Page 87 of Before She Disappeared

CHAPTER 23

I’m at my best when I’m busy. After leaving Detective Lotham, I head back to Stoney’s. The pub is up and running with the regulars. Tables half full. Noise half volume. It’s only been a matter of days, but it still feels strange not to take up position behind the bar. I drift up to my studio apartment, where I discover that Piper has abandoned me for the night. Given it’s my night off, I could catch up on sleep or finally tend to household tasks such as laundry and grocery shopping.

Instead, I do the sensible thing: I attend a meeting. Given the earlier hour, I’m surprised, but not unhappy, to discover Charlie also there. I take the empty seat beside him, sipping on coffee as we run through introductions, then get down to business. This meeting is about the twelve steps, step nine in particular. Making amends. I’ve never gone through all twelve steps. It’s not the apologizing for the wrongs I’ve done—I get that completely. It’s cataloguing all my sins that has me hung up. For all my talk of honesty, there’s only so much scrutiny I can handle. Though asking for forgiveness is also an issue. How do you apologize to the dead?

I get through the meeting, content to once again be in the company of like minds, even if the topic isn’t my favorite.

I help Charlie clean up after the meeting, working in companionable silence. Then, almost in sync: “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”

AA-speak for would you like to talk?

We smile in unison. “Yes.”

I follow him from the church basement into the fall-tinged night. He seems to know where he’s going, so I don’t worry about it as we weave from block to block. Finally, we arrive at a tiny little diner I never would’ve found on my own. When Charlie walks in, with his telltale bulk and army jacket, he’s clearly recognized and greeted as a friend. I earn a glance or two from the staff, but his welcome expands to include me. I smile openly, happy for friendly faces after my morning adventures.

Charlie takes a seat near the back. He doesn’t even have to ask before a mug of rich, dark coffee is set before him. I nod I’ll take the same. I still haven’t eaten, so I ask for a menu. Charlie says he’s fine. After a brief contemplation, I go with the Greek salad, which makes me think of Lotham and other things I don’t want to consider.

My salad arrives in a matter of minutes, given we’re the only two customers around. I dig in, munching happily on romaine lettuce and kalamata olives, while Charlie sips his coffee.

“Thank you for yesterday,” I say finally. Charlie’s sighting of Angelique Badeau at the wireless store. His personal request for me at the scene. His tidbit on Livia Samdi also having disappeared.

“Any news?” he asks.

“Nothing tangible yet. I visited Mrs. Samdi this morning.” I hesitate, not sure what to say.

“There by the grace of God go I,” Charlie intones.

I nod vigorously and we lapse into a silence, weighted by the shared horror of that one single drink that can undo our hours, months, years of hard work. There’s no judgment in AA; only mutual fear.

“I tried to get her to leave with me,” I venture at last. “Join me in attending a meeting.”

“Can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

I nod, chewing slowly. “Her house, her son... I don’t know if I could do it in those conditions.”

“For the longest time,” Charlie says, “I figured I couldn’t get clean, not living on the streets. But then, later... I wondered if homelessness wasn’t easier. Took all the responsibility, the agitation of daily life away. Mad, sad, or glad... We don’t need a reason to drink. It’s just easier to blame it on something else.”

I nod. He’s right. Mrs. Samdi’s living conditions are deplorable, but not impossible. AA teaches us that our worst enemy lives not outside the gates but inside our souls. We need no excuses to drink. As long as we have air in our lungs, it will always be a temptation.

And yet I’m sad for her in ways I can’t fully explain. She’s a prisoner of more than just her disease. Her family, poverty, lifestyle choices—the causes are endless.

“You seem to be...” I’m not sure exactly how to state this, “... in touch with street life around here.”

Charlie grins, a flash of white against his heavyset face. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there a gang, criminal organization around here sophisticated enough for counterfeit currency?”

This raises a brow. “U.S. dollars?”

“Hundred-dollar bills to be exact.”

The brow rises higher. “That’s some fine work. How high-quality are you talking?”

“Very high end. Extremely well done.”

Charlie takes another sip of his decaf coffee, appears to seriously contemplate the matter. “Aren’t you talking special paper, metallic threads, watermarks, all sorts of crazy stuff?”

“Exactly.”

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