When No One Is Watching (16 page)

“Hello, Judge,” George responded, flashing a smile Danny had never seen before. “You’re here early today.”

“I’ve got a meeting. I’ll be back later with the boys.”

“Okay, Judge.”

The big man noticed Danny, waved, and walked purposefully across the restaurant. “Hello, Danny,” he said in a cheerful voice, as if they were old friends. Danny was quite confident they had never laid eyes on one another before.

“You must be Andy,” Danny replied, a bit uncertainly, standing and shaking the beefy hand.

“That’s right—Andy Murray. It’s great to meet you, Danny. I’ve been hearing your name for years. I think everybody in Chicago legal circles knows who Danny Moran is. Sorry I’m late. I’m in the middle of a trial, and we went a bit longer than I expected. Please, sit down.”

A middle-aged waitress with red hair and far too much makeup approached their booth, a pot of coffee in hand.

“Trudy! You look great today! How’s the world treating you?” Andy’s voice boomed across the empty restaurant.

“I’m doing fine, Judge,” she replied, batting her eyelashes and smiling self-consciously. “Coffee?”

“No, I think I’ll go with hot chocolate today. How about you, Danny?”

“Coffee would be great,” Danny replied, pushing his cup toward the waitress.

Andy waited quietly until Trudy had walked away. “I met your daughter a few nights ago, Danny. She and Jason stopped by for a visit. She sure has a lot of poise and confidence for a kid that age—wise beyond her years. You must be very proud of her.”

“She’s a great kid,” Danny acknowledged. “So, you’re a judge?” Danny asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Yeah, I was appointed a little over two years ago—Cook County Circuit Court—out in Markham. I cover the far southwest suburbs. Traffic court, mostly, but I get a smattering of criminal stuff, too. It’s not the Supreme Court, but it’s respectable, and I enjoy it.”

Trudy returned with a cup of steaming hot chocolate. Andy pushed it aside, folded his arms on the Formica table, and leaned across toward Danny, lowering his voice. “Let’s talk about you, Danny. Allie told me a bit about your situation. She’s very concerned. I think you know that.”

Danny looked at his coffee, nodding slowly.

“Look, Danny, I’ve been where you are. I was there for a long time, but I’ve been sober for eight years now, and my life is better than I ever thought it could be. I put my family through hell, and I’ll never be able to really make it up to them, but they’ve been great, and I’ve reconciled with them. I’ve got a decent job, and I’ve got a real sense of purpose in my life.” He paused. “I owe all that to AA, Danny. It changed my life, and it’s worked for lots of other people, too. I’d love to see you give it a chance.”

Danny picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee. “That’s why I’m here,” he said quietly, without looking up. “I need help. I don’t think I can do this on my own.” He looked up at the earnest face with the big gray eyes staring back at him. “Would you mind telling me a little more about it? I mean, I’ve heard about AA, and I know they hold regular meetings, but I don’t really have a grasp on what it’s all about and how it works.”

“Sure thing, Danny. Partly, it’s a support network. It’s a group of people who all suffer from the same problem, and we’re committed to trying to overcome that problem. But it’s a lot more than that. It’s a way of approaching life. It’s a change of heart and mind. You acknowledge to yourself that the problem is bigger than you, that there’s a greater power that can give you strength, and you turn to God for help, through prayer and meditation. You take a brutally honest look at yourself—your shortcomings, the errors you’ve made, and the people you’ve hurt. You try to live a new life with a new code of behavior, and make amends to those you’ve hurt. And you help other alcoholics deal with their problem. That’s a big part of this. Another big part of the program is going to meetings on a regular basis.”

“What happens at the meetings?” Danny asked apprehensively.

“People share their experiences. Sometimes there’s a speaker or a specific topic that we discuss among ourselves. Usually people share stories about their struggles with alcohol and how it’s impacted their lives. People share their successes, also—how long they’ve been sober, the difference it’s made in their lives, the challenges and temptations they still feel, that kind of thing. It makes you realize that other people are going through exactly what you’re going through, and that support and encouragement really helps, Danny. It inspires people to stay sober. You’ve probably heard the saying ‘one day at a time.’ It’s a good approach.”

Danny looked down and stirred his coffee again.

