Uncle Bruno nods back, barely acknowledging his son. Some things never change.
Jared stands then. “You need to change or anything?” he asks me.
I look down at my shorts and tank top. “Yeah. I’ll put on some jeans.”
I hurry to the guest room and ditch my cutoffs for a pair of low-cut Calvins. The tank is a crop, so about three inches of my belly are on display.
I wonder if any of Jared and Tony’s friends are cute? I haven’t seen any of them for the last couple of years. Not since they were still playing stickball in the street or eating the hot dogs Aunt Agnes made for all the neighborhood kids at lunchtime.
A knock on the door. “Yeah, come in.”
Jared enters. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I grab my purse and strap it across my body.
“Good. Let’s go.” Jared’s voice cracks a little.
Weird. According to Aunt Agnes, his voice changed two summers ago. Why’s it cracking?
I stop in the kitchen to say goodbye to Aunt Agnes.
“Have a good time, sweetie,” she says.
Jared and I leave the brownstone.
“Where’re Tony and the others?” I ask.
“They’re waiting for us around the corner.”
“Okay.”
When I turn the corner, though, Tony isn’t there.
No one is.
“Where is— No!”
Strong hands grab me, force me against a brick wall.
Then a prick in my neck.
Everything goes black as words make it to my ears.
Sorry, Katie. We need the money.
20
Luke
I go to a meeting in the morning.
My name is Luke, and I’m an alcoholic.
My sponsor isn’t here. He’s in Phoenix, where I went through rehab. But I’ve met several people at this group who I can call if I feel like I’m ready to break.
“Welcome, everyone,” Lynne, who runs the meetings, says. “It’s a smaller group today, so there’s time for everyone to talk. Who has something to share?”
“I almost took a drink last night,” Barone says.
“But you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Good for you. You stayed strong. What happened?”
“I got a call from my ex…”
Barone drones on. Same old same old. Barone with her spiky blond hair and ripped clothing. Barone and her ex. She needs to move far away from that man.
Someone else starts speaking. Then another.
I’m wrapped in thoughts of Katelyn.
Until—
“Luke, you’ve been quiet this morning.”
I jerk in my chair and look toward Lynne. “Have I?”
“Do you have anything to share?”
“I…” I clear my throat. “I met a woman.”
They all perk up at that.
“And…?” Lynne prods.
“I’m taking it slow. Alcohol isn’t my only addiction.”
Snickers from the men in the group. And one woman.
“Slow is always good,” Lynne says, “especially when you’re grappling with staying sober. I’ll be honest with you, Luke. It seems a little soon to me. We like to see people get a year into their sobriety before embarking on a relationship.”
Lynne’s words irk me slightly, but they’re nothing new. I’ve heard her say the same to Barone and others, and in all honestly, I agree with her.
I clear my throat. “I know. I’m taking it slow.”
“Are you still working at The Glass House?”
“Yeah.”
“And serving drinks?”
“Yeah. It’s tough sometimes, but I haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole.”
“Good for you.”
“How do you do it?” Barone asks. “Every time I see a bottle of wine, it calls to me.”
“It’s not always easy,” I admit. “I just remember everything I’ll lose if I succumb.”
No lie. These people don’t even have a clue what I’m talking about. I can’t tell them. I can’t tell anyone.
“Yes,” Lynne says. “We must stay strong. And Barone, congratulations! Today you get your six month chip.”
Clapping hands echo throughout the small room.
Good on Barone. I’ve only been coming to this particular group for two months, but I have to say, I’m proud of her. She struck me as a hot mess the first time I saw her, but the girl’s determined. I’ll give her that. She just needs to stay away from that loser ex of hers.
After the meeting, I’m noshing on my donut and bad coffee, when Barone approaches me.
“So you met a woman, huh?”
I swallow the bite of cruller. “Yeah.”
“That’s too bad.” She twists her lips into a flirty pout.
Seriously? Barone is coming onto me? After she just told the tear-jerking story about running into her ex? How exactly am I supposed to reply?
“I was hoping”—she looks down at her lime green Chuck Taylors—“that maybe you might want to get some coffee. You know. Sometime.”
I hold up my Styrofoam cup. “Like now, maybe?”
She blushes. “You know what I mean, Luke.”
Yeah, she doesn’t have to spell it out for me. Barone is a hot little number if you can get past the eyebrow ring and thrift store reject clothing. Too young for me. She’s twenty-two. I know that because two weeks ago she announced it was her birthday, and how it feels so weird to be turning twenty-two and not celebrating with a drink.
I can only imagine what her twenty-first birthday must have been like.