by E. M. Parker
“Did you know Donald well?”
“I considered him a friend. He and I talked nearly every day. We’d go out for beers, catch an occasional Rockies game, sometimes a movie. He was a really good man and I enjoyed spending time with him.”
“I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Arthur’s face contorted as he struggled to fight back emotion. “It’s just not right, what they’re saying about him.”
“What are they saying about him?”
“That he committed suicide.”
A loud ding filled the elevator as it reached the first floor. The doors opened, but the two of them remained inside.
“I’ve known that man for well over fifteen years. He was not depressed, he was not upset, and he was sure as hell not suicidal. He had some financial difficulties, but who doesn’t in this economy? He wouldn’t kill himself over that. He wouldn’t kill himself period.”
“But the police think he did.”
“They obviously don’t know anything.”
Iris had told her the exact same thing. She didn’t want to believe it then, but it was more difficult to dismiss now.
“So what do you think happened?”
Arthur met her question with silence. It was clear that he had an answer; he just didn’t appear willing to share it.
After a few seconds, Fiona finally said, “I’m sorry. I know it’s a difficult time for you.”
“It’s a difficult time for everyone here. I’m just sorry this is your first Corona Heights experience. You seem like a really sweet person.”
Fiona’s lips quivered as she attempted a smile. “Thank you.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d love to chat more, but I should probably get going. I have a meeting to attend and it’s not the kind you want to be late for.”
Arthur’s face softened. “Of course. I apologize for holding you up. Hopefully you don’t take this old man’s babbling too seriously. The police are doing their job and I need to have faith that they’ll figure this out. For my own sanity, I need to believe that.”
“They’ll figure it out,” Fiona offered as she put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I don’t think your faith is misguided.”
“Thank you.”
Fiona stepped out of the elevator. “I’ll see you around, Art.”
“See you around. I’ll let you know when I’m available to look at that window.”
“Sounds good.”
Fiona was near the front door when the sound of Arthur’s voice stopped her.
“Hey, wait a second. You’re in 605, next door to Iris Matheson. Have you met her yet?”
“Yes. She and I had coffee early this morning, actually.”
A look of quiet amusement came over Arthur’s face as he approached her. “What a character she is, huh? I don’t know what your experience has been so far, but just know that she’s ultimately harmless. Iris’s problem is that she lets her overactive imagination get in the way of her good sense. Spend enough time with her and she’ll have you believing that this building is crawling with witches and warlocks and every manner of supernatural evil that your nightmares can conjure up.”
Fiona’s hand instinctively went to the amulet hanging around her neck, ignoring the fact that the purple stone suddenly felt warm to the touch.
Arthur continued. “She’s tried to spin her yarn on me a few times; even called me this morning to go on about what she thinks happened to Donald. When she gets like that, I deal with her the same way I suggest you deal with her should you find yourself in a similar situation: calmly, politely, and without an ounce of disbelief in your voice. As I said, she’s harmless, but she’s also passionate about her beliefs. And people who are passionate about that kind of stuff can never be underestimated. Piss her off enough and she may think that you’re one of those supernatural evils. God only knows what she’s capable of then. Just a friendly word of caution.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Fiona tried to move toward the door, but her feet felt stuck to the floor.
“Sorry, I’m holding you up again,” Arthur said with a wide smile. “You run along now. Don’t be late for your meeting on account of me.”
Only after Arthur said that did Fiona’s legs come back to life. She practically galloped as she made her way out of the building. The fresh air felt like new life.
All she wanted to focus on was the task that brought her here in the first place. But with each hour that she spent in the presence of this increasingly strange collection of people, the new life with her son that once held the promise of being a foregone conclusion now seemed further and further away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SUNRISE SERENITY GROUP MET in the back storeroom of what was once a shipping warehouse. The story of the building’s origins was told for the benefit of all the newcomers, as it probably was before every meeting. But beyond the tidbit that the space was once home to the country’s largest manufacturer of Number two pencils, Fiona didn’t pay much attention to the presentation.
She was plenty attentive when it came time for introductions. As had happened in every A.A. meeting the world over, each member began with their first name, followed by those famous four words that some people spend a lifetime building up the courage to say in public.
When Fiona was called upon to say those words aloud for the first time eighteen months ago, she sat in the circle for well over an hour, listening to stories of triumph and tragedy, relapse and recovery, before finally summoning the will to speak up.
My name is Fiona, and I’m an alcoholic.
Today there was no hesitation in her announcement. More than anything, she felt relief that she could finally rid herself of the unattainable perfection that came with telling the world that she was clean and sober and never looking back. She had spent the last painfully long year trying to convince everyone – from Kirk, to the courts, to her lawyers, to herself – that perfection through sobriety was not only attainable, but sustainable. After last night, she knew it was neither.
