’s such a dream man.”
“I like Connie,” he said. “Can’t say I know him well, but he seems okay.”
“He’s okay,” she assured him. “I haven’t given him a lot of specifics, but I have told him that I’m in recovery.” She bit her lower lip. “I kind of hate for him to know the whole story. I think he gets it, that I’m an alcoholic, but he’s not much of a drinker himself. He really has no idea...”
‘I don’t know how important he is to you,” Moody said. “But—”
“We’re only as sick as our secrets,” she finished for him. “I’ve tried not to think about it too much, as if I could keep it casual, but he’s important to me.”
“You have over a year of sobriety now,” Moody said. “You’ll always be on thin ice but the good news is, with hard work, it’s going to get thicker. You’ve done a lot of good work. It’s okay to take a little pride in that.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“I do,” he admitted. “Cautiously. Honestly. Humbly. My new normal?”
After burgers and a little talking about more mundane subjects, they went off to the meeting. It was crowded; it was an open meeting, which meant you didn’t have to be in recovery—or hoping for recovery—to attend. People she knew from the closed meetings were there with friends or family. There were the curious who weren’t of a mind to commit. The speaker for the evening was a beautiful woman with a big laugh, an obvious sense of style and an amazing dimpled smile. She was in her midthirties, had clear eyes, straight teeth, a rosy complexion and thick, healthy mahogany hair. She wore jeans, boots and a leather jacket that was to die for. People were greeting her, introducing themselves, anxious to meet her like she was a celebrity. Apparently she was well-known on this meeting circuit. When it was finally time to begin, they started with a prayer, took care of some business, read over the steps and the speaker was introduced. She took the podium.
“Hi. My name is Neely and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Neely,” the room responded as one.
“I had my first drink when I was four years old. My parents had friends over a lot. There were always half-filled beer bottles and glasses around and I went through the family room and kitchen, sipping at the leftovers. The first time I remember being seriously buzzed, I was about ten. And thus began my drinking career. I’ve been sober for nine years now.”
No one gasped. No one groaned. No one whispered. They’d all heard this kind of story before. It wasn’t even shocking.
The new normal, indeed.
This woman, Neely, was so confident, so captivating, such an engaging speaker, the kind that could make a person almost feel lucky to have this scourge of alcoholism because of all the wisdom brought by the growth. Neely was so sophisticated, so smart. Sierra felt a stirring of envy. She’d given her testimony several times, but nothing like this. This was a performance. When Neely was done she was instantly surrounded by people, praising her.
She was something of a star.
* * *
Sierra got to thinking. She’d known Connie since March. August was only days away. They’d been intimate since about the end of June. She knew him better than she’d known a man in maybe her whole life. It seemed like all the relationships before Connie had been shallow or dysfunctional or abusive or all of the above.
In several of their long conversations Connie had described himself as an ordinary man with simple needs. He was far from ordinary. He was a first responder, a hero, a decisive man of action. He said all he’d ever wanted since he was a kid was to live and work in this part of the Colorado mountains. He wanted to help people, he wanted to be a family man. “I get enough adventure at work,” he had said. “I’m not looking for a lot of craziness. Just a few good friends, a quiet and stable home and you know, comfort. Oh, and good food. Good food is important.”
Connie was a keeper. She was afraid to make any kind of statement about that, even to herself. But one thing she knew—if he found her lacking in some important ways and decided they couldn’t be together, it was going to sting. She’d rather not worry about that, anticipate it, fear it.
The problem was Connie wanted children. He hadn’t come right out and said that was important to him, but what else was included in a home life, in a family?
She knocked on his door purposefully. When he opened the door he instantly grabbed her with a lusty growl, lifting her off her feet and burying his mouth in her neck. “Connie! Connie! Put me down!”
“Why?” he asked, not putting her down.
“I want to talk! Can we please talk?”
He still didn’t put her down. “Are you going to break up with me?”
“No, I just want to talk about something. Something personal.”
“Again?” he asked. He reluctantly put her down on her feet. “Where’s Molly?”
Sierra gave a whistle and the dog came running. “She was watering the bushes.”
“That’s good. If you dump me now we might have custody issues.”
“Why would I dump you? You’re almost perfect.”
“Almost?” he asked, teasing her.
“You have a really bad big-toe callus. It scratches sometimes.” She looked past him. “Are you cooking?”
