Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“Not really. It tasted like medicine. But after I had some, it made me feel good. I wanted more.”

“So when did you stop?”

“When it was all gone.”

“So why did you do it?”

He shrugged. “Because I could. Because I was curious. Because I was mad at my mom. I don’t know, I just did it.”

John drove in silence, taking the long way around to where he was going. For now he’d said enough. He wanted David to do the talking.

“Is it true what my mom says, that being an alcoholic is passed down in families—like your mother drank, and so did you?”

“I don’t know. I started drinking when I was thirteen because my mother kept liquor around, and because it helped me forget things that made me feel bad, like remembering my father in prison.”

“Yeah, Mom told me about him. She said he killed a man. Is that true?”

“Yes, but he didn’t mean to. That’s a story for another time.” John could only hope there might be another time. “I don’t drink anymore, but I’m still an alcoholic. That means the craving will always be there. If I took one drink, it would be like I’d never stopped. That’s why I don’t drink at all. Not even beer.”

“And that craving’s passed down in families? Is that what my mother meant?”

“It could be.”

“So I could be an alcoholic, too?”

“Maybe. And if you are, that’s a good reason not to start drinking at all.” John pulled into the church parking lot.

“Hey!” David jerked upright in the seat. “Don’t tell me you’re taking me to church!”

“Only to the basement. I’m taking you to a meeting of the people who saved my life.”

David hesitated. “What will I have to do? Will I have to talk to people?”

“Not unless you want to. Just sit in the back with me and listen. It won’t be long—about as long as one of your classes at school. Then, unless you want to hang around, we can go get pizza and sodas.”

“Can’t we just get pizza and sodas?”

“Not this time. Come on.”

They climbed out of the Jeep and walked around to the basement entrance of the church. David dragged his feet but didn’t argue. John stopped him at the top of the stairs. “There’s one rule I forgot to mention,” he said. “You might see a few folks you know tonight, but nothing about who you saw or what they might have said can leave the meeting. You can’t tell anybody about this except that you went. Understand?”

“Yeah. Is it sort of like a secret club?”

“Sort of. That’s why it’s called Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“So everybody here is an alcoholic?”

“Right. And they’re all either trying to get sober or stay sober. I haven’t had a drink in seven years, but I still go.”

Downstairs, the meeting had just started. They sat in the back, David slumping in his chair as if wanting to make himself invisible. He cast furtive glances around the small room. There were about twenty people in the meeting, sitting in rows with their backs toward him.

“Holy shit!” he whispered to John. “That bald guy is the soccer coach at school. And the woman over there with the red scarf is my friend’s mom. I didn’t know they were alcoholics.”

“You never saw them here. And they never saw you.” John shushed his son.

They listened while people stood and talked about their struggles with alcohol in their lives. Some looked well off. Others looked like they’d slept on the street. Some were still summoning the strength to quit drinking. Others had

been sober for years but still needed the support that came from sharing. John chose not to stand tonight. He didn’t want to call attention to David or embarrass him. He could only hope his son was taking in what he heard and thinking about it.