At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,44
near Fogarty's farm and—"
"No," she said, starting to cry. "It's Gramma Del and she's gone."
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After a good meeting Ben always felt like he could whip his weight in polar bear. If you'd told him five years ago that he'd be spilling his guts in front of a bunch of other drunks almost every night he would have laughed in your face and reached for another whiskey, but damned if that wasn't exactly what he was doing.
Too bad this hadn't been a good meeting. They had probed too deeply tonight. Or maybe he was feeling too exposed. Questions seemed to carry a sting; comments were thick with innuendo. When the group leader mentioned they were negotiating with Simon Chase's Gazette for meeting space in the basement, it was all Ben could do to keep from telling them all to fuck themselves and walking out.
What he wanted was to get drunk.
He'd been attending meetings over near Boothbay for almost six months now and he'd been dry for seven. One day at a time. That's what they said. One painful uneasy day at a time. Just keep stringing those days together and don't take anything for granted. There were no guarantees. Nobody could promise you that you would never take another drink. That part was up to you.
The first time he'd walked into a meeting he'd been shocked by the familiar faces all around him. He knew Bill Minelli and Richie Cohan liked their booze but he hadn't figured it was a problem for either one of them. They were happy drunks, hail-fellow-well-met types whose presence turned good bars into great ones. Mitzi Baines and her married sister Tabitha were there too. They sat together on the far side of the room and tired hard to be invisible. Mitzi taught second grade at Idle Point Elementary while Tabitha worked as an office assistant at the Gazette. Mr. Hennessey from the bank shocked hell out of him when he walked into the room and greeted everybody like long lost friends. Hennessey? He looked like the kind of guy who slept in a suit and tie, real buttoned-down, always in control. Not a pathetic drunk like Ben himself.
There was something about finding out that some of the best people in town had the same problems as you that made your problems seem less insurmountable. Looking at the world through clear eyes took a hell of a lot of getting used to. You needed all the help you could get. Without booze to dull the sharp edges of your mistakes, those mistakes cut into your every waking hour. His hatred of Simon Chase had always been clear and sharp to him, even through the murk of whiskey and wine. It had survived both blackouts and sobriety intact. How it must have amused the bastard to have Del working for him. His enemy brought so low that his mother had to cook for the man who destroyed his family. That's what booze did to you. Wrecked your pride, humbled your family, made you forget why you were put on the earth.
But it was coming back to him now. Every day he regained a new piece of his past. Sometimes the memories crashed over him like waves during a nor'easter and all he could do was wait them out. He had done everything possible to blot out the memory of the early years with Mona, the good years, but they came back to him unexpectedly, in detail he'd thought lost to time. He wasn't her first choice but he had done right by her. He had loved her enough to accept whatever she could offer him and not ask for more. She had made her peace with it and they had been happy together, at least for awhile. Nobody could tell him otherwise. They were going to have a big family, sons to carry on his name, daughters to care for them in their old age. The old house by the docks would rock with love and laughter. They were going to be together for the rest of their lives.
So many dreams.
The years passed and the dreams of a house filled with children were put aside. They grew apart and just when it had seemed as if saying goodbye was the only thing they could do that made any sense, Mona came to him and told him she was pregnant and the world came alive again.
He should have known happiness like that was never meant to last.
It hurt,