Thorns of Truth (51 page)

“Somehow, I can’t picture it. You stepping aside just like that.”

“Try me.”

Brian folded his arms over his chest. “What brought on this sudden change of heart?” Not the pleased response she’d been hoping for. Not even close.

Rachel, struggling to keep her disappointment from showing, looked down at the tablecloth, a vast Mexican shawl she’d bought in an outdoor marketplace during a trip to Mazatlán, when they were first married. Its colors had faded over the years, but she liked it even more—its former vibrance replaced by something even better: wit and character.

She lifted her eyes, feeling them blaze with sudden heat, and imagining how she must look to Brian: a woman on fire—a fire that, in the past, had excited him. In a low, taut voice, she said, “You want the truth? It was everything. You, me, Iris, Mama. But every major decision has a catalyst, and today I was given one.” Rachel told him about the unexpected arrival of the baby at Holy Angels. Forcing a wan smile, she added, “Sister Alice would have called it a miracle, I suppose, if she’d been in my shoes.”

Brian listened thoughtfully, but remained expressionless. Oh, her heart was going to break! She could feel it happening already.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Brian asked.

Rachel stared at him, longing to demand.
Is it still what
you
want? A
real
wife, rather than one who’s too tired most of the time to do more than simply go through the motions?
But, no, she’d put it off for so long. Brian had gotten tired of waiting.

Now she stood waiting for her own heart to stop its frantic racing. When it didn’t, she realized the only cure was to take the final plunge.

“I’m not sure of anything, except what I
don’t
want,” she said, quietly. “Mainly, I don’t want to lose you. Not just because I’ve lost so much already. Because I love you. Brian, I want us to start over. Not from the beginning—we can never do that. But from
here.
I want us to go someplace warm where we can sleep late, and lie on the beach, and make love whenever we feel like it.”

Brian was silent for so long that she became convinced that he was merely embarrassed for her, that he was working up the courage to say.
It’s too late for that. It’s time to move on.…

But he didn’t say those things. He continued to regard her with those thoughtful eyes of his, which reflected every storm they’d weathered, every gray sky since passed. Then, with an odd, almost stilted formality, he stepped forward and put out his hand—like a nineteenth-century gentleman at a ball, asking her to dance. When Rachel took it, rising to meet him, she saw that his eyes were wet. Letting out a sigh that seemed to release something tightly wound inside him, he folded her in his arms and murmured into her hair, “Did you have anywhere special in mind?”

Rachel relaxed a little, but couldn’t stop trembling. “I was thinking of Maui,” she managed in a small, weak voice, nothing like her normal one. “We could fly there straight from Arizona.”

Brian threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “Rachel. You’re incredible.”

“Why is that?”

“The way you’ll put a thing off practically forever, then break your neck trying to get it done all at once. Knowing you, you’ve probably booked our seats already.”

“I only checked to see which flights are available,” she informed him with mock primness. “You’re under no obligation whatsoever.”

“Is that so?”

“Maybe you have a better idea.”

“Rachel, you idiot.” Still laughing, he lifted her off the floor, twirling her around so abruptly she bumped her foot on a chair leg. “I’d be happy if we stayed home and dined on Chef Boyardee for a week, as long as we’re together. But if you have your mind made up about Maui, then Maui it is.”

He kissed her then, and for Rachel it was like coming home after a long, long absence. She clung to him, trying not to cry, but crying anyway, tears of happiness for a change. Sometimes, she thought, even when it seemed as if nothing would ever again turn out right, you got lucky.

A feeling she hadn’t had in quite a while was stirring in her. One that had less to do with the thought of palm trees and tropical breezes than with her husband’s arms around her, and his warm breath ruffling her hair. She kissed his ear and whispered, “For the time being, would you settle for just me?”

