Things changed after that. Cass could still feel Scott’s watchfulness, and it still annoyed her. But now that he was willing to take a chance on letting her stay, she sensed that in his mind the odds had shifted. Before, he’d been betting she would fail. Now he seemed to think it was better than fifty-fifty that she might make it.
The obvious unspoken agreement was that the minute he found her drinking, she was out.
But with imminent departure no longer looming, Cass felt less panicked about how she would manage. And she found herself thinking about drinking slightly less often than constantly.
The calls with Patrick helped. It had been a very long time since anyone thought she was worth guiding. And his advice was always sound, even though it often took her a day or so to see that. Strange how irritating good advice could be in the moment.
And strange how the calls with Kate helped her, too. Kate was a mess, often about ten seconds away from chucking everything and sucking the dregs out of wine bottles in the neighbor’s recycling. But Cass seemed to be able to help her steer away from those bottles, and Kate’s relief buoyed Cass’s own resolve to stay clear of it, too.
“You have a nice voice,” Kate said to her one night.
Cass laughed. “I do not!”
“You do. It’s very sweet, like someone singing me a lullaby.”
“Rock-a-bye, Alkie,” Cass warbled. “Don’t take that sip . . .”
Kate giggled and sang back, “When your life blows, it won’t help a bit . . .”
* * *
THE next morning, Scott said, “How come you’re always on the phone?”
The petulance in his tone made her snap back, “I’m not always on the phone.”
“You’re on it a whole lot more than you used to be.”
“I have friends now.”
“Alkie friends?”
“Yeah, Scotty, alkie friends. And calling each other is part of the secret alkie code.”
“Okay,” he said, hands up in surrender. “You just never used to be much of a talker.”
“But I used to be a hell of a drinker, didn’t I? More talking, less drinking. That’s how we roll.” She gathered up her purse. “And now I’m off to a meeting to talk a little more.”
Actually she had no intention of talking at the meeting. Speaking in public still made her feel like some sort of endangered species. Keep a low profile, Ben had said countless times. Talking about herself, about her feelings and experiences, felt dangerously high profile.
That morning, it was an open meeting, so anyone could come. As she walked up to St. Vincent’s, she saw Angelo, one of the group’s leaders, waiting outside. After greeting her, Angelo looked over her shoulder.
“Waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Buncha guys from Dedham are supposed to come for a commitment. Looks like they’re no-showing.”
“A commitment?”
“It’s when people come from other places to tell their stories. That way you don’t always listen to the same ones.”
“Maybe they’re just late,” said Cass. Angelo didn’t seem to think so.
She went inside and saw an open seat at the old-timers’ table. “Is this taken?” she asked.
“Nah,” said Kenny, who had an impressively jagged scar on his lip. “There’s always room for more, right? No such thing as a sold-out alkie show!” He let out a bark of a laugh.
Angelo came in looking none too pleased and made a beeline for Cass. He squatted down in front of her. “Listen, they aren’t coming. Bozos thought it was next week. Any chance you’d speak? No one here’s heard your story before, and we’re all bored to death of each other.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Kenny.
Angelo glanced at him then back to Cass.
Cass looked around. There had to be forty people there. Talking in front of a few people at a closed meeting was hard enough. This was unthinkable. “I . . . I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I know it’s hard, and I sprang it on you out of nowhere,” said Angelo. “I just really hate to let these folks down.”
“I’d be really bad,” she said.
“Well, we’re gonna throw rotten fruit at Kenny, so no matter how bad you are, you’ll probably win an Academy Award.”
“What kinda fruit?” asked Kenny. “I’m a big fan of grapes.” He let out another barking laugh at his own joke. Cass smiled despite herself.
“Atta girl!” said Angelo, taking her smile as a yes. “You’re up after Kenny.” Before she could protest, he turned quickly and walked up to the podium. “Hi, I’m Angelo and I’m an alcoholic,” he said.
“Hi, Angelo!” they all called. Except for Cass, who was considering throwing up in her purse.
* * *
TO keep her mind off the impending disaster, she glanced around the room. Six or so teenage girls languished at their table, looking anywhere except at the speaker. But they didn’t giggle or chat, so it was possible they were listening. She guessed they were from a nearby foster care group home. Cass remembered girls from her own group home in Brighton going off to meetings. An older woman sat with them, probably a staff member.
A little girl sat on her mother’s lap eating a donut. A man who was likely her father had his arm across the back of the woman’s chair. Every few minutes the child held the donut up to her father, who pretended to take a huge bite, and the little girl would giggle. Cass wondered if someday she’d be bringing her own baby to meetings. It was better than not going at all.
