Chapter 11
I stepped onto Henry’s patio four days ago on a mission to find a distraction and boy did I ever find one.
Any free moment since, I used it to do some online investigating.
Not that I was stalking the man or anything, just curious as to how he’d managed to become an international bestselling author while keeping his identity under wraps.
Reddit forums and TikTok videos had gone nuts over conspiracy theories about who the elusive H.
M. Rossi could be. More than a few theorized that another famous female author was behind the pen name.
Several actors’ names had also been tossed into the ever-growing pool of speculation.
An article in Publishers Weekly focused on the mystery of the author’s identity and how it seemed to be a driving force behind the astronomical book sales.
Why in the world was Henry still teaching? Better yet, why had he shared such an epic secret with the likes of me, an alcoholic who came home from an AA meeting with a busted mouth? I sure wouldn’t trust me.
Lana was a huge fan and I picked up the phone several times to call her, but my estrangement with Cy extended to his wife, so I left her alone. Seemed that was the best thing I could do for my family. Just leave them alone.
Besides that, for some reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, I wanted to help protect Henry.
With Henry’s secret fresh on my mind, I was barely paying attention during tonight’s AA meeting at the Methodist church, where a young guy named Kason blamed his parents for his addiction. His whining reminded me too much of myself. Especially after that first stint in rehab years ago.
I hadn’t seen it then, but I did now. The denial.
The blame game. It’s everyone else’s fault, not mine.
The victimizing. I blamed it all on my parents too.
All the way back to my first stolen taste of alcohol at some fundraiser my parents were hosting to save the trees.
They didn’t even notice that I got drunk that night, later getting sick from it.
But this time around, I knew that, sure, some of my problems stemmed from not getting what I needed from my parents emotionally, but I couldn’t blame them for my choices. That was on me.
“My dad said I can’t come back home if I don’t attend these stupid meetings.
” Kason peppered his complaint with colorful words.
Shocked, I scanned the room but didn’t find Betty or the two other church ladies clutching their pearls.
They just looked concerned. Listening to Kason drone on about how no one understood him, it was clear he wasn’t ready for help.
I just hoped he lived long enough to change his mind.
Between Kason’s whining and me stewing over Henry’s secret, my agitation level was through the roof by the time I arrived home.
Instead of going inside, I stomped next door and found the famous author in his usual spot on the patio.
I placed the Styrofoam container beside Henry’s empty cereal bowl and crossed my arms, waiting for him to finish typing.
His fingers stilled and he glanced up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Huffing, I flicked a wrist toward the to-go plate. “I brought you some supper.”
“Thank you?” He eyed me suspiciously as he slid the laptop out of the way and replaced it with the plate. He flipped open the lid and inspected the contents as if it might be poisonous. “I haven’t had chicken bog in forever.”
“The church ladies like to feed us alcoholics at our AA meeting.” I took the seat across from him and continued to glare.
“That’s really nice of them.” Henry swiped the spoon from his bowl and shoveled it into the mound of chicken, sausage, and rice. He completely ignored the flippant tone of my comment, like he knew me so well, but he didn’t.
“What do you know about me?”
The spoon was halfway to his mouth. It hung midair as he narrowed his eyes, looking like a man fearful his next step could possibly cause something to blow up. “What do you mean?”
“The facts, sir. What do you know about me?” I smoothed my thumb over my fingernails.
“Why?”
I jabbed a finger at him. “Stop answering my questions with more questions.”
Henry dropped the spoon into the plate without eating any and rubbed his forehead. “Clearly, I’ve messed up somehow and I’d rather you just be straight with me about it.”
“We’ve known each other for less than two months. We’re neighbors.” I slashed my hand through the air. “Not even friends. The only thing you know about me is that I’m unemployed and a recovering addict.”
Henry shook his head. “You’re not unemployed. You have a dog walking business.”
That surprised me, him knowing about the dogs, but this was a small island. “The point is you hardly know me, so I don’t understand why you felt it was safe to tell me your secret.”