Chapter 20

“G
OOD EVENING EVERYONE
, and welcome to the East Midtown Plaza Group of Alcoholics Anonymous. My name is Jack, and I’m an alcoholic …”

Mandy studied the man at the podium, a good-looking young guy in a suit and tie, and thought,
He doesn’t look like a drunk.
But, to be honest, neither did most of the people around her. In this drafty church basement, with its rows of metal folding chairs, industrial-sized coffeemaker, and bulletin board announcing a special Holy Trinity service, she didn’t feel all that out of place, not really. With the exception of the few who looked as if they’d spent the night in less-than-cozy surroundings, the crowd of fifty or so was made up mostly of professionals like her, all of them nicely dressed, many with briefcases. She guessed the average age to be around thirty-five.

Quiet surprise rippled through her, along with a definite uneasiness. If these people were alcoholics, then where was the line separating them from
her?
Obviously, they hadn’t just stumbled in off the streets. More like an executive boardroom, or racquetball court. What had brought them here? An ultimatum from their boss? A family sick and tired of their excuses? Or maybe the burden of leading a double life had finally become too much, the way it had for her with Robert.

Robert. She still felt bad about him … but he wasn’t the main reason she was here tonight. It wasn’t even Rose’s ultimatum, or the nerve-racking tension of walking a daily tightrope. The straw that had broken the camel’s back, Mandy thought, had been her brother. Drew had relied on her to help him out in an emergency, which she
had
—making calls, searching shelters—but not without a dangerously close call that had nearly caused her to drink again. And what would Drew have done then? She couldn’t have lived with the knowledge that she’d let her sweet, loving brother down when he needed her most.

Mandy shot a sidelong glance at Eric, seated beside her. Tonight was a speaker’s meeting, he’d explained, and it was Eric who’d been asked to address the not-so-motley crew. She thought he looked remarkably relaxed, considering. Faded jeans, kickabout loafers, denim jacket. Mandy could see why her stepmother found him so appealing—he was sexy and smart, sure, but mostly just
nice.
Not in a nerdy way, but in the best possible sense. When she’d called from the deli, he hadn’t embarrassed her by making a big deal of it. He hadn’t seemed put out, either. He’d just listened.

Watching him amble up to the front of the room and lean into the podium, she thought.
He’d be good for Rose. Daddy would approve.

In a relaxed, conversational tone, as if chatting with a fellow passenger on an airplane, Eric began to speak. “Hi, I’m Eric, and I’m an alcoholic.” Pause. “Five years ago, I sat in my first meeting, and there was this guy, a big, burly mother—long-distance trucker from Tallahassee, with twenty years of hard drinking under his belt. We couldn’t have had less in common, but the funny thing was, he was telling my story.…”

Mandy listened, enthralled and more than a little taken aback by Eric’s tale, which made her own seem tame by comparison. She heard how his beer-guzzling college days had slipped seamlessly from the anything-goes seventies into the high-rolling eighties, where weekend house parties in Cannes and Laurel Canyon, at which lines of blow were laid out like pretzels, were the norm. His drinking had cost him not only his high-profile job, he said, but, indirectly, the life of a female colleague.

Mandy thought about her own job, and how close she stood to losing it. And Robert, whom she’d apparently blown off one time too many. But what if something even worse were to happen? What if she were to
die
because of her drinking—or cause someone else’s death? She shuddered, finding it harder than ever to maintain the pleasantly detached expression she’d put on at the door like a mask.

Truthfully, being here wasn’t making it any easier. Her craving hadn’t gone away; if anything, it was stronger than ever. Okay, so the AA chapter in this neighborhood wasn’t just a bunch of losers with nowhere else to go. But did that necessarily mean they were all in the exact same boat? Or that she should trust them with her most private thoughts and feelings?

Nevertheless, she smiled at Eric’s jokes, and applauded along with the others when he stepped down. Afterwards, she even introduced herself to the person seated next to her, as she was urged to, an older woman with immaculately coiffed silver hair who looked too respectable and dignified to have indulged in anything more than an occasional glass of sherry. When the meeting was over, and those who seemed to know one another had drifted to the coffee machine to chat, Mandy let out a surreptitious sigh of relief.

Wandering over to the door, her coat folded neatly over her arm, she waited for Eric to finish chatting with one of the Young Turks—a well-dressed young man in what looked like an Armani suit. He would probably ask what she’d thought of the meeting, so she took the opportunity to compose in her head a polite, noncommittal response.

