Whittaker 01 The Enemy We Know (17 page)

“
There’s two sides to every story, Letty. You know that. If even half of what you’re accusing him of is true, he still needs a sponsor. Randy’s been court-ordered to AA and he’s getting an alcohol and drug assessment, so maybe he’s trying to turn himself around.”

“
His name isn’t Randy! You obviously don’t understand what he’s been doing to me. He even stuck a dead rat in my car.”

“
Well, why don’t I understand? Huh? Isn’t that the point of all this? You kept me in the dark for weeks, and now you expect me to fix your problems for you?”

“
The
point
is that you are sponsoring a violent, abusive woman-hater who’s been attacking a … a fellow AA member, a friend of yours.”

“
Former
friend. What can I tell you, Letty? Women can make a guy crazy.” And then the bastard hung up.

I looked forward to my Wednesday night meeting, the one place Wayne couldn’t infiltrate unless he came in drag or had a sex change. Actually, if he did crash the party, most of the women would happily use his penis as a pinata. Another perk about women’s meetings is that you can always find a man-hater when you need one. Since the meetings in April were at Rhonda’s house, the service was built in. Plus, I had plenty of friends willing to jump on the bashing-wagon now that I’d broken up with Robert.

Unfortunately, Sue and Charlie soon forced us back on track, redirecting the focus to issues of sobriety. When my turn came around, I started with some of the concerns that had been raised when Sue and I spoke.

“
One of the things that prolonged my drinking was the illusion of control that I clung to. I just couldn’t admit that alcohol had control of me instead of vice versa. Like, being possessed by an evil spirit. Pun intended,” I added.

“
When Sue and I talked this week, I realized that my whole family does this and always has. And not just about alcohol.” Around the room, women nodded, smiling softly, feeling their way through my words to their own truths. “We did it when my dad died. There’s this whole
myth
about what really happened, and nobody speaks of it to this day. I don’t even know if my brother and sister remember what really happened or if they’ve started believing the lie. I know Ma has. She’s still claims the cops killed him.

“
She’s spent her whole life hating and blaming the cops for my dad’s death, and teaching us to do the same. But they didn’t do it.
He
did. He choked to death on his own vomit. The jailers found him, but they couldn’t revive him.

“
All these years later, and we still don’t talk about it. I feel strange even now, here, with you all. Nobody is allowed—or ever was—to admit Dad died from booze. That he was an alcoholic.

“
That’s why they all ignore my getting sober. Sloppy drunk, falling-down drunk, is perfectly acceptable, but call myself an alcoholic? No way. They change the subject, won’t even look at me when I try to tell them what it means to me. It’s, like, this family legacy of secrets. Never admit you’re scared. Never look at how crazy your life is. Never be…
weak
.

“
That’s what I’ve been doing with this harassment thing—pretending I’m not scared or that I’m in control of it. Now he’s taken over my AA club. This meeting is the only place I can come without wondering if he’s going to pop out at me like Freddy Krueger.”

Suddenly exhausted, I passed to the next woman, which happened to be Charlie. After the traditional AA introduction, she said, “A family legacy of secrets? That’s the alcoholic way, that’s for sure! But it’s good that you’re looking at it. You might want to check out some ACOA meetings.”

Trinnie, our newbie, looked confused.

“
Adult Children of Alcoholics,” Charlie explained.

“
I’d have to go to the club,” I objected. “I can’t take that chance.”

“
I have an idea for that,” Rhonda cut in. “I’ll bring it up after the meeting.”

The women continued, each taking her turn talking about life, sobriety, day-to-day hassles. As I listened, a sense of calm settled over me. It was this feeling of belonging to a group of people who, no matter how different we were, understood the worst about me and accepted it. That’s what I couldn’t stand losing, couldn’t survive without.

Rhonda, my newly appointed guardian angel, had decided that wasn’t going to happen.