“I’m making cookies. We have more camp kids tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed her neck. “You wanna talk, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, closing the door behind her. Molly ran straight to her water dish, always filled for her.
“Maybe we should do it first, so I can concentrate,” he said.
“Maybe we should get this over with so I can feel better. It’s very scary, revealing myself a little at a time like this, always worrying that you’re going to have overload and say, ‘that’s it—too much.’”
That made him smile. “You worry about that?”
&nbs
p; “Of course! You know I’m happy. I know you’re happy. Let’s sit at the table.” She walked past him and pulled out a chair. “Wow, those cookies smell good.”
“I was going to bring you some tonight if you didn’t come over. Do you want some now?”
“No, right now I want to tell you a couple of things. Then you can think about what I’ve told you and decide if you really want to be in this...this...whatever this is. Relationship.”
He crossed his big arms over his chest. “We talk for hours, do it like bunnies, laugh our butts off, tell each other stories, bare our souls—it’s a relationship, Sierra. You are going to have to come to terms with that.”
“Well, that’s a fact. So, I told you—I’m an alcoholic. One of my steps is to list all the people I wronged because of my drinking and the list became very long because I was clearly out of control. I might not have admitted it at the time, but I was. I did some bad things.”
“I think you want to tell me what bad things so I can say, ‘okay—that’s in the past,’ then we can get on with things.”
“You think it’s just a big funny thing and it’s not. I had a real taste for one-night stands. I had no judgment—married men were not off-limits. I was impulsive and reckless. I borrowed a car without permission once—thank God it was only once—and hit a pole in a parking lot. I dented the bumper. I’d get two drinks in me and say any damn thing that came into my head.”
“Kind of like I do, but without alcohol assistance?”
“When you do it, it’s kind of cute,” she said. “I already made amends for a lot of my transgressions—all the drunk dialing, sexting, rumor spreading, character assassination, and I’m truly sorry and embarrassed. And you know I’m not ready to look too far into the future yet, but before we go any further, I have to tell you something important.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I can’t have children.”
His face took on a very pained expression. “Oh, Sierra, I’m sorry.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “What was it? Congenital? Something happened?”
“No. No. Nothing like that. Well, something like that, actually. There are the hereditary issues—my schizophrenic father. Then add addiction to that. Any child of mine would have the cards stacked against it. Both those conditions tend to run in families. I’ve decided I won’t be having children.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That must have been such a hard decision for you,” he finally said, his voice soothing.
“It was the obvious choice,” she said. “But I know how much you love kids.”
“I do like kids,” he said. “Did you think telling me this was going to change how I feel about you?”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” she said.
He just looked at her for a long time. “Come here, Sierra,” he said, pulling on her hand. “Come on, come here.” He pulled on her until she got up from the table and came around to his side. He pushed back from the table and pulled her down to his lap. “Listen, we’re both going to bring some baggage to this, to us. Why don’t we just take it one day at a time, huh?”
“Are you kidding me?” she asked with a laugh.
“Oh, I get it—you alcoholics think you’re the only ones who thought of that strategy,” he said. “It’s gotten us both through some of the hard stuff we’ve had to deal with. You’re not the only one with some burdens, okay? So, you’ve decided it’s better if you don’t have children. I get it. I’m not going to try to change your mind.”
“I know you want a family,” she said. “Before we spend one more day—”
“Sierra, up until I met you I wasn’t sure I’d ever even have another girlfriend. The last one kind of wrecked me and I’ll be the first to admit, I wasn’t exactly open to the idea. But then I met you. At first you scared me. You’re pretty confident. That’s a good thing, but it scares the boys.”
“Me? I have so little confidence!”
“Okay, then you have determination. You act like you don’t need anybody.”
“It’s true. I act like that,” she said. “It’s kind of a defense mechanism.”
He smiled at her, his hand casually rubbing her thigh. “It’s a good one. Scared me for a while. But then I got to know you. I think you’re a good person who came through some hard times. I think the important part there is that you came through, not that you had hard times. I know you can’t change people and I wouldn’t try, but people change themselves all the time. When they want to. Sierra, I don’t care if you had troubles in the past—”
“I was trouble, Connie...”