Focusing on anything but Angelo at the podium helped slow the pounding of her heart, but suddenly he was talking about her, and how lucky they all were that someone new was willing to jump in at the last minute. “But first,” said Angelo, “Kenny’s gonna talk.”
Kenny hopped up from his seat and jogged to the podium. He grinned affectionately at the group. “I’m Kenny, and I am one sorry alcoholic.
“I started drinking when I was twelve and I got no one to blame for it but me. I didn’t come from hard circumstances or nothing. I grew up in a nice neighborhood, nice family. Mother, father, aunts, uncles, the whole nine yards.
“I just liked to have fun and clown around and be a big shot. Drinking made it easier. Crazy, funny things would come into my head to say and do when I had a few belts. It felt great so I did it more and more. Other kids thought I was hilarious. It was fun, goddamn it. Everyone here knows it’s fun.
“Being a fun guy, I had lotsa buddies. Lotsa girls, too. The ones that hung on through the wild times, it was strange, but I had no respect for them. I didn’t really wanna be with me, so what was wrong with them, huh?
“Damned if I know how I ended up married to such a girl as Marion. She was different, and I always had respect for her, even if I didn’t show it for years at a time. We had a few kids, and I think she kept me around so they would have a father, even such as I was.
“She kicked my ass for me on a regular basis, I’ll tell you that. And I think that’s what kept me going, kept me working, trying to do right.
“I tried to stay sober. I tried really hard. And I could—for about four days. That was my limit, then I’d have to make up for lost time. And she would know. The minute I’d walk in the door she could tell. That really pissed me off, let me tell you.
“And she tried to get me to AA a million times, but I always threw it back at her. I was too damn what they call functional for my own good. I always worked, even if I didn’t get promoted too often. I always picked up the yard, paid bills, did my duty, so I thought.
“Then my eldest, Billy, comes to me right after my first grandbaby was born. I was in love with that little girl. Made me feel like the whole world was right, just looking at her. Billy says, ‘Dad, about the baptism. You can come to the church, but you’re going home before the party.’
“I was stunned. I was speechless, which, as you might guess, is a pretty rare thing. ‘Why?’ I says. And I remember his words exactly. To this day it punches a hole in my chest to admit it. He says, ‘Come on, Dad. We all know what’ll happen. You’ll get tanked and make an ass out of yourself in front of my in-laws. I let you come to the wedding reception and that was a mistake. I can’t let you ruin any more important events in my life.’”
Kenny stopped talking then. He stood gripping the podium, gazing over the heads of the members. He cleared his throat, stretched his neck from side to side.
“That night I called a guy I knew who went to AA. I told him I didn’t think I could do it, but I would take a look. And when I went, everyone was wonderful to me—like good buddies I hadn’t met yet. It made me realize just how pissed off my family was, because I hadn’t been treated that good in a long time. It was a hell of an eye-opener.
“That was two weeks before the baptism, and Billy, God love him, he let me come. It was the best day of my life, no lie.
“Now, I won’t tell you it’s all peaches and roses and Sunday afternoons on the swan boats. I tripped up a few times since. And it’s hard. Sometimes I’m hard. Just because I don’t drink now doesn’t mean I turned into Mr. freakin’ Rogers. Everything seems fine, and then I blow up about something small. The difference is now I say I’m sorry. AA taught me that.
“And it’s not like I lost my appetite for booze. No sir. The desire’s always crackling at the back of my head.
“But one thing I know. Alcohol did to me just what it’s supposed to do to us drunks. Beat me down. Turned me into something shameful and embarrassing. And I’m not going back there today. Maybe tomorrow. But not today.”
* * *
WHEN the break was over, Angelo stepped up to the microphone. “Back to your tables, boys and girls,” he said. “Our next speaker has been coming here for a while now, but she’s never been up in front of the mike before. Her name is Cass and she’s a real angel because she agreed to talk to us, even on such short notice.” He started clapping and everyone else did, too.
“Good girl!” she heard Kenny say as she stood up.
Breathe, breathe, breathe, she chanted silently. As she turned to walk toward the podium, she saw Laurel sitting at the side of the room with her littlest boy on her lap.
Cass stepped up to the microphone. “Hi,” she said softly, as if her lungs couldn’t quite let go of the air inside. “I’m Cass. And I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Cass!” they shouted warmly. The teenage girls adjusted their slouches to look in her direction.
“Lately,” she began, “I’ve, um . . . I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot.” Her eyes began to ache as soon as her lips formed the words. Hi, Mom, she thought. Look at me. Can you believe it?
