Page 68 of Truth, Lies, and Second Dates
“Noted.”
“Which is charming. But also out of character for me.”
“Aw.” She looked down at her fingers entwined with his. For some reason, it made her think of Dennis and Xenia, who were supposedly a couple but who hadn’t touched each other during the memorial. Where could he be? She hoped he’d fled and was sleeping it off somewhere, because the alternatives
(Is he dead?)
(Is he the killer?)
were awful. Worse, she wasn’t sure which one she wanted to be true.
“It’s none of my business, but I would like clarification. Earlier, you said you ‘needed a meeting to get your mind serene.’ Were you referring to a twelve-step meeting?”
“Sure. I needed one after my rep told me I was grounded. And Boston has lots. I went to one for AA because there wasn’t one for NA*until seven o’clock. But I’m not picky. It’s not the specifics—for me, anyway. It’s the ritual. It’s the Serenity Prayer and listening without judgment and talking without judgment and knowing everyone in the room gets it and maybe the cookies.”
“May I ask you a question about the Center City drug treatment facility?”
“Hazelden? Sure. Fire away.”
“What was the strangest—”
“Circus Day.”†
“I beg your pardon?”
“They had a Circus Day. And for some unfathomable reason, they didn’t warn—I mean tell—any of the patients. So picture any number of addicts in active recovery waking up one morning and going to breakfast and finding all the cooks are dressed like clowns. And several counselors. And the grounds people. And the gift shop people. For no reason that we could immediately surmise.”
Tom, she could see, was trying (and failing) not to laugh.
“Yeah, sure, yuk it up. But it freaked a few of us out. One of my roommates actually grabbed my arm and hissed, ‘Am I high right now?’”
“And?”
“I told her that I wasn’t sure the truth would make her feel better, and no, she wasn’t high.” Over Tom’s chuckles, she added, “I mean, I give them top marks for literally everything else, but that always seemed like a spectacular blunder to me. Freaking addicts out en masse is just a terrible idea. We’re in a treatment program, we’realready… oh, stop laughing.” But she smiled to remove the sting.
“I apologize. Truly. It’s just… it’s equal parts funny and appalling.”
“Yep, that sums it up perfectly.”
“I’m glad you got help,” he added.
“Yeah, me too. And the years have slowly rid me of my fear of counselors dressed as clowns running a T-group.”
“Courageous,” he said with a straight face.
“Anything else you want to know?”
“Just this,” he replied, and kissed her.
Thirty-Six
The first time hadn’t been a fluke powered by loneliness and booze; Dr. Tom Bakerwasan excellent kisser. Given his occasional verbal fumbling and general klutziness, this was an exhilarating surprise.
Oh my God that mouth THAT MOUTH. Oh, and he’s not trying to choke me with his tongue and he smells terrific, which is a good trick in a subway car, and even if nothing comes of this the day has been so strange that I will remember this kiss forever, even if I live to be an old lady, and how everything about it
“Kenmah Station!”
was perfect.
