Best Kept Secret (31 page)

I pull back and look at him, unnerved by the glint in his green eyes.

“Are you bothering this poor girl, Vincent?” Nadine says as she approaches us.

“Now, why would you say that, Miss Nadine?” he says with a smile. “Excuse me, ladies, I have to get to the office. I’ll talk with you later, Cadence.”

“ ’Bye,” I say. “Take care.” I turn toward Nadine. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You’re becoming a regular.” She leans in to hug me, a quick, voracious movement. There is such power, such an emphatic understanding in her touch. I want to know how to have this, how to give it to others.

“Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee with me?” I ask. I’m not sure where this courage is coming from. Something is compelling me to push past the usual fears that would normally hold me back.

“I do.” She smiles. “There’s a shop just around the corner, Wholly Grounds? Do you know it?”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to think about what had happened there with Susanne and the other mothers. “I’m a regular. See you there in a few minutes?”

Once we both arrive and order our drinks, we settle into the plush, dark brown velvet chairs by a flickering faux fireplace.

“Mmm.” Nadine leans back, holding the large mug with both hands, palms wrapped around it to warm them. “I love my coffee, don’t you?”

“Definitely. Another addiction of mine, I suppose.” I sip my own drink, unsure of exactly how to do this. Nadine must sense this, because she takes a swallow of her coffee, then speaks.

“So, tell me, Cadence. Why am I here?” She is nothing if not direct.

I laugh a bit nervously. “Well, I’m in a treatment program at Promises?”

She nods. “I have several sponsees who’ve gone there.”

“Oh.” I pause. “So I need to get a sponsor. I know you offered to before and I’m not sure exactly how this works and what it really means. But I think I need one. I’ve got so much going on and I’m going to eventually lose Andi—she’s my counselor at Promises—and I think she’s really the only person I’ve trusted in a long time, you know?” I take a deep breath after rambling all this out on a single exhalation.

Nadine smiles, sets her coffee on the flat stone surface next to the fireplace. “Slow down, honey, you’ll hyperventilate.”

I grimace self-consciously. “Sorry.” I take another slow breath in. “I know I haven’t shared much in meetings. I’ve been too scared when I get called on, so I’ve passed. But I’m in the middle of a custody dispute for my son.” I reach into my purse, pull out a picture of Charlie, and show it to her.

“He’s gorgeous,” she says. “Look at that grin. How old?”

“He’ll be six in August,” I say, and for some reason, a lump begins to form in my throat. I set the mug down on the squat wooden table between us. “So, is there an application process or something for this sponsor thing? Is this like a job interview? Do you have to get back to me?”

She chuckles, eyes sparkling in amusement. “No application necessary. It’s not that formal a process, really.” She smiles warmly, but the expression behind her eyes is clearly serious. “I would be happy to be your sponsor, Cadence. We can talk more about what that means as we go along. But the first thing is I need to know if you are willing to do what I suggest.”

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?” I ask warily.

“That you be willing to do what I suggest.” She gives me a closed-lipped smile, and I have to rein in the bit of frustration I feel for fear she’ll see it on my face. None of this makes sense to me. “For
example,” she goes on, as though sensing I need further explanation, “how would you feel if I asked you to go to ninety meetings in ninety days. Would you be willing to do that?”

I consider this. My immediate reaction is
hell no
. “Ninety? In a row?”

“Without missing one. If you do, you start over.” She cocks her head to the side, giving me a bemused smile. “How would that feel to you?”

“Irritating,” I say, and she laughs again.

“Well, honesty is good. I’d rather that than have you try to blow sunshine up my butt.” She clasps her creased, slightly leathery hands together as though in prayer. “You’ve been in treatment, so I won’t ask you to do the ninety-in-ninety thing. I
will
ask that you call me every day. And we should get together at least a couple times a month outside of meetings. How does that sound?”

I nod, a little stilted. “I think I can do that. What are we supposed to talk about when I call?”

“Anything you need to. Whatever’s on your mind. How you’re feeling, whether you slept poorly, if your ex-husband is pissing you off . . .” She gives me a meaningful look. “They have a nasty tendency to do that, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” I ask, reaching for my coffee again to finish it off, “Are you divorced?”