“
No man is going to keep you from anything. It’ll just take a little extra planning, that’s all.” Her emphasis on “man” turned it into an obscenity. Given her animosity to the male gender, I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear something about “Guida the Enforcer” and a “little accident.”

“
If we know when you plan to attend a meeting, one of us will just go with you. Bullies don’t like witnesses, and the key is that you will never be alone. Simple.”

It was simple, but my instinctive response was to decline. Sue, anticipating my reaction, chimed in.

“
Rhonda’s right. You’ve been thinking about this too narrowly. You don’t have to do this alone and you’re not going to isolate yourself. It’s not too much trouble. You’re not imposing. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

She nailed it. I took a deep breath. As much as I hated having my friends rearrange their lives around my schedule, I gave in. Together, we figured out my meetings schedule for the week ahead—a process both humiliating and gratifying—before I took off for home.

When I got to the office Thursday morning, Lisa greeted me with a copy of
Big Boobed Babes
and the news that Mary Kate had met with Marshall to discuss her transfer to Hannah and was currently locked in her office crying. I tossed
Boobs
in the trash.

“
She’s upset?”

Lisa’s eyebrows gave a “my, aren’t you clever” twitch. “I’m guessing separation issues. Hannah will have to work with her on that.” After years of typing our reports and transcribing our meetings, Lisa’s grasp of psych theory rivaled anyone’s.

“
Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“
Uh-huh,” Lisa mumbled on her way to the file room. Message delivered, she’d already moved on to the next task. As long as Mary Kate didn’t interfere with Lisa’s schedule, she could stay in her office until next Christmas.

I sighed and set off. As I passed Marshall’s office, I peeked in. He was on the phone and gave me a little wave. I pointed down the hall at Mary Kate’s closed door and mouthed “thanks a lot!” He shrugged, waggling his eyebrows at me. Not helpful, but it scored high on the cuteness scale.

I trudged on.

It took fifteen minutes to get Mary Kate to unlock her door, which was fourteen and a half minutes past ridiculous. If I’d had an axe, I’d have used it.

I felt a little more sympathy, however, when she finally let me in. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose a puffy lump of misery. You’d think a mental health clinic would spring for a better quality tissue; ours were more effective as nose exfoliaters than as an absorbent for the liquidy stuff currently streaming down Mary Kate’s face.

“
Oh, Mary Kate,” I said, shaking my head gently. “You have got yourself all worked up, haven’t you?”

“
I know I’m being stupid,” she said. At least that’s what I thought she said. It was a bit difficult to interpret since her sobs convulsed in those hiccup-gasps that my Grandma used to call the “huff-n-puffs.”

I sat down in the client chair. Her space was much more sparsely furnished, given that it was a temporary office shared by the two or three interns who rotated through the clinic for their practicum each semester. The bookshelf held a half-dozen dusty psychology texts with USED labels slapped on the spines. A calendar, thumbtacked above the scratched desk, displayed the office hours of each intern. I realized that Mary Kate showed up at the office far more often than her ten hours of clinical practicum dictated.

Something else I’d missed.

“
I’m sorry,” she said, touching my arm and regaining my attention.

“
Nothing to be sorry for, Mary Kate. I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t realize you would take this so hard. I just wish I’d been the one to let you know.”

“
I know I’m being silly, but I just don’t want to start over with someone else. I’ve got finals coming up, and there’s only a few weeks left of the internship anyway. Pretty soon I’m going to have to say good-bye to all my clients and that’s hard enough. Couldn’t we just leave it that you’ll be my supervisor? I promise I won’t be a bother. We could even cut back on meeting every week, if that helps.”

“
With all the stress of finals and beginning the termination process with your clients, that’s exactly what you can’t do.” Mary Kate winced at my use of the clinical phrase: termination. It
did
sound more like a Mafia expression than the professional lingo for ending a therapeutic relationship. “As you can see from your own reaction, this can be an emotionally charged experience. Separations bring up a lot of feelings for us as well as for our clients. Even for those who are ready—and I believe you are—it can stir up a lot of issues.” Okay, I lied a little about thinking Mary Kate was ready, but Hannah was an excellent clinician and I’d give her the background.