Henry chuckled, looking relieved, which only confused me. He picked up the spoon and took a big bite.
“It’s not funny. I could expose you in an interview with a gossip magazine for a pretty penny.” I straightened in the chair. “Or secretly film you typing and post it on social media. It would go viral and I’d make bank.”
He frowned. “Wait. Are you here to blackmail me?”
I snorted. “No, but you’re lucky I don’t. Seriously, you shouldn’t dump a secret like that all willy-nilly. That’s a lot of pressure on me.”
“I didn’t think about it like that. I’m sorry.”
I held a palm up. “Just eat. Your secret is safe with me, but you need to be aware that I’m good and well ticked about it.”
“That’s fair.” Henry loaded his spoon with green beans. “But you should be aware that we are, in fact, friends.”
Another snort. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. My friend made me coffee. My friend shares her food with me. My friend is keeping my very important secret.”
I crossed my arms and scoffed. “Seems like a really lopsided friendship. No thanks.”
Unperturbed, Henry lifted a shoulder, then dove back into the chicken bog.
Our exchange seemed to be bordering on the lines of flirting. I needed to leave well enough alone and go home, but my body wouldn’t budge from the chair.
I angled toward the pool and watched the water sparkle underneath the patio lights while listening to the hushed roar of the ocean waves.
I loved how the ocean sounded so different in the dark.
Without the sense of sight, the sense of hearing intensified and allowed me to fully focus on the lullaby.
No wonder so many sleep apps included ocean waves.
The Styrofoam squeaked as Henry shut it, breaking the quiet spell. Still not ready to call it a night, I reached into my bag and produced the Ziploc bag of brownies. “They gave me these too. It’s not cereal but still has plenty of sugar.”
Henry took one, re-zipped the plastic bag, then tried giving it back.
Yawning, I shook my head. “No. You can’t live on cereal alone. Keep it.”
“Thanks.” He scarfed the brownie in two bites and swiped another. “How’d your meeting go?”
“Fine.”
“Does attending a support group seem to be helping you with your sobriety?”
“Sure.”
“Fine and sure . . .” Henry sat back and shook his head. “You’ve read my stories, right?”
“Yes. All of them.”
“It’s only fair that you’d let me read yours.”
I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not a fun read.”
He took a long pull from his refillable water bottle. “Not all stories have to be fun to be intriguing. And you, you intrigue me.”
“Of course. Train wrecks are intriguing,” I said quickly, brushing off his comment.
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it before anything escaped.
“Just go ahead and ask.”
His eyes cut toward the shore past my shoulder, then back to me. “How . . . When did you realize you had a problem with alcohol?”
“I guess in my late teens.” I took the clip out of my hair and massaged my scalp. “You know how when you’re filling a glass, you know to stop when reaching the rim?”
“Yeah.”
“When I drink, I can’t see the rim. I just keep filling until it’s way past full.
Pouring over and making an absolute gaum.
I’ve been clean for a little over six months, but staying clean is a slippery slope.
I ask God every day to take the taste of unhealthy out of my mouth.
I’m scared I’m gonna forget to ask one day and end up failing again. ”
“Then I’ll pray too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Okay.” It was a nice thought, but I seriously doubted he had any real intentions on following through.
Henry leaned to the side and plucked his phone from his pocket. “I know we’re not friends or anything, but whattaya say we exchange numbers.”
My face scrunched. “What for?”
“In case of emergencies or something.”
I couldn’t think of a good reason not to, so I took out my phone and created a new contact under the name of Mr. Mystery. Once I saved my sixth contact, I pushed the chair back and stood. “Goodnight, Mr. Mystery.”
Henry chuckled. “Goodnight, Junie.”
Sharing that little part of my struggle with sobriety with Henry actually made me feel lighter, like I’d been lugging around a bulky bag of stones and was finally relieved to be able to put it down. Maybe those counselors and Gilbert knew what they were talking about after all.