Chapter 20
I arrived early at the Methodist church, still thinking about Henry’s words—fight for your daughter—and still feeling that hug. I liked both too much, but only one of those had any business taking up space in my mind.
The fellowship hall door opened just as I reached for it.
Betty popped her head out. “I thought that was you, Junie.”
“Hi, Betty. Could you use a dishwasher?” I held my palm up, volunteering.
“You’re so sweet. Come on.” Betty strode into the kitchen with the ever-present pep in her step. I hoped I aged as well as this one. “I’m making deli sandwiches and I made a cookie platter earlier. So not too much of a mess.”
I went straight to the sink and started the dishwater just like I did earlier at Olla’s. Only a few mixing bowls and a cutting board. This mindless task wouldn’t take long. “Feel free to make a bigger mess. I’m in need of a distraction today.”
“Aww. You poor thing. Having a bad day?”
“Most days.” I shrugged. “Can I ask you something?”
She held a small watermelon in place and sliced into it. “Sure, sweetie.”
I rinsed a serving spoon and placed it in the dish rack. “Why do you prepare us a meal every week? Isn’t that a lot on you?”
“There’s no more than fifteen people most meetings. That’s not very large.” Betty used the back of her hand to brush a lock of red hair off her cheek.
That sounded like a lot to me. “But why do you do it?”
Her warm smile faded, and I wished I could backtrack and keep my mouth shut.
“My husband Ernest . . . he struggled with the bottle. Drank himself to death. I never understood why he couldn’t just stop, so after his death I came to this open meeting to try figuring it out.
” She emptied a colander of strawberries onto a glass platter and handed it to me.
I plunged the colander into the soapy water and started scrubbing even though a rinse was all it needed.
Betty’s words reminded me of what Gilbert told me that first night here when I griped about Betty and her two friends being at the meeting, how he explained they wanted to understand.
I’d been so insensitive that night and almost blurted an apology to Betty, but she continued before I worked up enough nerve to do it.
She didn’t know I owed her an apology, anyway.
Maybe my helping her and thanking her was apology enough.
“That first meeting Reggie talked about cell phones. Asked us how many times a day we picked ours up.” She plucked green grapes off the stem and added them to the strawberries. “Do you have any idea how many times you pick yours up in a day?”
I shook my head. “It’s probably embarrassingly high. I check for texts before I even get out of bed. I check the weather app before taking the dogs for walks. I check emails and social media. My Etsy page. I’m constantly looking something up on the Internet . . .” I shrugged again.
“Same. I text back and forth with my daughters all day. I catch up with friends on the Facebook. It’s basically always within reach. Reggie said one website listed that the average American picks up their phone nearly a hundred and fifty times a day!”
I did a double take. “One hundred and fifty times? You think that’s right?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I tried counting one day. Since I was more aware, I probably didn’t do it as much, but I reached eighty times before bed.”
“Wow. That’s . . . wow.” I shook my head. “Why was Reggie telling y’all about this?”
“He asked us to imagine being told we could never pick our phones up ever again. I couldn’t even imagine it.
Then he said that’s what it feels like for an alcoholic who can never pick up a drink ever again.
They will always have that desire to drink, just like we always have the constant need to check our phones. ”
I thought about earlier. How I craved picking up a fancy glass of wine. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“That first meeting was seven years ago, and I’ve been attending ever since. I started making the meals, wanting to give the attendees some kind of comfort.” Betty sighed a laugh. “You know us Southerners love to feed folks. It’s my love language.”
“Well, I really appreciate all you do. More than the food. You always welcome me with such warmth, like you’re really happy to see me.”
Betty’s hand came to a rest on my forearm. “Because I am, sweetie. I can’t bring my Ernest back, but it blesses me to be able to make a difference—no matter how small—to others struggling with addiction.”
I dried my hands and wrapped my arms around Betty. She looked nothing like Olla, but she reminded me of my grandmother, nonetheless. The world needed more Bettys and Ollas.
With the dishes done, I made the tea about the time everyone started arriving. As I carried over a pitcher to the counter, I saw another person the world needed more of walk through the door.
“Gilbert! What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check on you, especially after yesterday. You hangin’ in there, kid?”
