Page 40 of Sapphire Spring

To his terror, Mason realized it would soon be his turn.

By the time his abductor spoke up, Mason’s heart wasn’t justracing—it was thundering in his chest like it might explode. The rush ofadrenaline sweeping him was so powerful it made his hangover seem like adistant memory.

“I’m Shirley and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Shirley!” the group roared with deafening goodcheer.

And then all eyes were on Mason.

His throatclosed up.

He stared back at the faces staring at him. Looked forjudgment or disapproval. A reason to leave, an excuse to run.

Insteadhe saw a gallery ofsympathy and understanding, some fear that matched his own, probably from othernewbies like himself. And when his vision of them misted, a few of them noddedencouragingly.

“I’m Mason and I’m…” His throatclosed upagain the way it had when he’d first asked Shirley for help that morning.

When he tried to suck a breath in through his nose, tearsspilled down his face, and he felt himself gnawing angrily on his lower lip.“I’m Mason and I’m…”

Shirley’s hand came to rest gently on his back and rubbed.

“I’m Mason and I’m a…”

When the wordalcoholicfinally came from him, it wasso wrenched by the sob that accompanied it, he was sure they couldn’t understandhim. He buried his face in his hands as he shuddered. It felt like the firstgood cry he’d had since he was a little boy. He was sure they’d ask him toleave. Just step outside to get a hold of himself.

Instead, they said, “Hi, Mason,” in a confident chorus, thenthey applauded his courage.

By the following evening, Shirleyhad taken him to six different meetings, all with different crowds anddifferent flavors.

This wasn’t the AA he’d seen in movies, with its grim basements,lazily spinning fans, and broken ex-cons. These were people living at fulltilt, without the obstructions of hangovers and missing time and paralyzing shame.They were bright-eyed and social and full of energy. And they ate sweets almostconstantly. The names and phone numbers came fast and furious and from too manydifferent types of people for him to dismiss them as come-ons. A few pelted himwith questions he didn’t know how to answer. Did he have a sponsor? A homegroup? How much time did he have? That’s when Shirley wouldpolitely butt in and tell everyone he was a newcomer.

At one of the meetings, the lead speaker talked aboutsomething they called the eighth and ninth steps. Each time he’d mentionedthem, Mason had looked to where they were written on a scroll hanging from thewall behind the speaker’s chair.

8. Made a list of all persons we hadharmed, andbecame willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people whereverpossible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Direct amends.

It sounded intense, and the speaker’s story had confirmedit.

The man had abandoned his kids when they were five and six.When he cleaned up his act and tried to make contact, his ex-wife had forgivenhim without letting him back in, and that was her right and always would be,he’d said. Getting better meant being better, he’d assured them. Doing better.Day by day, minute by minute.

And he was trying to be a better parent to his adultchildren. First, he’d made them aware that he was alive and sober and ready forwhatever relationship they wanted. Then, little by little, they’dopened upto him again. Tested him, given him chances to fail.To bail. Instead, he showed up early and stayed late and called first to seewhat he could bring.

In short, the guy had done the exact opposite of thefumbling, half-assed apology Mason had tried to give Naser Kazemi on Saturdaymorning.

Now, hangover-free, he and Shirley made their way down atrail on the San Onofre bluffs through the deep orange light of dusk, therugged mountains of Camp Pendleton rising to their right just beyond Interstate5 and the glittering surf roaring toward the base of the bluffs off to theirleft. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d crossed the sand between hishouse and Shirley’s, twenty-four hours since he’d purged his home of every dropof liquor. But it felt like it had been a week, at least.

This rugged stretch of coast just over theSan Diego countyline was one of his favorite places to walkand think, but up until now, hardly anybody in his life had known this. It wastoo isolated for dates, and after a few visits Chadwick had dismissed it asbeing too devoid of women in bikinis. Bringing Shirley here felt like sharing asecret.

The night before she’d invited some sober folks over totheir house for a late-night card game where Mason was clearly the guest ofhonor. When the clock passed two a.m. and nobody had made a move to leave, herealized what they’d done. They’d kept him occupied until the bars and liquorstores closed.

“You gonna stand watch over me again tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s time for you to handle last call on yourown. But I am right next door and just a phone call away.”

“Seriously? You’d be cool with me waking you up in themiddle of the night just because I was having a freak-out.”

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