The AA meeting was over, but the drunks hadn’t disbanded. Whether it was the small size of the group, the fact that the technological collapse had stripped their personal calendars of any pressing engagements, or just a simple fear of being alone, once they’d wrapped things up with the obligatory hand-holding chant of the Serenity Prayer, everybody hung around for a while.
That included Jen. At first, it was because High Mileage Sylvia and World’s Greatest Grandma Diane buttonholed her as soon as the meeting ended with a series of almost-but-not-quite-intrusive questions.
“First time in the program?” Diane asked with a smile.
“Well, I don’t know if I’m in the program so much as . . .”
“First meeting?” Sylvia suggested.
“Second. The first time was my idea. This time, it was my husband’s.”
“My first meeting was the state of New Jersey’s idea,” Sylvia told her. “Wound up saving my life, but I was pissed as hell about it.”
“She really was,” Diane agreed, throwing a sisterly arm around Sylvia. “This girl came in kicking and screaming. What’s your name again, sweetheart?”
“Jen.”
“Diane.”
“Sylvia.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“So your husband got sick of your bullshit?”
“More like he, um . . . became aware there was bullshit.”
“Bullshit like . . . ?” Diane gently prodded.
Jen was wary of disclosing too much to these women. She was afraid that if she lowered her guard, she’d wind up in a puddle on the floor. But she also didn’t feel like she could place her trust in Diane without knowing whether or not she was wearing that WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDMA sweatshirt ironically.
“Like, y’know . . . vodka for breakfast. Well, not exactly breakfast. More like brunch.”
“Is that a daily thing?” asked Sylvia. “Or . . .”
“More like a . . . twice-a-week thing.”
“Is it working for you?” Diane asked, not unkindly. “Or do you think you might want to quit?”
“Honestly?” Jen could feel the emotions gathering in force around the middle of her chest. If she wasn’t very careful about how she handled this conversation, she’d be ugly-crying within seconds.
“I can see the value of it,” she admitted, letting the words out slowly. “But with everything that’s going on, I’m not sure this is a good time.”
The men were talking a few feet away, and as if to underscore Jen’s point, Steve’s hushed voice reached her ears in the brief silence that followed:
“Where’s the military? Why aren’t we seeing any helicopter traffic? I was up on the ridge—”
“You mean it’s not a good time to quit?” Diane quizzed Jen, drowning out the rest of whatever Steve was saying. “Or it’s not a good time to drink?”
Jen thought about it. “Both.”
Sylvia nodded wearily. “I know the feeling. You can’t drink, but you can’t not drink.”
“Yeah. By the way, I really, uh—” Jen stopped herself. She was about to tell Sylvia that she’d been moved by what the woman had shared about her daughter, but a sudden welling in Jen’s eyes told her it was a bad idea to raise the subject if she wanted to keep her shit together.
“That’s the sixty-four-dollar question, isn’t it?” the judge was saying to Steve and Vince. “How far’s it go?”
The women were waiting for Jen to finish her sentence.
“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
“The way I look at it,” Diane explained, “is if I got a problem, and I pick up a drink over it? Then I got two problems. You know what I mean?”
Jen nodded. “Yeah. I get that. Can I ask a question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Are you wearing that sweatshirt ironically?”
Diane looked down at her chest and laughed. “Are you kidding me? I am the undisputed heavyweight champion of grandmas! Three hours with me, those kids are wrecked with their mom for at least a week.”
“She’s got seriously cute grandkids,” Sylvia assured Jen.
“I’d show you pictures, but my lousy phone died. Couple more days of this, I’m going to forget what they look like.”
Eventually, the little party made its way outside. They blew out the candles in the hallway, Steve locked the church door, and the six of them headed up Hawthorne at a pace slow enough to accommodate the judge’s geriatric shuffle.
“Don’t wait for me,” he warned them. “You’re gonna get rained on.”
They disregarded his warning. The sky was dark and threatening, but the daylight had brought a fair amount of bike and foot traffic, most of it headed south toward the center of town.
“Wrong way, Judge!” a middle-aged man in rain pants and a matching coat called out as he passed by on a mountain bike.
“Where’s everybody going?” Vince wanted to know.
“There’s a town meeting this morning,” the judge explained. “Who’s Lincolnwood here? I forget.”
“I am,” said Sylvia.
“Me too,” Jen added.
“You going to the meeting?” the judge asked them.
“What’s it about?” Sylvia asked.
“You haven’t heard? Apparently, they’re going to vote on whether to turn the borough council into a military junta.”
Steve chortled. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. No joke. People are gung ho about it. By the way, heads up: first item on their agenda? Invading Ridgelawn to commandeer your water.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah, that’s what passes for a good idea these days.”
“How would they even do that?” Steve asked. “What are they gonna do? Seize a fire hydrant at gunpoint? Back a truck up to the pumping station?”
“I don’t think they’ve thought it through,” the judge told him. “These aren’t bright people.”
“Are you going to the meeting?” Jen asked the judge.
He shook his head. “I’m not a big fan of direct democracy. Plus I gotta get home and walk Ruby before she pees on the carpet.”