Andy continued, his deep voice gentle and encouraging. “The hardest part is walking through that door and making it through the first meeting. Let me take you, Danny. There’s a meeting tonight at St. Martin’s at seven thirty. I’ll come by and pick you up. What do you say?”

Danny continued staring at his coffee, feeling paralyzed.

“It’s all very confidential,” Andy continued. “What’s said in the meetings is kept in strict confidence. No one outside the meeting will know you’re there. You can keep your last name to yourself.”

Danny heaved a sigh and looked up again. “Okay, Andy. I’ll try it.” He sighed again and held his hand in front of his face. “Look at me. I’m shaking. I don’t know why, but I’m terrified.”

“Don’t worry, pal. That’s natural. You’ll be glad you went, I promise,” he said earnestly.

They got up from the booth and walked toward the cash register. George looked closely at Danny as he made change for Andy. “You a friend of the judge? That’s good. That’s very good.” He smiled again.

Danny smiled back. “Yeah, it is good. Thanks, George.”

Andy was right. Danny was glad he went to the Tuesday evening AA meeting in the basement social hall below St. Martin’s Church. About twenty people attended the meeting, men and women, young and not-so-young, professionals and blue-collar types. A smattering of the faces were familiar, from church, from the train he used to ride downtown, from social functions and other places around the neighborhood he couldn’t identify. Despite his trepidation, Danny found the atmosphere warm and welcoming from the moment he walked through the doors. He listened to others sharing their stories, some seeming completely at ease, others struggling mightily. More than once, he found himself trying to blink away tears as he listened to stories that mixed tragedy with hopefulness. Each story was different, yet they all hit close to home. They were different versions of his own story. He could understand each of them, with a kind of deep and personal understanding that comes only from common experience.

Before the meeting ended, Danny stood up. It felt right. He was ready to tell his story to a roomful of complete strangers with whom he felt a bond different from any he shared with his closest friends. “My name is Danny, and I am an alcoholic.” He told of his twenty years of drinking: the blackouts, the all-nighters, driving his wife away, and being on the brink of driving his daughter away, too. He spoke of the accident, of the guilt and shame, and of prison and disbarment.

He wept unashamedly as he spoke. When it was over, complete strangers surrounded him and embraced him, sharing his tears. No one was angry or judgmental; no one was horrified. They knew that his story wasn’t so different from theirs, and they wanted to help in whatever way they could, which was mostly just by being there, empathizing and offering words of encouragement.

Following the meeting, Danny joined Andy and six other men for coffee and dessert at the South Side Diner. They called themselves the “Dessert Club.” They laughed a lot and told Danny stories about their drinking days, some funny, some outrageous, some sad, but all making the unstated point that they were just like him. There was a sense of camaraderie that reminded him of the old days, when he went out drinking with his college buddies, but now the drinks were coffee, lemonade, and hot chocolate. He couldn’t wait until the next meeting.

The St. Martin’s AA chapter held its meetings on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Danny found himself counting the hours between meetings. He was inspired and hopeful, yet he knew that his sobriety was precarious. The temptation to have a drink was ever-present, and at times, almost overwhelming. Andy called every afternoon to give him a pep talk. Danny was under standing orders from Andy to call him anytime, day or night, and to interrupt him even if he was in court, if he ever felt that he was on the verge of slipping and having a drink.

Danny found that trying to live by the “one day at a time” mantra was almost too much. He felt the need to live in more manageable units of time, so he would focus on just getting through the morning, then he’d face the afternoon and, finally, the most difficult challenge, getting through the evening without a drink.

He managed those time periods by forcing himself to schedule virtually every minute of every day. His schedules would include lists of chores, errands, and routine tasks, such as:
8:00—shower and shave; 8:20—breakfast; 8:45—read paper; 9:00—go to bank; 10:00—exercise walk
. Making it through the next task without having a drink was easier than telling himself he had to make it through the entire day without slipping.