“Yep. Four-time loser.”

“Four?”
It’s impossible to keep the astonishment out of my tone, or off my face.

“Yeah, I’m a slow learner.” She grins. “I’m dating someone right now, though. But I’m only using him for sex.”

It’s my turn to laugh loud enough to turn the other patrons’ heads. I’m starting to really like this woman.

“What?” Nadine bats her eyelashes in an unsuccessful attempt to look innocent. “I’m not dead yet.”

“Definitely not.” I swallow the last of my coffee, savoring all the gooey sweetness at the bottom of the cup.

“What do you do for work?” she asks me, setting her empty cup on the table next to her.

I sigh, fingering the edge of my mug. “I’m sort of in limbo right now. I was a reporter for the
Herald,
and then a freelance writer, but all of that pretty much went by the wayside when I started drinking. I’ve had a hard time getting back into it. I think it might be time for a career change.” What
kind
of career change, I still don’t know.

Nadine gives me a concerned look. “What do you do all day, then?”

I shrug. “I go to treatment and meetings. And cook a little, for my son. Things I can put in the freezer for when he comes home.” My voice shakes as I say this last sentence. “I probably watch too much TV.”

“You need more structure than that,” Nadine says sternly. “You need to get out in the world. Isolation is bad news.”

“I have no idea what else I could do.”

“What you do is not as important as the fact that you get off your duff and do it.” She glances over to the counter. “Maybe they’re hiring here.”

“Um, I don’t think I want to be a barista.”

“Why not? Serving others is a great lesson in humility.”

“I think I’ve humiliated myself enough.”

“Humiliation is about shame. Becoming
humble
is about being of use to others. It helps you get off the self-pity pot and stop wallowing around in your own crap.” She grins. “Think about it, at least.”

“Is that a suggestion?” I tease her.

“You bet your sweet bippy it is.” We stand and begin to gather our things, getting ready to leave. “Oh, and just so you know,” she says, “one of my other ‘suggestions’ is no dating for at least the first year of sobriety.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s pretty much the last thing on my mind.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives me a pointed look. “I’ve seen Vince talking with you. He’s a charmer. A good man, but a charmer nonetheless.”

“Nadine, he was just introducing me to a woman who was at a meeting for the first time. That’s it. I promise.”

“
And
he gave you his ninety-day coin a couple of weeks ago.”

“How did you know that?” I ask with a single raised eyebrow.

“He told me.” She pats my forearm. “Now, I’m not accusing you of anything, honey. I just want you to be careful with your heart. Let’s say we help you get to know it better before you just give it away.”

I
sit in my living
room on a Tuesday morning after a busy weekend spent with Charlie. I took him swimming at the YMCA on Saturday morning, then to a free, bring-your-own-popcorn outdoor movie at Discovery Park that night. Sunday morning we went around Green Lake two times—Charlie rode his bike and I walked, carrying a bag of stale bread crumbs to feed the ducks.

“Look, Mommy!” Charlie said, pointing his finger at the water. “That one has babies!”

I turned my gaze to where he was pointing. “You’re right, sweetie, it does.”

Charlie jumped up and down once and clapped his hands. “She’s a good mommy,” he said. His tone was matter-of-fact. “Like you.”

“How can you tell?” I asked him, my heart glowing a bit from his words.

He shrugged his small shoulders. “I dunno. I just can,” he said, and something that had been broken inside me began to stitch together and heal.

Now, I set my laptop on my legs as I stare out the front window at my glistening willow tree. A misty but persistent shower has blurred the outside world since Saturday. It’s the kind of rain true Seattleites are used to; the kind that transplants from sunnier lands swear will gradually drive them insane. I check my e-mail and see a
brief note from an address I don’t recognize. I click on it, and realize it’s from Trina, the woman who Vince introduced me to at the meeting.

Hi Cadence,
it says.
I’ve heard at meetings I’m supposed to try and reach out to people. So, I guess this is me, reaching out. I’m not sure what else to say, but I thought I’d drop you a note to at least say hello.

She’s farther along than me,
I think. Besides asking Nadine to be my sponsor and chatting with Vince, I haven’t had the courage to talk to many other people at the meetings. Why did she choose me? Was I the only person she’d met, the only contact information she had? If so, I’d better respond. I shoot Trina back a quick message, ending it with my phone number and a suggestion that we try to have lunch together sometime soon.