“The biggest mistake I made,” she told the attentive group of twelve, “was trying to convince myself that being perfect was the only available route back into my son’s life. I’d had so many missteps in the past that I felt like I didn’t have an ounce of room to screw up anymore, and I white-knuckled my way through life for a long time believing that. Unfortunately, it caught up with me last night. I almost screwed up big-time, and it could have potentially cost me everything. What I got from that experience, aside from a swift-kick in the ass, was the gift of total self-awareness. For better or worse, this is who I am. I’ve struggled with alcohol my entire adult life, and I’ll struggle with it for the rest of my life. I’m not perfect because I haven’t had a drink in three-hundred and sixty-one days. I’m perfect because no matter what happens, no matter how many times I slip up, I’m willing to fight this disease every day. I’m perfect because I haven’t had a drink today. But tomorrow, the battle starts all over again. Having the courage to face that battle day after day is all the perfection I’ll ever need.”
Fiona felt a rush of adrenaline at the sound of applause. The feeling stayed with her for the entire session, long after the last recovery story had been told, long after the last sobriety coin had been handed out. The group had indeed lived up to its name. Fiona felt a true sense of serenity for the first time that she could remember.
Just as the meeting was wrapping up, someone walked in. Aside from the overgrown beard that was so inexplicably popular with men these days, he was nondescript. His wardrobe was basic: white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black working boots. But his energy immediately changed the air in the room. It wasn’t a change for the better.
“Looks like I’m a tad bit late,” he said as he surveyed the group. Fiona was quick to avert her eyes when he found her.
“You’re never too late,” Melinda, the group leader, said with a welcoming smile. “There’s a seat right over there. Please join us.”
The man nodded and made his
way to the empty chair across from Fiona. Based on the quiet acknowledgment from the others in the group, she had guessed that he was a regular. Still, he didn’t look the least bit comfortable being here.
He said nothing as he sat down. After it became apparent that he wasn’t going to speak up on his own, Melinda intervened. “No need to be nervous. Just jump in whenever you’re ready.”
The man shifted in his seat, anxious hands clinging to his thighs. The haze in his eyes told Fiona that he’d been drinking, but she pushed the judgement aside.
“Okay, well, I guess I should know the drill by now, huh guys?” He spoke in a slow, thick drawl that all but confirmed Fiona’s suspicions. The smattering of nervous laughter from the group told her that others had suspected it too. “So here goes. My name is Noah, and I am… I am a certified alcoholic.”
“Hi Noah,” the group buzzed in unison.
But Fiona didn’t say a word. Her body was frozen, her mind was screaming.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.
“Unfortunately, I’ve had a few rough turns since last meeting,” he continued. “The fights with my girlfriend, they’ve… let’s just say they’ve escalated.” He paused to reflect. “They always do this time of year.”
“What is it about this time of year specifically?” Melinda asked.
Noah hesitated. “Stuff with her daughter, but it’s not worth getting into here. It’s been wearing on me though, I can tell you that for sure. I get so frustrated with her. My temper flares up – another thing I’m working on. Next thing you know, me and Natalie are in a shouting match and my first instinct is to run out and find something to drink.”
Fiona’s heart sank. My God, it is him. She fought the urge to excuse herself from the group, fearing the attention it would bring. Still, the voice in her head would not stop protesting. Why in the hell are you still sitting here? Get up and leave before he recognizes you!
“I hate that I haven’t gotten this under control yet,” Noah continued. “As many of these meetings as I’ve been to, you’d think I’d have a better grip on it by now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up man,” one of the group members offered. “None of us got this thing licked yet.”
The group voiced its agreement while Fiona stayed silent, careful to conceal the horror that flooded her being.
Noah’s face softened enough to allow a half-smile. “I really appreciate the love. Seriously. I don’t have much in the way of family, except for Natalie. You guys come pretty damn close. Been meaning to tell you that for a while.”
“I think I speak for all of us when I say that the feeling is mutual,” Melinda replied.
The warm exchange, genuine as it may have been, did nothing to ease Fiona’s anxiety.
As Noah continued a testimonial that highlighted the various ways in which he had failed to live up to the twelve steps since the last time Sunrise Serenity met, his eyes scanned each member of the group, searching for those who would most validate his struggle. Fiona knew this because she did the same thing when recounting hers. She kept her gaze focused on the floor in anticipation of the moment when he would look at her. When that moment finally came, she closed her eyes, hopeful that the darkness would quell the awful stirring in her chest. When she opened her eyes, the stirring was still there. When she glanced in Noah’s direction, she knew why.
“As we’ve talked about in the past, having the ability to identify your triggers before you’re set off will help keep them at bay once you do encounter them. What would you say your most potent triggers are, and how do you cope with them?”
Melinda’s question was directed at Noah, but his eyes were not on her as he pondered an answer.
“Judgement. Condescension. Those are the big ones. I also can’t stand when people look at me with fear, like they’re trying to make me out to be something that I’m not.”
“Does that happen often?” Melinda asked.
“No. But when it does, it really pisses me off.”