“My mother was from Nova Scotia, and she came to Boston a few months before I was born, all by herself. I was never sure why she did that—came all that way, alone and pregnant. But she must have had a reason. And I think it must have been something very bad.
“She was sad. Very sad sometimes.” Cass’s voice quavered. She let the air flow in and out of her mouth for a moment, then pushed on. “And she drank every day, three or four glasses of wine. She had rules for herself: never before five, always from a clean glass. I can’t tell you how I knew these rules, but I knew them the way I knew the sound of her voice.
“When I was thirteen, she died of a heart attack. Suddenly. Right in front of me.”
A tiny, collective gasp went up in the room.
“My mother was very shy. She worked in a dry cleaner, and she had a few friends there, but no one who could take me in. So I went into foster care.
“The first place I went was bad. Very bad. They were so”—she took a breath—“bad to me. Especially the man. He said things and tried to do things that a man should not want to do to a young girl. I was certain I would never be happy again until I was dead. Then maybe I could see my mother. And I would be safe. I don’t know if I ever really admitted that to myself, or whether I see it now, from the distance of time. But death was what I wanted more than anything.
“So I stopped eating. Nothing tasted good, anyway, so that was pretty easy. When I got so thin I couldn’t do much for myself, they put me in the hospital. When I got a little weight back on me, they put me in a group home until they could find another foster home for me.”
The teenage girls perked up at this. She could feel the force of their attention accelerate toward her, like a flock of birds changing course as one.
“I liked school. I liked reading—a friend reminded me of that recently. And I got by. But then foster care was over and I was on my own. I had started drinking in high school, like a lot of kids do, but when I was on my own, the fear got to me. I was always scared since my mother died, but it got so much worse when I had no one. I was terrified all the time.
“Then I met Ben. And he loved me, he really did. But he was an alcoholic, too, and so we just let each other be drunks. As much as we loved each other, I’m starting to realize just how unhealthy it was. God, there’s so much you see when you’re sober that you never saw when you were drinking, isn’t there? It’s like suddenly being buried in an avalanche of the truth.
“But for good or for bad, Ben was everything to me. His love probably kept me alive, even though it almost got me killed a couple of times, too.”
Oh, Ben. She missed him. But she didn’t miss those years. Not anymore.
“He died a couple of months ago. Alcohol poisoning.”
Sad head shakes. A moment of silence for one of their own who didn’t make it.
“Sometimes I wonder how I ended up . . . like this,” Cass said. “I think I was born okay. I remember being happy as a child. I remember laughing with my mother one time when we only had cereal left to eat. And I remember the feel of her cool hands on my face when I had a fever.
“But I think slowly her sadness seeped into me. I absorbed it the way if you stick a pen in your pocket without the cap, eventually the ink will stain your shirt. The pen doesn’t mean to stain you, but that’s what ink does.”
She felt herself caught in the laserlike beam of Laurel’s attention for a moment. Laurel’s face was hard, almost angry, but Cass had the strange feeling that it was just possible Laurel wasn’t angry with her this time.
“I’ve been thinking about my mother more than usual because I’m pregnant. In the hospital when I got so thin, they told me that I probably wouldn’t be able to have kids. So this is like a miracle. I’ve been sober for almost two months now, and that’s the longest time in over a decade, and I have this baby to thank for it.”
The tears caught behind her eyes started to wiggle free.
“Just as this baby makes me happy, I realize now that I made my mother happy. I was the reason she got up in the morning and worked in that hot smelly room, cleaning other people’s clothes. I remember how she looked when she would first lay eyes on me when she came home from work. Like I was the most beautiful thing in the universe.
“And here I spent so many years scared and drunk and squandering that beauty. Sober and pregnant with my own child, I get that now, and I’m ashamed of it.
“But I’m trying to focus on the good: all the stuff I’m learning, now that my brain isn’t in a constant fog . . . the friends I’m making . . . the help I can give others. And the hope that I can keep my own sadness from seeping into my child.
“Even in sadness, I know I’ve been given a chance. And I thank you all for listening.”
The applause went on for a while. Several of the teenage girls were openly weeping. People reached out to touch Cass’s hand or pat her arm as she walked back to her seat. The little girl’s father wrapped his arm tightly around the mother’s shoulders.
Cass sank into her chair, exhausted, but she couldn’t help but turn to look for Laurel, sitting off to the side of the room, her little boy now asleep in her lap. She cradled his limp body against hers, lips brushing lightly against his forehead. Laurel’s gaze lifted to find Cass’s and held it for several moments. Then she stood gingerly with the child and walked out.