Any Day Now
Page 59
He smiled at her, his hand casually rubbing her thigh. “It’s a good one. Scared me for a while. But then I got to know you. I think you’re a good person who came through some hard times. I think the important part there is that you came through, not that you had hard times. I know you can’t change people and I wouldn’t try, but people change themselves all the time. When they want to. Sierra, I don’t care if you had troubles in the past—”
“I was trouble, Connie...”
“Okay, you did some things you had to apologize for. Good on you that you apologized. And I guess you learned a few things. I’m not going to give you up just because you used to be a bad girl. What matters is what kind of girl you are now. And now you’re almost perfect. You don’t even have a nasty callus on your big toe.” He smiled at her.
“You can’t have the kind of life you want with someone like me...”
“I can have exactly the kind of life I want with someone like you,” he said. “I know it makes you nervous to think about promises and commitments to the future so we don’t have to go there. I know you’ll completely wig out if I tell you I love you.”
“You can’t be sure of something like that! It’s too soon! You don’t know me yet, not really! When you get to know me, you’ll—”
“I’ll let you say it first, okay? Just relax, I’m not going to hurt you, trick you, back you into a corner, try to change you or smother you. I’m going to be with you just the way you are. I like the way you are.” He gave her a small kiss. “It doesn’t hurt that you think I’m perfect. Except for the toe.”
“I like you so much I don’t want you to get stuck with a bad girlfriend,” she said.
“Then never leave me,” he said. “Just one thing. Don’t worry that you’re going to scare me away by telling me all you’ve been through. Or all the bad things you did.” He leaned his forehead against her forehead. “Sexting, huh?”
“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Are you still doing that?” he asked. “Under the right circumstances?”
“No! Of course not!”
“That’s kind of too bad,” he said with an evil grin.
She laughed.
“Here’s what we should do. We should go in the bedroom, do boom-boom for a while, then come back out here and have ice cream with warm chocolate chip cookies. Then, if we want to, we can have more boom-boom.”
“And the fact that I will never have children?” she pushed.
“If you are worried about your genetics, there are an awful lot of kids in this world without parents. You never know what the future really holds.”
“Boom-boom?” she repeated with a laugh. “You’re kind of a sex maniac, you know that.”
“So are you,” he said. “Want me to carry you?”
“Yes,” she said.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
—Confucius
Chapter 13
ONE EVENING WHEN Connie was tied up at the firehouse, Sierra decided to attend a meeting in Leadville. She was running a little late but people were still grabbing up coffee and cookies—sugar had traditionally been the alcoholic’s friend. When she looked around the church basement for a comfortable spot, she saw a familiar face and headed that way. Neely was sitting in the second row.
“You’re still around?” she asked, taking the chair beside Neely.
“I am. I’m sorry, you’re...?”
“Sierra,” she said, putting out her hand. “I heard you speak a week or two ago and I thought you were doing some traveling. Speaking at meetings. Going to conferences, roundups and that sort of thing.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of that, yes. Steering committee, women’s conference committee, lots of AA work. Now it’s time for a little personal work. And I like this place.”
“It’s a good place,” Sierra agreed.
“I wonder,” Neely said, looking a bit contemplative. “Do you have time for pie and coffee afterward?”
“Sure I do,” she said.
From that moment, Sierra was concentrating more on Neely than on the speaker. Will spoke first and she’d heard him before; she loved listening to him, as a matter of fact. Sober twenty years and so steady, but so aware of his roots in addiction and what it had cost. Then Sophie, sober six years and one of the lucky ones—sobriety had saved her and her family before any irreparable damage. Then Jennifer, sixty years old and sober two years, still struggling mightily, hanging on by the skin of her teeth. Every day and sometimes every hour was a miserable battle for her, but she used all the tools available, many meetings, more than one sponsor, a treatment facility, counseling, family support...
But Sierra was thinking about Neely, filled with admiration and a little awe. Neely was so beautiful and confident. She was taller than Sierra; about five-eight and fit. Her hair was thick, rich brown, shoulder length and swayed when she nodded her head. She was smart—just her presentation at that open meeting was so impressive—emotional and funny and wise, like the poster girl for recovery. She was older than Sierra and had found her sobriety at a younger age—Sierra admired and envied her. She had a kind of reverence for her. Neely was the kind of person she’d fantasized having as a sponsor, not Moody. And before she even really knew Neely, she was immediately thinking of that possibility.
