Page 39 of Sapphire Spring

Pari took a long inhale that raised her bare shoulders, thenlooked out to sea. “I’ll have toclose downmyworkshop in LA next month because I won’t be able to make rent. Callie saysshe’ll stay on as long as she can without pay, but she’s got a baby on the way.Everyone else, I…”

Pari’s jaw quivered, and the next thing Naser knew, hissister’s words had been lost to her tears. She bowed her head as she cried intoone fist.

They rarely hugged, so Naser pulled his chair close to herlounger and reached out for the hand she wasn’t holding to her mouth. To hissurprise, she let him take it and didn’t resist when he gripped it firmly. “Italk a lot of shit, but I’m not ready to quit,” she finally croaked. “Still,last night, I threw it like it was my goodbye party just in case. That’s why Iwanted Maman there.”

“It’s not goodbye. Not yet.”

Pari lifted her head and removed her sunglasses, letting himsee her tears—her vulnerability—for the first time in he couldn’t remember howlong.

“Okay, well you’re not alone. I made some connections lastnight. But Fareena’s big investor didn’t show, apparently.”

Naser’s stomach roiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Naser-joon,”she whispered.

Then he went inside to call down and order his sisteranother mimosa.

13

The Ferrari was in better shape thanhe’dfeared, butbacking it out of the sand took severalminutes and didn’t do much for his pounding headache.

In the shower, the throbbing in his temples lessened, but itdidn’t abate. Cranking the water to near scalding helped. He managed not tothrow up as he got dressed, which seemed like a victory, but every few minutes,he had to sit and breathe for a while, and all told, it took him about an hourto put on blue jeans and a polo shirt.

Once he was dressed, he returned to the kitchen. The coffeemug Shirley had poured for him was still sitting on the glass table. It wascold now, so he popped it in the microwave, set the timer for thirty seconds,and lost himself in thought as he watched it spin. No matter what happened,coffee would always have a different association for him now. It would remindhim of Shirley Baxter’s unexpected kindness and maternal patience.

Maybe that’s why, when it was done heating up, heactually drankmost of it.

At two hours on the dot, he heard three short beeps of a carhorn outside. He screwed on an Anaheim Ducks baseball cap he’d never wornanywhere but the gym and popped on a pair of sunglasses, hoping both would worktogether to hide his hungover state. Then he went outside to find ShirleyBaxter smiling and waving at him behind the wheel of her white Tesla Model S.She’d blown out her hair, put on a full face of makeup, and changed into awhite silk blouse that matched her car.

She drove considerately, given his condition, but his headstill spun whenever she took a corner. “Where weeating?”he finally asked, even though the thought of food made his stomach lurch.

“We’re stopping off somewhere else first.”

He knew better than to ask where. He had the sense that if yougave yourself over to the care of a woman like Shirley, there was no doing it halfway.

When she turned into the crowded parking lot of a cliffsidepark in Laguna Beach, he was struck by a terrifying three-word thought—children’sbirthday party. He braced himself for screaming eight-year-olds, figuring itwas a fitting punishment for all the loud parties to which he’d subjected thewoman next to him.

Then he saw the knot of smokers standing outside the littlesloped-roof public building he and Shirley were headed toward and realized thiswould be a grown-up affair. Possibly a rough one given the tattoo sleeves onsome of the smokers. Then they were inside the building, a drab community roomwith stunning views of the sparkling, blue ocean through its floor-to-ceilingwindows and a coffee smell so strong it might have knocked him on his ass evenif he wasn’t hung over.

And that’s when he knew.

Knew even before he saw the scroll hanging from one wallthat had the twelve steps written on it. Knewgoodandwell what she’d rooked him into, and his first thought was,Aw, Jesus H.Christ, lady.

But a kind of shock set in, super powered by exhaustion, andsuddenly Shirley was introducing him topeopleandthey were all pumping his hand with enough energy to send him a littleoff-balance. And even though this was an honest-to-God AA meeting, they allseemed happier than he’d been in years. And they all knew Shirley well. Becausethis was her thing, apparently. This was why she knew how to clean out thesecret stashes and medicine cabinets of guys on the verge of an overdose or afatal car crash.

Suddenly they were all settling into a large circle ofchairs. Someone placed a paper plate on his lap that had three big sugary doughnutson it. “Sugar’s gonna be your friend for a while,” they said. But by the timeMason could thank them or see them, the person was gone, Shirley was sittingnext to him, and he was scarfing down a doughnut as everyone got quiet.

Someone read something, then someone else read something else.It felt and sounded vaguely churchy. There were a few mentions of God that madehim flinch. But he also heard phrases likethe only requirement formembership is a desire to stop drinkingandwe have no dues or membershipfees, both of which threw a wrench in his suspicions that someone wasgoing to hit him up for a donation. But if it was expensive to hang out here,most of the crowd didn’t look like they could afford it. Diverse barely cameclose to describing the group. The outfits suggested a variety of economicbackgrounds. Some folks looked fresh from prison. Others looked like they’djust rolled in from the yacht club. And they were all doing something in turn,Mason realized with a jolt. Each one of them was saying their name, andsomething else right after.

A label.

A brand.

A diagnosis of sorts.

An admission.

Then the whole group said their name right back.

---