He used drinks and snacks the same way, allowing himself six soft drinks and two snacks over the course of the day, trying to substitute those nutritional rewards for his alcohol craving. He was rigid in his schedule: Coke at 10:00 a.m., lemonade at noon, Dr Pepper at 2:30, root beer at 5:15, 7 Up at 7:00, then another Coke at 8:45. He would allow himself a late-afternoon snack of almonds or pistachio nuts; then at 10:30 he’d have a bedtime snack consisting of crackers and cheese—precisely six crackers and a different type of cheese each night. After that, he would sit in the old armchair in his living room and spend twenty minutes reading from a small devotional containing Scripture passages and inspirational messages. Then he would turn off the light and sit in the dark, meditating and praying, sometimes for twenty minutes, sometimes for hours.

Sometimes his prayers were a desperate plea for the strength to stay sober. Sometimes he prayed for the wisdom and courage to become a better father and a better person. Sometimes he prayed for the other struggling souls he had met through the AA program, and sometimes he prayed for the ability to accept his station in life and to be thankful for the blessings life had brought his way.

This routine had gotten Danny into the Christmas holidays without any close calls. The urge to drink was always there, but he kept his daily schedule in front of him, and with great focus and discipline, moved from one item to the next without getting sidetracked and yielding to the temptation to drink. He was always anxious—over the challenge of staying sober between meetings, over his future, over his divorce and the wrongful death lawsuit—but at least he was sober.

On Christmas Day, he and Allie exchanged gifts and went to Mass. They decided to cook a turkey dinner together, a first for both of them. Father and daughter felt a special joy to be spending the holiday together with Danny seemingly in a far better place—physically, mentally, and spiritually—than either of them could have hoped for six weeks ago. Just as they finished stuffing the turkey, the telephone rang, and Allie answered.

“It’s someone named Pat,” she said in a hushed voice, her hand over the telephone’s mouthpiece. “I think he’s drunk,” she added, a look of concern clouding her face as she envisioned her father being lured away from home by some lowlife in a bar. She handed her father the telephone and listened intently to the one side of the conversation she could hear.

“Pat? Where are you?” Pause. “Are you drunk?” Pause. “How many drinks have you had?” Another pause. “Okay, stay put, Pat. Start drinking coffee. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up.

“What was that about?” Allie asked, her voice tight with anxiety.

“Allie, I hate to do this, but can I leave this in your hands for a little while?” Danny asked, motioning to the turkey on the counter. “One of my new friends just fell off the wagon. He’s drinking at a bar, and I need to get him out of there. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

Danny sensed her apprehension. “Allie, I won’t let anything ruin our Christmas together. I’m not going out drinking, okay? I’ve got a friend who needs help. I’m going to get him out of there, maybe take him for a cup coffee, and then I’ll be right home—in plenty of time to carve the turkey!” He grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

Kelly’s Pub was a little over a mile away. Danny walked briskly, his rubber boots squeaking against the freshly fallen snow. This was a situation when having a driver’s license would have made things considerably easier. Fortunately, his universe was now limited to the Beverly neighborhood—about two miles long from north to south, and a mile wide, east to west—so any place he needed to go was within walking distance. He had become accustomed to walking everywhere he went, and it no longer seemed like a hardship.

He thought about Pat Jordan. Pat was a regular at the Tuesday and Friday night meetings at St. Martin’s, and also a regular with the post-meeting coffee and dessert crowd at the South Side Diner. Danny had liked him instantly. He was good company—smart, upbeat, and funny—and they quickly developed a bond based on their common experiences. Pat was an attorney, also. He and his father had once had a thriving neighborhood law practice, but after the elder Mr. Jordan had retired, Pat quickly made a shambles of the practice. His clients had quickly tired of the unreliability and unresponsiveness that resulted from Pat’s long drinking benders. Like Danny, he was a capable lawyer who was now without a law practice.

Also like Danny, Pat’s wife had gotten fed up with his drinking and left earlier that year, taking their six-year-old son with her. Apparently, facing Christmas Day alone in his small apartment was just too much for Pat.

Danny walked into Kelly’s, stopping abruptly to allow his eyes to adjust from the brightness of the sunny, snow-covered world outdoors to the bleak dimness of the stale-smelling tavern. As his eyes adjusted, he saw three men sitting at the bar, together, yet each very much alone. Two of them were staring at the TV behind the bar. Pat Jordan gazed absently at the tiny Christmas tree with the flashing lights perched beside him on the bar.