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There were twelve in all. After hearing them read aloud at the beginning of every meeting he’d
attended, Dan knew them by heart. “ ‘Admitted to God, ourselves, and another human being the exact
nature of our wrongs.’ ”
“Yuh.” Casey lifted his coffee cup, sipped, and looked at Dan over the rim. “Have you done that
one?”
“Most of it.” Dan found himself wishing he were somewhere else. Almost anywhere else. Also—for
the first time in quite awhile—he found himself wishing for a drink.
“Let me guess. You’ve told yourself all of your wrongs, and you’ve told the God of your notunderstanding
all of your wrongs, and you’ve told one other person—that would be me—most of your
wrongs. Would that be a bingo?”
Dan said nothing.
“Here’s what I think,” Casey said, “and you’re welcome to correct me if I’m wrong. Steps eight and
nine are about cleaning up the wreckage we left behind when we were drunk on our asses pretty much
twenty-four/seven. I think at least part of your work at the hospice, the important part, is about
making those amends. And I think there’s one wrong you can’t quite get past because you’re too
fucking ashamed to talk about it. If that’s the case, you wouldn’t be the first, believe me.”
Dan thought: Mama.
Dan thought: Canny.
He saw the red wallet and the pathetic wad of food stamps. He also saw a little money. Seventy
dollars, enough for a four-day drunk. Five if it was parceled out carefully and food was kept to a bare
nutritional minimum. He saw the money first in his hand and then going into his pocket. He saw the
kid in the Braves shirt and the sagging diaper.
He thought: The kid’s name was Tommy.
He thought, not for the first time or the last: I will never speak of this.
“Danno? Is there anything you want to tell me? I think there is. I don’t know how long you’ve been
dragging the motherfucker around, but you can leave it with me and walk out of here a hundred
pounds lighter. That’s how it works.”
He thought of how the kid had trotted to his mother
(Deenie her name was Deenie)
and how, even deep in her drunken slumber, she had put an arm around him and hugged him close.
They had been face-to-face in the morning sun shafting through the bedroom’s dirty window.
“There’s nothing,” he said.
“Let it go, Dan. I’m telling you that as your friend as well as your sponsor.”
Dan gazed at the other man steadily and said nothing.
Casey sighed. “How many meetings have you been at where someone said you’re only as sick as
your secrets? A hundred? Probably a thousand. Of all the old AA chestnuts, that’s just about the
oldest.”
Dan said nothing.
“We all have a bottom,” Casey said. “Someday you’re going to have to tell somebody about yours.
If you don’t, somewhere down the line you’re going to find yourself in a bar with a drink in your
hand.”
“Message received,” Dan said. “Now can we talk about the Red Sox?”
Casey looked at his watch. “Another time. I’ve got to get home.”
Right, Dan thought. To your dog and your goldfish.
“Okay.” He grabbed the check before Casey could. “Another time.”