Page 101 of Assassin Anonymous

“Are you mad at me?”

“For what?”

“For screwing up your recovery.”

Again, the right words elude me, even though I’ve imagined this conversation, despite never expecting to have it. I drum my fingers on the table, waiting for something to come to me, and when nothing does, I settle on the truth. “Yeah, for a while after. I blamed you, and I thought you killing him was the same as me doing it. The more I sat with it, the more I realized I was mad at myself. It’s up to me to clean my side of the street.”

“Yesterday matters,” she says. “Tomorrow matters more.”

“Sixty percent of recovery is cute slogans.”

“It took me a little while to hear, but I heard it.”

“Sometimes they take a minute to land. Believe me, I know.”

“I want out.”

The word burst out of her, like a frothing river held back by a dam. Once they’re free and floating in the air between us she holds her breath. She said the hard thing. A thing she’s wanted to say for a while now. And I can feel pieces of her falling away in the white-hot aftermath.

“Hey.” I look her in the eye, tossing a rope into that raging river. I know where to throw it because I’ve been there myself. “Do they teach box breathing in Special Forces?”

She shakes her head, hard and fast.

“They teach it in the SEALs. Calms your central nervous system. Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for four seconds, breathe out for four seconds, hold your lungs empty for four seconds.” I put my hand on my chest. “With me, okay?”

She nods her head with the same fervor, and together we breathe in, hold, breathe out, then hold.

We do it once, twice, three times.

She closes her eyes and then looks back up at me, the waters now placid.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t know if this whole program thing is for me.”

“It might not be,” I tell her. “But you could give it a shot.”

“The whole ‘god’ part of the recovery process—”

“Don’t worry, we cover that.”

“Excuse me,” Maritza calls from the other side of the store. “Sorry to rush you off, but we have to close.”

“No, it’s all good.” I toss the mostly empty coffee in the trash can next to me. “It’s Christmas Eve. We all have places to be.”

Astrid and I gather our things and step outside. Maritza locks the door behind us. Snowflakes swirl in the air and perch on our shoulders. The street is empty, the city taking that deep, peaceful breath it takes once a year for Christmas, when everyone either leaves or heads indoors, seeking out a little bit of light in the dark.

“You got any plans tonight?” I ask.

“No,” she says.

“I’m getting together with Booker and Valencia. And my old neighbor, Ms. Nguyen. She was in the game, too. She’s great, even though she gets a little handsy when she’s drinking.”

“So it’s like a recovery thing?”

“Sort of, but not really,” I tell her. “It’s part Christmas party, part baby shower for Valencia.”

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