knowing there were meetings on the island but not going to them.
Perhaps if I had found my way to them, what happened with Aidan wouldn’t have happened. I can’t dwell on the what-ifs, though; I can only make sure I don’t fuck up again, and the best way I know to stop that happening is to get to a meeting, as soon as I possibly can.
* * *
I get the shopping done, and we make it through dinner, but only just. We are all so tired we can barely keep our heads from falling into our pan-roasted scallops with brown butter and herbs. We don’t even bother washing up, just pile the plates into the sink, hug one another good night, and go upstairs to our respective rooms.
Tomorrow is, after all, another day.
Twenty-three
I drifted to sleep last night thinking I would creep out of the house in the morning, not waking anyone up, but of course we are all on British time, and I’m the last one down. Sam is trying to figure out how to use the coffeemaker; Annie gets up from the sofa on the sun porch to come in and give me a hug. She is bikini ready, and I watch her go back to the porch, a little stunned at how womanly she is. I still think of her as such a little girl, yet look at her in this bikini, curvy as anything, her waist a tiny hourglass. She is not my little baby anymore, much as I want to pretend she is
“I’ve got it!” Sam announces, sliding the filter holder out of the machine and pouring the ground coffee in. “Thank Christ! Finally figured out how this bloody thing works. Annie? Do you still want coffee?”
“What?” I say. “Since when does Annie drink coffee?”
“She said she’d have some when I figured it out. Is that okay?” He looks at me doubtfully.
“I suppose so.” I shake my head. “I just … I’m realizing she’s much more grown up than I think.”
“With a figure like that?” says Sam. “You think? Where are you off to, anyway?”
“A meeting.”
“Here? On vacation?” He grimaces. “Isn’t this the time you should just be relaxing?”
“No. This is exactly the time when I need a meeting most! When I’m off my guard. I told you the story of what happened last time. I definitely need a meeting.”
“Don’t you think what happened last time was because you were young and foolish rather than because you hadn’t been to a meeting?” He is as skeptical as he always is when the conversation veers toward alcohol, and I wonder, not for the first time, why he is so resistant to the subject.
“If you stay away from meetings,” I say, “you forget what happens to people who don’t go to meetings.”
He opens his eyes wide. “Ominous! What happens? They get to spend the day on the beach sunbathing?”
“Ha ha. I’m not cutting into sunbathing time. It’s six thirty in the morning, for God’s sake.”
“I know. I don’t think I’ve seen six thirty in the morning in twenty years.” He peers out the window. “It’s rather lovely. I might go for a run.”
“I’ll see you later.” I blow him a kiss before climbing into the car.
* * *
I have never been to this center before, never been to this building, yet I know every person in here. I know the faded Oriental rugs on the tiled floor, the old dark brown kitchen cabinets in the corner, know I can step into the little kitchen and find a pot of fresh coffee and something sugary and sweet.
I know the big poster hanging on the wall, the 12 steps, by heart. I know the needlepoints of the Serenity Prayer, and the faded old prints on the wall, all with an AA theme.
And I know the people. I recognize the look we have, all of us who have lived a little too hard, partied a little too long, done everything a little harder, faster, longer. Addicts and alcoholics. People of extremes.
We are, as a group, often too fat, or too thin. We are too tanned. Our fashion sense is out there. But our hearts? Our hearts are as big as the ocean.
Everyone smiles a hello, reaching out a hand to introduce themselves. I grab coffee, then sink down onto a suedette sofa to one side—what is it with suedette sofas in this country?—as people start to fill up the rows of chairs facing two chairs in front of the sliding