“Who looks at you with fear?”
Only when Melinda asked this question did Noah break eye contact with Fiona.
“My girlfriend mostly.”
“Is it ever warranted?”
Silence as Noah considered his answer. The instant he looked up, Fiona’s eyes fell to the floor again.
“Maybe when I drink. But I would never hurt her.”
Fiona felt the weight of his glare again.
“The arguing can sound bad sometimes. We can get pretty loud, and I’m sure our neighbors think we’re killing each other. But that’s not the case. Natalie is the only good thing in my life, and I’m the only good thing in hers. We wouldn’t hurt each other, not like that anyway.”
The only good thing in her life? What about her daughter? Fiona bit down on her tongue to prevent it from speaking her thoughts, but the anger on her face wasn’t so easy to conceal. When she looked up, Noah looked away.
“So, what’s more important to you, the conflicts that you have with your girlfriend or how you think others might perceive that conflict?” Melinda asked.
“They’re both important. Yeah, I know my actions matter, but when your neighbors look at you like you’re some kind of goddamn walking disease every time you leave your apartment, when they complain to the manager every time you play your music above a whisper, or when they stand outside your door, listening, waiting to hear something that convinces them they need to call the cops, that shit matters too, and I have to swallow it constantly. I’m over it.”
“It sounds to me like much of your battle is internal, the same as it is for most of us,” Melinda asserted. “Sometimes our perceptions, whether they be of events, or people, or intentions, can completely cloud our judgement and adversely affect our reality. The key is to not project the feelings we have about ourselves onto other people. Doing so only exacerbates the negative self-image that we are convinced everyone else is responsible for creating. You are the only one responsible for that self-image.” At that last statement, Melinda looked directly at Fiona. “Don’t judge other people as a means of deflecting judgement away from yourself.”
Fiona allowed Melinda’s words to settle in, and for a moment she let herself believe that they had been properly directed at her. Then she thought about the music, and the constant yelling, and the frightened little girl whose well-being had seemingly never once been considered, and the guilt went away.
“Is there anything else you’d like to share before we end the meeting?” Melinda asked, turning her attention back to Noah.
He swallowed hard before answering; the first sign of vulnerability that Fiona had detected in him. “I guess I should address something that some of you may have been wondering about when I walked in. I did have a drink last night. Okay, I had a few. I feel like shit about it. I know I failed myself, and I failed you guys too.”
Murmurs of encouragement poured in from the group.
“You didn’t fail, Noah. You showed up here, ready to start over. The way I see it, that’s a victory.”
Melinda’s statement brought back Noah’s half-smile, though nothing about it, or him, felt genuine to Fiona. The entire episode was little more than a sympathy grab, a way to ease the guilt over what he did and what he most likely planned to do when he left the meeting. Fiona remembered the group leader’s cautionary words about judgement, but she could also see right through Noah. She knew what kind of man he was before she ever laid eyes on him, and nothing that she saw or heard from him now did anything to change that. She only hoped that she could maintain the resolve to keep her mouth shut long enough to let the meeting end peacefully.
“I want you to take this with you,” Melinda said to Noah as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin. “This one represents the new life that comes with your first full day of sobriety. It’s the same one you received when you first came, but this one will have a brand-new date. Only you know when that date will come. When it does, bring the coin ba
ck and I’ll have it engraved for you.” She held it out for him. “Deal?”
Noah hesitated before finally walking over to retrieve it, more theatrics that Fiona didn’t buy for a second.
“Deal.”
The sound of vigorous applause brought a merciful end to the meeting.
Before Noah’s arrival, Fiona had envisioned the session concluding with grateful hugs and words of thanks to the other attendees, a few of whom she had seen as possible sponsor material. But because of him, all she wanted to do now was leave the premises as quickly as she could, with the intention of finding a new A.A. group as far removed from this one as possible. Surely the odds were not such that she could run into him in another group. Then again, she never would have imagined the odds being short enough to bring them together in this one.
So Fiona made sure that she was the first one out of the building when the meeting ended, not allowing anyone the opportunity to corner her for conversation or even a thank you. She hadn’t seen Noah as she walked out, but she assumed that she’d had a healthy head-start on him. She could hear the chatter of some of the group members behind her as she entered the parking lot, but she had no desire to turn around long enough to identify them.
She felt relieved as she reached her car. Home free. Sure, it got a little bit hairy at the end with the unbelievably random appearance of the hellion that had helped make her stay at Corona Heights an unmitigated disaster, but she lived through it, and when she eventually looked back, there would most certainly be more good to come from the experience than bad.
There was more chatter as she unlocked her car. Closer now. She again refused to look back. As she reached out to grab the door handle, she heard her name. Ignoring it, Fiona opened the door. She had one foot inside the car when she heard her name again, this time directly behind her.
“Fiona, hold up a second.”
It was Melinda.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Fiona uttered the words quietly under her breath, but the irritation on her face as she turned around more than told the story.