Best Kept Secret: A Novel

Nadine sits across from me at a meeting the morning after my dinner with Jess. Her flame orange tresses are spiked in a wild, porcupine mess and her vermillion lips stand out as a striking but friendly gash carved against her pale, powdered face. Her skin has the softly wrinkled quality of a slightly overripe apricot. Sparkling green eyes regard me from behind her glasses as she talks about the peace she finds in AA.

“I’ve got ANTs,” she says with a grin. “Assorted negative thoughts. They crawl through my brain causing trouble, but what I hear in these rooms manages to squash them, so I don’t have to reach for a drink to drown them out. Little bastards keep coming back, though, so here I am. You all are my exterminators. That’s all I’ve got. Thanks.”

As she picks up the knitting project she had set in her lap while she was speaking, the other people in the room give a collective chuckle, including me. This is such an accurate image of how my own head feels most the time: my brain as an ANT farm.

I came because I knew Nadine would be here. I need to get a sponsor. Someone to help guide me through how to do the work. I have heard about it constantly during the meetings, these “steps” I need to take. I have no clue how to begin. I have a bizarre suspicion this mouthy, brilliant-haired, ANT-ridden recovering alcoholic might just be the person to walk me through.

After the meeting ends and I’m waiting to talk with Nadine, Vince approaches me. A petite woman who appears to be about my age, with dirty blond hair and shaking hands, walks next to him. She wears baggy blue jeans and a heavily pilled, oversize green sweater.

“Cadence,” Vince says, “I’d like you to meet Trina. This is her first meeting.”

“Hi,” I say, keeping an eye on Nadine to make sure she doesn’t slip out before I get a chance to talk with her. Asking her to become my sponsor is not the kind of conversation I want to have over the phone.

“Nice to meet you,” Trina says in a tiny voice. She doesn’t lift her gaze from the floor.

“How’ve you been?” Vince asks me.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess. Hanging in there.”

“Just taking the next indicated step, huh?”

I nod, though I’m not exactly sure what he means. Another reason I need to get a sponsor. There are moments I feel like I need a translator for some of what gets said at meetings.

“I thought you might be able to give Trina your number,” Vince says. “Being that she’s new and all.”

“Oh,” I say, pulling my chin back into my chest a little. “Okay. Sure.” I rummage through my purse and manage to find an old grocery receipt. I check it to make sure it’s not one with a wine purchase listed, then scribble my name on the back with my phone number and e-mail address.

“Thank you,” Trina practically whispers as she shoves the paper in the front pocket of her jeans. “I have to get going.” She gives us a short wave and speeds out the doors.

Vince laughs. “See? You two have something in common already.”

I smile at him. “Cute.”

“Who, me?” he says. “Why, thank you.” He gives me a quick, unexpected hug, and my nose is suddenly pressed into his neck. Along with a natural, slightly wood-smoke male muskiness, his skin has a clean soap-and-water scent. My stomach lurches a bit as I realize just how long it’s been since I’ve felt a man’s touch.

I pull back and look at him, unnerved by the glint in his green eyes.

“Are you bothering this poor girl, Vincent?” Nadine says as she approaches us.

“Now, why would you say that, Miss Nadine?” he says with a smile. “Excuse me, ladies, I have to get to the office. I’ll talk with you later, Cadence.”

“ ’Bye,” I say. “Take care.” I turn toward Nadine. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You’re becoming a regular.” She leans in to hug me, a quick, voracious movement. There is such power, such an emphatic understanding in her touch. I want to know how to have this, how to give it to others.

“Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee with me?” I ask. I’m not sure where this courage is coming from. Something is compelling me to push past the usual fears that would normally hold me back.

“I do.” She smiles. “There’s a shop just around the corner, Wholly Grounds? Do you know it?”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to think about what had happened there with Susanne and the other mothers. “I’m a regular. See you there in a few minutes?”

Once we both arrive and order our drinks, we settle into the plush, dark brown velvet chairs by a flickering faux fireplace.

“Mmm.” Nadine leans back, holding the large mug with both hands, palms wrapped around it to warm them. “I love my coffee, don’t you?”

“Definitely. Another addiction of mine, I suppose.” I sip my own drink, unsure of exactly how to do this. Nadine must sense this, because she takes a swallow of her coffee, then speaks.

“So, tell me, Cadence. Why am I here?” She is nothing if not direct.

I laugh a bit nervously. “Well, I’m in a treatment program at Promises?”

She nods. “I have several sponsees who’ve gone there.”

“Oh.” I pause. “So I need to get a sponsor. I know you offered to before and I’m not sure exactly how this works and what it really means. But I think I need one. I’ve got so much going on and I’m going to eventually lose Andi—she’s my counselor at Promises—and I think she’s really the only person I’ve trusted in a long time, you know?” I take a deep breath after rambling all this out on a single exhalation.