But Eric asked none of the obvious questions. As they strolled toward Madison Avenue, he asked instead about her job, and her family. He was easy to talk to. Before she knew it, she found herself telling him about her dad, what a wonderful father he’d been—funny, affectionate, overly protective at times, yet firm when necessary. It crossed her mind briefly that Eric might feel a little threatened, given that he was Rose’s boyfriend. But if he had a problem with Rose’s having been married to someone as marvelous as her dad, he was keeping it to himself. That was another thing about him Mandy liked. She felt so relaxed around him; there was no need to explain or justify herself. Nothing she needed to hide, or be ashamed of.

Still, it
was
sort of weird that he wasn’t preaching to her about AA. Wasn’t that the whole point of her attending the meeting? If anything, it was Eric who appeared in need of comfort. Beneath his relaxed-seeming banter, she caught the tense air of a man at some sort of crossroads. Had he and Rose had a fight? Come to think of it, she hadn’t noticed any sign of him when she’d visited Rose at the hospital.

Before she knew what she was doing, Mandy found herself casually offering, “Buy you a cup of coffee?”

Eric nodded. “I could use one.”

They stopped at a coffee shop on the corner, one of a thousand sprinkled like fire hydrants throughout the city—Greek diners masquerading as luncheonettes until you looked closely at the menu, which featured dishes like moussaka, souvlaki, and tzaziki. Still, there was something to be said for the generic familiarity of its faded vinyl banquettes, chrome napkin-dispensers, and inedible-looking cakes and pies displayed in their revolving glass case as lovingly as Tiffany jewels.

They ordered coffee, which came in thick white mugs and smelled as if it had been poured out of an auto shop’s drip pan. Eric sipped his in silence. He hardly looked at her, even though she was directly across from him. Whatever was on his mind, Mandy thought, he clearly wasn’t pondering whether or not she planned to attend the next AA meeting.

She touched his elbow. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not much to say.” He brought his gaze back to Mandy, the corners of his eyes—eyes the blue of faded denim and desert skies—crinkled in a wry smile over the rim of his mug. Then he grimaced. “This stuff is really awful, isn’t it? They ought to sell it by the slice, like meatloaf.”

“You were really brilliant at the meeting,” she told him.

Eric shrugged, and went back to staring sightlessly at his ghostly reflection in the window. “I wasn’t there to impress anyone. That’s not what it’s about.”

Uh-oh,
she thought,
here it comes. The big pitch.
But Eric remained lost in his thoughts. Almost in desperation, Mandy found herself volunteering, “It wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t know what I thought the people would be like. Easier to catalogue, I guess. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I plan to go back. I … Oh shit, I don’t know
what
I mean.” Abruptly, she shoved her mug away; some of the coffee slopped over onto the Formica tabletop.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Eric studied her carefully, seeming almost irritated with her. “It’s not just about
you,
Mandy. It’s about me, too. And the guy in front of you, and behind you. And the woman who stood up at the end to share. Did you notice how no one arrived late? Did it strike you as a little odd that the meeting started exactly on time? Think about it. Think about all the times we were drunk and showed up late, or not at all. Any reminder of those days, however slight, is uncomfortable, even a little scary.
That’s
what brings us to meetings. Our shared experience. Our mutual fears. Knowing it’s not a choice, but a matter of survival.”

“How?
How
can it help to share all those memories with people you don’t even know?” she demanded in a low voice, feeling attacked somehow—though, rationally, she knew he’d done no such thing.

“Why
did
you go, then?” he asked, not rudely, but with a frankness she found disconcerting.

She looked down at the table, at the coffee spill soaking into the napkin she’d tossed over it—a soggy brown mess that made her feel faintly nauseous. “I …  I’m not exactly sure. My brother, 1 guess. It scared me, how close I came to letting him down.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Believe me, whatever I did was as much for me as it was for you,” he said. “If I can help, it helps me. As simple as that. There’s nothing saintly about it. I can’t even explain how it works. It just does.”