The Weight of Him(26)

He followed her into the next room, filling with fresh fear over meeting someone he knew.

A handful of people stood about the small kitchen, fixing hot drinks and side plates of biscuits. He reached for a green tea bag, glanced at the shortbread treats, and turned away. After a struggle, he succeeded with the lever on the hot water dispenser, identifying much too much with the scalded tea bag.

He returned to his seat just as Nora called the meeting to order. He couldn’t make out her words, she was speaking so low. Every so often the group responded in a loud chorus, making him flinch. He couldn’t make out their response, either. Aye, perhaps? He seemed to be the only person in the room who hadn’t a clue what was going on. What was he doing here? This was a mistake. He was nothing like these people.

The man seated next to Nora said, “Hi, I’m Tim—”

“Hi, Tim.” The room’s loud chorus again startled Billy.

“I’m an alcoholic. January fifteenth, 1995.”

The woman next to Tim spoke, “Hi, I’m Claire—”

“Hi, Claire.”

On and on it went, up and down the rows. Billy understood the drill by now, but couldn’t get out the words to join the refrain. The introductions moved closer and closer, a line of gunpowder on fire. He wanted to run out of the room but couldn’t stand up. When his turn came, he looked at Nora, his eyes pleading, and shook his head. She frowned. He nodded to the woman next in line.

“Hi, I’m Teresa…”

Several in the group stared at Billy, some looking confused, others disturbed. He bowed his head and cupped his hot green tea, grateful to have something to hold on to.

The introductions at last over, Nora invited questions and discussion. One young lad said he’d joined AA two years ago. The way he pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and pulled on the tip of his nose conjured Michael. He said he could never have imagined all the good that had come into his life with sobriety. “I’m free now.”

The middle-aged man with a flattened nose and cauliflower ear said his sponsor had repeated the same advice in his early days of sobriety: “Don’t drink. Go to the meetings.” He’d wanted to punch his sponsor, he admitted, but it had turned out to be the best advice of his life. Billy wondered what advice, what help, might have changed everything for Michael.

The meeting ended at last. On his way out, Billy risked a quick stop at the literature table, eager to know the famous Twelve Steps. They worked for everyone else, so why not him? As he grabbed at the paperwork, Nora reappeared, asking if he’d found himself a sponsor. When he admitted he hadn’t, she took his elbow. “Let’s introduce you to Tracy, she’s wonderful.”

He pulled his arm free. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Someone clapped his back. He spun around, facing another overweight man—his size nothing next to Billy. “Hey, you’re new,” the stranger said. “You looked pretty tense sitting over there, you okay?”

To Billy’s horror he heard himself say, “I’m terrified.”

The man hugged him, the intimacy stunning Billy. They pulled apart and the man’s hands remained on the tops of Billy’s beefy arms. “Don’t be terrified. We’re all friends here, family. You’re in the right place, trust me.”

Billy allowed himself the fleeting belief that at last he had found someplace where he belonged. Where he could be saved.

*

Billy quick-stepped free of the church annex and hurried onto the street.

“Mr. Brennan?” A pale, waifish girl stepped toward him, her black coat covered in apricot dog hairs. Her own long, windswept hair was several shades lighter, a yellow-blond. She looked vaguely familiar, and then, with a tiny jolt, Billy recognized her. She was one of the last girls Michael had dated. At the funeral, she had shaken Billy’s hand and said, “I’m so sorry, Michael was lovely, he really was.” Billy had held back on the usual firm handshake he would give, and not just because she’d seemed so bony and brittle. What she’d said had weakened him.

“Sarah,” she said. “I was a friend of Michael’s.”

“Yes,” he croaked. “I remember.” She glanced behind him to the open door of the annex and the people pouring out. “Do you live around here?” he said, to distract her. She explained she lived in town and was out this far to see a friend. The embarrassed way she said “friend” made him realize she was visiting a boyfriend. He felt what he knew was a ridiculous spark of annoyance, as though she were somehow cheating on Michael.

He rolled the AA pamphlets into a cylinder, trying to appear unfazed. Another jolt went through him. He and little Michael would make toy telescopes from rolled sheets of paper whenever they played army with the seconds soldiers. Michael would look through his paper tube and with great theatrics shout, “The cavalry is coming! The cavalry is coming!” Billy’s heart felt squeezed. Michael had always imagined the big rescue.

“Well,” Sarah said. “I should get going. Good night.”

“Good night.” He watched her walk away, and then rushed after her, calling. She spun around, her tiny shoulders stooped and her hands pushed deep into her coat pockets. It struck him that she looked like Tricia. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to ask again. Is there anything you can tell us about why Michael might have done what he did?” She shook her head. “Please. Anything you can think of? Anything at all?”