Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)(56)

“On your knees?”

“Yes.”

“Say thank you at night?”

“Yes, and on my knees.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to remember the drink put me there,” Dan said. It was the absolute truth.

Casey nodded. “That’s the first three steps. Give me the short form.”

“ ‘I can’t, God can, I think I’ll let Him.’ ” He added: “The God of my understanding.”

“Which you don’t understand.”

“Right.”

“Now tell me why you drank.”

“Because I’m a drunk.”

“Not because Mommy didn’t give you no love?”

“No.” Wendy had had failings, but her love for him—and his for her—had never wavered.

“Because Daddy didn’t give you no love?”

“No.” Although once he broke my arm, and at the end he almost killed me.

“Because it’s hereditary?”

“No.” Dan sipped his coffee. “But it is. You know that, right?”

“Sure. I also know it doesn’t matter. We drank because we’re drunks. We never get better. We get a daily reprieve based on our spiritual condition, and that’s it.”

“Yes, boss. Are we through with this part?”

“Almost. Did you think about taking a drink today?”

“No. Did you?”

“No.” Casey grinned. It filled his face with light and made him young again. “It’s a miracle. Would you say it’s a miracle, Danny?”

“Yes. I would.”

Patty came back with a big dish of vanilla pudding—not just one cherry on top but two—and stuck it in front of Dan. “Eat that. On the house. You’re too thin.”

“What about me, sweetheart?” Casey asked.

Patty sniffed. “You’re a horse. I’ll bring you a pine tree float, if you want. That’s a glass of water with a toothpick in it.” Having gotten the last word, she sashayed off.

“You still hitting that?” Casey asked as Dan began to eat his pudding.

“Charming,” Dan said. “Very sensitive and New Age.”

“Thanks. Are you still hitting it?”

“We had a thing that lasted maybe four months, and that was three years ago, Case. Patty’s engaged to a very nice boy from Grafton.”

“Grafton,” Casey said dismissively. “Pretty views, shit town. She doesn’t act so engaged when you’re in the house.”

“Casey—”

“No, don’t get me wrong. I’d never advise a pidge of mine to stick his nose—or his dick—into an ongoing relationship. That’s a terrific setup for a drink. But . . . are you seeing anybody?”

“Is it your business?”

“Happens it is.”

“Not currently. There was a nurse from Rivington House—I told you about her . . .”

“Sarah something.”

“Olson. We talked a little about moving in together, then she got a great job down at Mass General. We email sometimes.”

“No relationships for the first year, that’s the rule of thumb,” Casey said. “Very few recovering alkies take it seriously. You did. But Danno . . . it’s time you got regular with somebody.”

“Oh gee, my sponsor just turned into Dr. Phil,” Dan said.

“Is your life better? Better than it was when you showed up here fresh off the bus with your ass dragging and your eyes bleeding?”

“You know it is. Better than I ever could have imagined.”

“Then think about sharing it with somebody. All I’m saying.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Now can we discuss other things? The Red Sox, maybe?”

“I need to ask you something else as your sponsor first. Then we can just be friends again, having a coffee.”

“Okay . . .” Dan looked at him warily.

“We’ve never talked much about what you do at the hospice. How you help people.”

“No,” Dan said, “and I’d just as soon keep it that way. You know what they say at the end of every meeting, right? ‘What you saw here, what you heard here, when you leave here, let it stay here.’ That’s how I am about the other part of my life.”

“How many parts of your life were affected by your drinking?”

Dan sighed. “You know the answer to that. All of them.”

“So?” And when Dan said nothing: “The Rivington staff calls you Doctor Sleep. Word gets around, Danno.”

Dan was silent. Some of the pudding was left, and Patty would rag him about it if he didn’t eat it, but his appetite had flown. He supposed he’d known this conversation had been coming, and he also knew that, after ten years without a drink (and with a pigeon or two of his own to watch over these days), Casey would respect his boundaries, but he still didn’t want to have it.

“You help people to die. Not by putting pillows over their faces, or anything, nobody thinks that, but just by . . . I don’t know. Nobody seems to know.”

“I sit with them, that’s all. Talk to them a little. If it’s what they want.”