Nadine smiles, sets her coffee on the flat stone surface next to the fireplace. “Slow down, honey, you’ll hyperventilate.”

I grimace self-consciously. “Sorry.” I take another slow breath in. “I know I haven’t shared much in meetings. I’ve been too scared when I get called on, so I’ve passed. But I’m in the middle of a custody dispute for my son.” I reach into my purse, pull out a picture of Charlie, and show it to her.

“He’s gorgeous,” she says. “Look at that grin. How old?”

“He’ll be six in August,” I say, and for some reason, a lump begins to form in my throat. I set the mug down on the squat wooden table between us. “So, is there an application process or something for this sponsor thing? Is this like a job interview? Do you have to get back to me?”

She chuckles, eyes sparkling in amusement. “No application necessary. It’s not that formal a process, really.” She smiles warmly, but the expression behind her eyes is clearly serious. “I would be happy to be your sponsor, Cadence. We can talk more about what that means as we go along. But the first thing is I need to know if you are willing to do what I suggest.”

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?” I ask warily.

“That you be willing to do what I suggest.” She gives me a closed-lipped smile, and I have to rein in the bit of frustration I feel for fear she’ll see it on my face. None of this makes sense to me. “For example,” she goes on, as though sensing I need further explanation, “how would you feel if I asked you to go to ninety meetings in ninety days. Would you be willing to do that?”

I consider this. My immediate reaction is hell no. “Ninety? In a row?”

“Without missing one. If you do, you start over.” She cocks her head to the side, giving me a bemused smile. “How would that feel to you?”

“Irritating,” I say, and she laughs again.

“Well, honesty is good. I’d rather that than have you try to blow sunshine up my butt.” She clasps her creased, slightly leathery hands together as though in prayer. “You’ve been in treatment, so I won’t ask you to do the ninety-in-ninety thing. I will ask that you call me every day. And we should get together at least a couple times a month outside of meetings. How does that sound?”

I nod, a little stilted. “I think I can do that. What are we supposed to talk about when I call?”

“Anything you need to. Whatever’s on your mind. How you’re feeling, whether you slept poorly, if your ex-husband is pissing you off . . .” She gives me a meaningful look. “They have a nasty tendency to do that, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” I ask, reaching for my coffee again to finish it off, “Are you divorced?”

“Yep. Four-time loser.”

“Four?” It’s impossible to keep the astonishment out of my tone, or off my face.

“Yeah, I’m a slow learner.” She grins. “I’m dating someone right now, though. But I’m only using him for sex.”

It’s my turn to laugh loud enough to turn the other patrons’ heads. I’m starting to really like this woman.

“What?” Nadine bats her eyelashes in an unsuccessful attempt to look innocent. “I’m not dead yet.”

“Definitely not.” I swallow the last of my coffee, savoring all the gooey sweetness at the bottom of the cup.

“What do you do for work?” she asks me, setting her empty cup on the table next to her.

I sigh, fingering the edge of my mug. “I’m sort of in limbo right now. I was a reporter for the Herald, and then a freelance writer, but all of that pretty much went by the wayside when I started drinking. I’ve had a hard time getting back into it. I think it might be time for a career change.” What kind of career change, I still don’t know.

Nadine gives me a concerned look. “What do you do all day, then?”

I shrug. “I go to treatment and meetings. And cook a little, for my son. Things I can put in the freezer for when he comes home.” My voice shakes as I say this last sentence. “I probably watch too much TV.”

“You need more structure than that,” Nadine says sternly. “You need to get out in the world. Isolation is bad news.”

“I have no idea what else I could do.”

“What you do is not as important as the fact that you get off your duff and do it.” She glances over to the counter. “Maybe they’re hiring here.”

“Um, I don’t think I want to be a barista.”

“Why not? Serving others is a great lesson in humility.”

“I think I’ve humiliated myself enough.”

“Humiliation is about shame. Becoming humble is about being of use to others. It helps you get off the self-pity pot and stop wallowing around in your own crap.” She grins. “Think about it, at least.”

“Is that a suggestion?” I tease her.

“You bet your sweet bippy it is.” We stand and begin to gather our things, getting ready to leave. “Oh, and just so you know,” she says, “one of my other ‘suggestions’ is no dating for at least the first year of sobriety.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s pretty much the last thing on my mind.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives me a pointed look. “I’ve seen Vince talking with you. He’s a charmer. A good man, but a charmer nonetheless.”

“Nadine, he was just introducing me to a woman who was at a meeting for the first time. That’s it. I promise.”

“And he gave you his ninety-day coin a couple of weeks ago.”

“How did you know that?” I ask with a single raised eyebrow.

“He told me.” She pats my forearm. “Now, I’m not accusing you of anything, honey. I just want you to be careful with your heart. Let’s say we help you get to know it better before you just give it away.”