Jen wondered if Dan would want to go to the meeting. Probably not, considering how intent he was on leaving town.
“Can I get a group opinion on something?” she asked.
“Can’t help you,” said Steve. “We’re not opinionated people.”
“Ignore the peanut gallery,” Diane told Jen. “Fire away.”
“My husband thinks the smartest thing we can do is ride our bikes to his mother’s place in Massachusetts.”
“Massachusetts? Oh, Jesus, no,” said Diane.
“He’s out of his mind,” Steve declared.
“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” Vince agreed.
“Terrible idea,” Sylvia chimed in.
“Might not be the best thing,” the judge said.
“No.” Diane added. “Just no. You gotta hunker down.”
Jen nodded. “See, that’s what I thought.”
“Think about it,” Steve told her. “If Boston didn’t get hit, too? We’d know by now. Same with Philly and DC. They’re close enough, we would’ve gotten word.”
“If you’re going to bug out,” Vince added, “the only way to go is west. You don’t want to fuck with north or east. ’Cause then you gotta get around the city, and it’s a fuckin’ horror movie over there right now. Especially on the highways.”
“Thank you,” Jen told them, and she meant it. “Seriously. That’s good advice.”
By the time she and the judge turned up Willis Road twenty minutes later and left the others to continue north toward Ridgelawn, Jen felt a pang of sorrow at the parting. Emotionally, it was weirdly similar to the night freshman year when she’d first encountered the clique of girls who became her sorority sisters. Kitschy sweatshirts and neck tattoos aside, she sensed that she’d found her people.
And some of them had running water, which was a huge plus.
“Come by later with your family!” Diane told her. “Six eighty-four South Benson! Bring your own towels, you can shower.”
“That would be amazing! Thank you so much!”
“Wait—” Steve held his hand up. “There’s four of you, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. You’re good. Five, we’d have to charge you.” He winked at her.
“We’ll come by when the rain stops!” Jen promised.
“Watch out for the guerrilla fighters. Apparently, we’re gettin’ invaded later.”
“You’re laughing now,” the judge warned Steve. “But stay away from your windows. Those people are nuts, and they’re packing.”
Then Jen and the judge were alone, trudging up the hill toward home.
“I really like them,” Jen said.
“Me too,” said the judge. “We’re out of our minds, every damn one of us. But we’re all crazy in the same way. So it kinda works, y’know? We understand each other.”
“Yeah. . . . Sorry I didn’t talk at the meeting.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid. There’s no rules. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Jen didn’t know what to say after that, so they walked in silence for a while. The lack of conversation was starting to feel oppressive when it was broken by the appearance of Carol Sweeney, coasting downhill on a plush-seated cruiser bike with a pet carrier bungeed to the rack over the rear wheel. A backpack and two drawstring bags hung from her shoulders.
“Hey, kiddo!” the judge called out, and Carol steered over to the curb for a brief exchange.
“You coming from the meeting?” she asked.
Jen experienced a brief moment of mortified alarm before she realized Carol was referring to the town meeting, not AA.
“Just out for a little morning constitutional,” the judge told her. “But there’s a lot of folks headed in that direction.” He nodded at the unhappy-looking tabby in the pet carrier. “Does Baxter here get a vote? Maybe I should see if Ruby wants to go.”
Carol shook her head with a dark scowl. “I’m done with those people. Going to my sister’s in Maplewood. We’ll come back when the power’s fixed. As long as those idiots haven’t burned down the whole town by then.”
“Well, safe travels,” said the judge. “We’ll keep an eye on the homestead for you.”
“Thanks, Frank.” Carol looked at Jen. “How are you holding up, Jen?”
“Not bad. All things considered.”
“Okay. Take care. Watch out for that asshole across the street.”
The judge chuckled. “Eddie barks worse than he bites. Take care of yourself, Carol.”
“You too!”
Then she was gone, careening downhill to the avenue. Jen and the judge resumed their uphill hike.
Carol had abandoned ship, apparently for the duration.
That meant her house would be empty.
And being Irish, she probably had a well-stocked liquor cabinet.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. We’re not breaking into Carol Sweeney’s house.
It was a ridiculous idea.
Especially when there was plenty of booze left in Jen’s basement. She just had to find it.
That shouldn’t be too difficult. There were only so many places where Dan could’ve hidden that quantity of bottles.
An eerie sense of calm washed over Jen. In the space of an instant, a plan for her future had revealed itself.
In the medium term, she’d go to AA and get sober.
In the short term, she was going to liberate the bottles in her basement.
I can’t look for them with Dan around.
He’d be watching her too closely. The kids were a factor, too. Not to mention the houseguests.
But Max and Chloe would probably be holed up in their bedrooms. And if Dan hadn’t gotten rid of Marty and Marina yet, Jen might be able to leverage their presence.
Marty would likely be going to the town meeting. He’d somehow gotten in with Eddie’s goons and made himself a lieutenant in the Lincolnwood Army.
If Jen could get Dan to tag along with him . . .
“Penny for your thoughts,” the judge said.
“I’m just thinking my husband might want to go to that meeting.”