“
I’ve always hated endings,” Mary Kate’s chair squeaked as she leaned back. She kept her eyes on the carpet. “I was a Navy brat and we were always leaving friends when we moved to the next base. And I really don’t want to screw up this internship. I’ve tried a lot of different things in my life—jobs, I mean—and I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.” She smiled wanly.

Given her age, I knew she’d come to counseling the long way around. She’d previously admitted to changing her major five times. Mary Kate reminded me of the lost souls who used to wander around Europe trying to “find themselves.” I could relate. I’d done my own kind of wandering.

Meanwhile, she sat looking up at me with big, drippy eyes. I felt like I was kicking a puppy. A sick, sad, lonely, orphaned, blind puppy. With fleas. We talked for another twenty minutes while I tried to convince her to see some of the advantages in the change. Among other things, she would get the benefit of a different professional perspective, a counselor-supervisor with a different set of skills, and she wouldn’t have to worry about crazed, knife-wielding ex-clients crashing through the door during their meetings. While she never did seem fully convinced, she eventually resigned herself to its inevitability. At least she stopped crying, which was good enough for now. Besides, I had clients waiting.

When I got home that night, the phone was ringing. Not thinking, I snatched it up before checking the Caller I.D. I regretted my impulsivity even before hearing the strange male voice on the other end.

“
Letty? Hi! Wow, I didn’t think you’d answer. Cool!”

“
Paul?”

“
Yeah. Listen, I didn’t see you tonight so I wanted to let you know that the coast is clear. You know? Like, if you wanted to come to a meeting. You don’t have to worry—it’s cool.”

The disconnect between my ability to understand why I was talking to Paul, who as I far as I knew shouldn’t even have my number, and his secret agent lingo made me hesitate a long moment.

“
Hello?” Paul ventured.

“
I went to a meeting last night. How did you get my number?”

“
You did? Where at? Did you go to the one at the Methodist church? I thought that was on Thursdays.”

“
It is on Thursdays. I went to my women’s group. We meet at each other’s houses.”

“
Aw, that sounds cool. I wish the guys did that.”

Actually, they did, but no one would tell Paul. I interrupted him as he started a rambling monologue about the meeting he’d just attended. “Paul? How did you get my number?”

Although I hadn’t yet arranged for an unlisted number, Paul shouldn’t have been able to look it up for the simple reason that he shouldn’t know my last name. And even though he had driven me home one time, I’d made sure to have him drop me a few blocks over. If someone at the club was giving out my number, I wanted to know.

“
Oh, I asked around. It wasn’t easy, either.” His voice projected pride in his sleuthing. “I didn’t want you to stay away from the club just because of that guy. He’s such a jerk. So I figured I’d come check it out and let you know it was all clear.”

“
You mean you went to the club even though you might run into Wayne?” I was kind of impressed. Still creeped out, but impressed.

“
Yeah, well, I got here early and waited across the street to see if he went in. What did you say his name is?”

“
Wayne, but he’s calling himself Randy. Just… be careful, Paul. And you don’t have to keep watch for me.” Or call me. Ever. “The girls and I have come up with a plan so I can still make meetings and not have to worry about Wayne.”

“
Yeah, I have an idea, too. I just got a few things to check out first. But, listen, the other reason why I called? I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get something to eat sometime? Or coffee? With me?”

I should’ve seen it coming.

“
Gee, thanks, Paul. But we’re not supposed to date in the first year. No major changes, remember? And you’ve only been sober a couple weeks.”

“
Thirty-one days. You went out with Robert, didn’t you?”

“
And look how that turned out,” I said. “I really need to focus on the program, and so do you. Things are just too crazy right now.”

“
Oh. Okay. I understand. Well, I’ll see you at the club anyway. Right?”

“
Sure. Hey, Paul, where did—”