The phone rings. It’s Scott, so I take a deep breath before answering. “Hi, what’s up?” I try to sound less tense than I feel in anticipation of what he might have to tell me. I lean over, set the journal on the coffee table, then lounge back with my now-lukewarm mug of coffee in hand.

“Mr. Hines sent over his notes from his interview with you. They were here when I got to the office this morning.”

I am about to take a sip of coffee when my arm freezes in midlift. “What did he say?” Adrenaline begins to speed through my veins.

I hear papers rustling in the background on Scott’s end of the line. “Which do you want first—good news or bad news?”

“Good.”
Please,
I think.
Please, please, please.
Let him say he thinks I should have Charlie back.

“Okay. So, he says that he believes you have a deep bond with Charlie. He says that your love for him is clear.”

I nod, as though he can see me. “That’s good, right? Really good?”

“Yes, it is. Are you ready for the bad?”

“Jesus, Scott, will you just tell me?” My blood is pumping so fast, my heart pushes against my rib cage. I barely have time to take a breath.

He sighs. “He thinks you’re just going through the motions of treatment so you can get Charlie back.”

His words slam me back against the couch. I can’t speak. There are a million things racing through my brain and not one of them will come out of my mouth.

“Cadence? Are you okay?” Scott asks.

“I don’t know. No.” That’s it. That’s all that will come out. My mind is whirling.

“Cadence, listen to me. This isn’t the end of the world. He goes on to say that you are most likely still in the denial stage, moving toward acceptance. He says that most alcoholics go through it.” Scott laughs. “Hell, I could have told him that.” He pauses a moment. “He does say in his notes that you don’t think you’re an alcoholic. Did you say that?”

“I said I was struggling with it. At least, that’s what I meant to say.” The tears are right there again, threatening to take over. “Oh God, did I screw it up? Did I just completely screw up my chances? I was trying to be honest, Scott. Everyone was telling me to be honest, so I was.”

“It will be okay, Cadence,” Scott says. His tone is low and soothing. “He still has to talk to your mother, plus whatever he thinks about Martin and his mother is going to make a huge difference in any kind of final recommendation.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to believe him. I can’t believe anything else.

“There’s one more thing. He wants to meet with you and Martin together, too.”

“Oh. Is that normal?”

“It depends on the situation.”

“Okay. So is it a good sign or a bad sign?”

He sighs. “It just means he wants to see how you two interact. The dynamics of your relationship, how you communicate with each other. I suppose you should see that as good. Hopefully, it means he hasn’t made up his mind after meeting with each of you alone. He needs more information. It’ll be fine. “

“Okay.” I hang up the phone. I remain on the couch for a while, continuing to stare out the window, numbly replaying the memory of my meeting with Mr. Hines. I can’t go back, I realize. I can’t change what I said or what he thought. I just need to figure out how to move forward. I need to find a way to fix this.

I write a note to my son. I tell him how much I love and miss him, and that I can’t wait to hug and snuggle him in a few days. I include the joke: “Why is eight afraid of seven? Because seven ate nine.” After getting a stamp on it, I put it in my purse, deciding I’ll drop it in the mailbox on my way to the
Herald
to see Peter.

In addition to putting the house on the market, I’ve decided to ask for my job back. Nadine is right. Not only do I need to make money, I need a set routine to keep my mind on task so that I don’t venture into dark, dangerous territory. For now, at least, wide open stretches of time are just too much freedom. It’s the equivalent of a dog tearing loose across an open prairie when it is much better suited to the safety of a securely fenced backyard.

Walking back into the newsroom is a little like returning to my childhood home. I’m immediately struck by the familiar sight of reporters hunched at their desks behind stacks of paper, furiously typing away at their computers; the pungent scent of fresh ink pressed into paper. The buzz of voices and phones ringing soothes me—I used to be able to write with anything going on around me. It wasn’t until Charlie was born that I lost my ability to focus. A panic button set off inside me at the sound of his cry; as a result, I suddenly became hyperaware of every little sound, unable to block extraneous noise.