And speak of the devil, Moody was there. This was not his usual meeting—he tended to like the early-morning meeting. He sat in his usual place—third row, far left seat, like he was ready to make a break for it. Sierra didn’t want to talk to Moody tonight because she didn’t want him to horn in on their pie and coffee, which Sierra was already hoping would actually turn into a meal. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want her date with Neely to go by too fast.
“I was trouble, Connie...”
“Okay, you did some things you had to apologize for. Good on you that you apologized. And I guess you learned a few things. I’m not going to give you up just because you used to be a bad girl. What matters is what kind of girl you are now. And now you’re almost perfect. You don’t even have a nasty callus on your big toe.” He smiled at her.
“You can’t have the kind of life you want with someone like me...”
“I can have exactly the kind of life I want with someone like you,” he said. “I know it makes you nervous to think about promises and commitments to the future so we don’t have to go there. I know you’ll completely wig out if I tell you I love you.”
“You can’t be sure of something like that! It’s too soon! You don’t know me yet, not really! When you get to know me, you’ll—”
“I’ll let you say it first, okay? Just relax, I’m not going to hurt you, trick you, back you into a corner, try to change you or smother you. I’m going to be with you just the way you are. I like the way you are.” He gave her a small kiss. “It doesn’t hurt that you think I’m perfect. Except for the toe.”
“I like you so much I don’t want you to get stuck with a bad girlfriend,” she said.
“Then never leave me,” he said. “Just one thing. Don’t worry that you’re going to scare me away by telling me all you’ve been through. Or all the bad things you did.” He leaned his forehead against her forehead. “Sexting, huh?”
“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Are you still doing that?” he asked. “Under the right circumstances?”
“No! Of course not!”
“That’s kind of too bad,” he said with an evil grin.
She laughed.
“Here’s what we should do. We should go in the bedroom, do boom-boom for a while, then come back out here and have ice cream with warm chocolate chip cookies. Then, if we want to, we can have more boom-boom.”
“And the fact that I will never have children?” she pushed.
“If you are worried about your genetics, there are an awful lot of kids in this world without parents. You never know what the future really holds.”
“Boom-boom?” she repeated with a laugh. “You’re kind of a sex maniac, you know that.”
“So are you,” he said. “Want me to carry you?”
“Yes,” she said.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
—Confucius
Chapter 13
ONE EVENING WHEN Connie was tied up at the firehouse, Sierra decided to attend a meeting in Leadville. She was running a little late but people were still grabbing up coffee and cookies—sugar had traditionally been the alcoholic’s friend. When she looked around the church basement for a comfortable spot, she saw a familiar face and headed that way. Neely was sitting in the second row.
“You’re still around?” she asked, taking the chair beside Neely.
“I am. I’m sorry, you’re...?”
“Sierra,” she said, putting out her hand. “I heard you speak a week or two ago and I thought you were doing some traveling. Speaking at meetings. Going to conferences, roundups and that sort of thing.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of that, yes. Steering committee, women’s conference committee, lots of AA work. Now it’s time for a little personal work. And I like this place.”
“It’s a good place,” Sierra agreed.
“I wonder,” Neely said, looking a bit contemplative. “Do you have time for pie and coffee afterward?”
“Sure I do,” she said.
From that moment, Sierra was concentrating more on Neely than on the speaker. Will spoke first and she’d heard him before; she loved listening to him, as a matter of fact. Sober twenty years and so steady, but so aware of his roots in addiction and what it had cost. Then Sophie, sober six years and one of the lucky ones—sobriety had saved her and her family before any irreparable damage. Then Jennifer, sixty years old and sober two years, still struggling mightily, hanging on by the skin of her teeth. Every day and sometimes every hour was a miserable battle for her, but she used all the tools available, many meetings, more than one sponsor, a treatment facility, counseling, family support...
But Sierra was thinking about Neely, filled with admiration and a little awe. Neely was so beautiful and confident. She was taller than Sierra; about five-eight and fit. Her hair was thick, rich brown, shoulder length and swayed when she nodded her head. She was smart—just her presentation at that open meeting was so impressive—emotional and funny and wise, like the poster girl for recovery. She was older than Sierra and had found her sobriety at a younger age—Sierra admired and envied her. She had a kind of reverence for her. Neely was the kind of person she’d fantasized having as a sponsor, not Moody. And before she even really knew Neely, she was immediately thinking of that possibility.
And speak of the devil, Moody was there. This was not his usual meeting—he tended to like the early-morning meeting. He sat in his usual place—third row, far left seat, like he was ready to make a break for it. Sierra didn’t want to talk to Moody tonight because she didn’t want him to horn in on their pie and coffee, which Sierra was already hoping would actually turn into a meal. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want her date with Neely to go by too fast.