“Okay, you did some things you had to apologize for. Good on you that you apologized. And I guess you learned a few things. I’m not going to give you up just because you used to be a bad girl. What matters is what kind of girl you are now. And now you’re almost perfect. You don’t even have a nasty callus on your big toe.” He smiled at her.
“You can’t have the kind of life you want with someone like me...”
“I can have exactly the kind of life I want with someone like you,” he said. “I know it makes you nervous to think about promises and commitments to the future so we don’t have to go there. I know you’ll completely wig out if I tell you I love you.”
“You can’t be sure of something like that! It’s too soon! You don’t know me yet, not really! When you get to know me, you’ll—”
“I’ll let you say it first, okay? Just relax, I’m not going to hurt you, trick you, back you into a corner, try to change you or smother you. I’m going to be with you just the way you are. I like the way you are.” He gave her a small kiss. “It doesn’t hurt that you think I’m perfect. Except for the toe.”
“I like you so much I don’t want you to get stuck with a bad girlfriend,” she said.
“Then never leave me,” he said. “Just one thing. Don’t worry that you’re going to scare me away by telling me all you’ve been through. Or all the bad things you did.” He leaned his forehead against her forehead. “Sexting, huh?”
“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Are you still doing that?” he asked. “Under the right circumstances?”
“No! Of course not!”
“That’s kind of too bad,” he said with an evil grin.
She laughed.
“Here’s what we should do. We should go in the bedroom, do boom-boom for a while, then come back out here and have ice cream with warm chocolate chip cookies. Then, if we want to, we can have more boom-boom.”
“And the fact that I will never have children?” she pushed.
“If you are worried about your genetics, there are an awful lot of kids in this world without parents. You never know what the future really holds.”
“Boom-boom?” she repeated with a laugh. “You’re kind of a sex maniac, you know that.”
“So are you,” he said. “Want me to carry you?”
“Yes,” she said.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
—Confucius
Chapter 13
ONE EVENING WHEN Connie was tied up at the firehouse, Sierra decided to attend a meeting in Leadville. She was running a little late but people were still grabbing up coffee and cookies—sugar had traditionally been the alcoholic’s friend. When she looked around the church basement for a comfortable spot, she saw a familiar face and headed that way. Neely was sitting in the second row.
“You’re still around?” she asked, taking the chair beside Neely.
“I am. I’m sorry, you’re...?”
“Sierra,” she said, putting out her hand. “I heard you speak a week or two ago and I thought you were doing some traveling. Speaking at meetings. Going to conferences, roundups and that sort of thing.”
“I’ve been doing
a lot of that, yes. Steering committee, women’s conference committee, lots of AA work. Now it’s time for a little personal work. And I like this place.”
“It’s a good place,” Sierra agreed.
“I wonder,” Neely said, looking a bit contemplative. “Do you have time for pie and coffee afterward?”
“Sure I do,” she said.
From that moment, Sierra was concentrating more on Neely than on the speaker. Will spoke first and she’d heard him before; she loved listening to him, as a matter of fact. Sober twenty years and so steady, but so aware of his roots in addiction and what it had cost. Then Sophie, sober six years and one of the lucky ones—sobriety had saved her and her family before any irreparable damage. Then Jennifer, sixty years old and sober two years, still struggling mightily, hanging on by the skin of her teeth. Every day and sometimes every hour was a miserable battle for her, but she used all the tools available, many meetings, more than one sponsor, a treatment facility, counseling, family support...
But Sierra was thinking about Neely, filled with admiration and a little awe. Neely was so beautiful and confident. She was taller than Sierra; about five-eight and fit. Her hair was thick, rich brown, shoulder length and swayed when she nodded her head. She was smart—just her presentation at that open meeting was so impressive—emotional and funny and wise, like the poster girl for recovery. She was older than Sierra and had found her sobriety at a younger age—Sierra admired and envied her. She had a kind of reverence for her. Neely was the kind of person she’d fantasized having as a sponsor, not Moody. And before she even really knew Neely, she was immediately thinking of that possibility.
And speak of the devil, Moody was there. This was not his usual meeting—he tended to like the early-morning meeting. He sat in his usual place—third row, far left seat, like he was ready to make a break for it. Sierra didn’t want to talk to Moody tonight because she didn’t want him to horn in on their pie and coffee, which Sierra was already hoping would actually turn into a meal. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want her date with Neely to go by too fast.