“By a thread, but yes.” I filled a cup with ice and tea and handed it to him. Then I made myself one. “Wanna sit with Maren?”
Gilbert nodded. “Sure.”
We joined Maren and a few others at one of the two tables and indulged in small talk until Reggie stood at the small podium.
“I know it’s only Tuesday, but I hope you are all having a good week so far.” Reggie smiled, making eye contact with each of us as he tended to do. He went over a few announcements and then we got in line to make our plates.
“Why don’t you sit with us and eat, Betty?” I asked as she served me a spoonful of fruit.
“Oh, that’s okay, dear.”
“No, really. I’d love for you to sit and enjoy this food with us. Please.” I glanced over at her two friends behind the counter, Nancy and Diane. “Y’all too.”
They gave each other questioning looks, then Betty shrugged. “Why not?”
We recited the Serenity Prayer and once we were seated, Maren joined Reggie up front.
“Hello. My name is Maren and I’ve been sober for six months and one week.
” She stood a little taller tonight and made eye contact instead of staring at the floor.
“I’ve been going to therapy with my ex-husband and my children.
It was weird at first, but the last two weeks have been better.
We’re finally talking about things we should have talked about a long time ago.
I’d like to encourage you to think about counseling too if you haven’t.
” Maren looked around the room. “There’s a reason we turned to substance abuse.
And we need to figure that out. I understand that now. Or I’m starting to.”
We clapped as she took her seat. I wondered if that’s what Cy and I needed. Counseling, so we could figure things out together.
The meeting wrapped up early, seemed no one was much in the sharing mood. Gilbert walked me out.
“You coming to the house to test me?” I handed him my to-go plate and riffled for my keys.
“Nah. I’ll sneak one on you soon, though.” Gilbert gave me a smug grin. “Say, that was nice what you did with Betty and her friends.”
“It just seemed like the right thing. I didn’t like the division, plus they should be able to enjoy their meals too.”
“So many times there’s a line drawn between the ‘us’ and ‘them’ where it shouldn’t be. I’m glad you’re seeing that.” Gilbert gave me my container, opened his and swiped a strawberry.
I placed my bag and container onto the passenger seat. “Why exactly are you my probation officer?”
“We already talked about this.”
“Yeah, but you doing this as a favor for your judge friend seems kinda flimsy.”
He leaned against the Caddy. “Even though I retired, I still felt like I could be of some use, so I told Archie to keep me in mind if he put someone on probation in my area. No more than thirty minutes. You fit the bill.”
“What about being my sponsor too, though? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“Both roles are to help keep you in line, so no.”
My eyes narrowed, still not buying it completely. “You ever sponsor anyone else while being their probation officer?”
He scrubbed a palm down his cheek. “You’re just full of questions tonight. The answer is no.”
“Why me then?”
“During that initial visit with you in prison, you reminded me of my younger self.”
“What? We both had long blonde hair and boobs?” I joked but he glared.
“You want me to tell you or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then shut that smart mouth of yours and listen.”
Heat crept up my face. “Sorry.”
“From the report, I learned you’d lost your husband and your grandmother in one fell swoop.
I personally know that when grief piles up on someone like that, they can buckle under the weight.
I didn’t see an alcoholic criminal that day.
I saw a young woman buckled underneath a pile of grief.
It was much the same as me when I returned from Vietnam. ”
I swallowed the lump of grief that surfaced from his sentiment, then had to clear my throat. “I don’t know much about that war.”
“All you need to know is it was hell on earth and should have never happened. That’s my opinion anyway.
I lost a lot of people right in front of my eyes.
Talking one minute, gone the next. It was brutal.
I tried drinking those images away, but it only made it worse.
I buckled. Had it not been for my Valerie, I would be dead long ago.
I got another chance to live. Really live.
” Gilbert tapped my chin with his knuckle.
“I want to make sure you get a chance to live too.”
We stood in the dimming day, the sounds of traffic and a dog barking barely registered, because this old man just devastated me. Why would he care to help me?
Maybe it was best to stop questioning it. To just accept it and appreciate it. I could do that but in my own way, of course.
“Oh gosh, Gilly!” I dried my face with my sleeve. “You’re making my eyes leak all over the place!”