He tilts his head a bit. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just listen for now.”
I didn’t expect that. The thread connecting me to him tugs and I glance up to find he’s staring at me. He doesn’t look away this time. His eyes pierce me, seeing past the careful image I’ve constructed for myself. This time I turn away, for the sake of survival.
A woman begins to speak—Anne, I realize— and he directs his attention to her. Her husband is gone. It was bound to happen. She’s not surprised. Even as she calmly relays this news, my own thoughts drift inward. I'd come today to share my own breakthrough. I no longer want to, because the few moments I’ve shared with Jude—a complete stranger—undermines it. The years I’d spent atoning, the sacrifices I made—all of it shattered when he looked at me and revealed the truth. My world is as fragile as glass, pretty lies blown carefully into a delicate bubble to cover up the ugliness in my past. The ugliness in me.
I know now that he is the devil, and he’s come to collect on my sins.
Very little filters through for the rest of the meeting. Someone screwed up. It’s his first meeting, but his arrival is overshadowed by Mr. Arrogant. Today is Charlie’s recovery anniversary. He’s made it five months. I smile and clap along with everyone else but I’m aware of the nerves hollowing a pit in my stomach.
My mind stays on Jude and the mystery he’s brought to this monotonous hour of my life. I’ve attended this NA meeting for four years, and I've watched people come and go. At first my heart hurt for each new story. I don’t suffer from that anymore. I keep my eyes on my own paper, so I can focus on keeping myself straight.
Not that there's much temptation in this sleepy, little town. That’s exactly why I wound up in Port Townsend. There’s drugs and booze here, just like anywhere. But here I have the sea and the tiny, insulated world I’ve created for myself. This meeting taught me exactly what I needed to survive: the less people I let in, the less chance I’ll be hurt again. I stopped letting these wounded, wild creatures into my thoughts years ago. It keeps me safe, so what is it about him that is so tempting?
Whatever it is—whatever this connection is between us—I need to pinpoint it and cut it out of me. Men like Jude are dangerous. Not because of their tattoos or swagger, but because they see boundary lines as optional. I can’t let the walls I’ve built be breached.
I dump the remains of my coffee in the wastebasket. I never even took a sip. I’d just allowed it to grow cold in my hands.
“What do you think of Jude?” Sondra is my age, but looks old enough to be my mother. After years of abusing prescription meds, she moved on to the hard stuff, leaving her with wrinkles carved as deeply as the coke lines she had snorted. She’s a walking anti-drug poster.
I shrug, but I don't have to try hard to convince her I’m uninterested. She’s too busy plotting her plan of attack. I admire her blunt sexuality, even though I don’t pretend to share it.
She unwraps a stick of gum and folds it into her mouth. “Maybe I can take him out for a drink. He’s new to town, for sure. I’d remember seeing him around.”
"A drink?” I repeat pointedly.
“Coffee.” She waves off my concern.
“That would be nice of you.” I’m not ready to admit to my own interest, but if Sondra gets him to go out she’ll ferret out every last detail. I make a mental note to ask her about him next week.
“I have to go. My…” I begin, but my excuse is unnecessary, she’s already moved on to give Charlie an overly affectionate hug. The celebratory gesture paints a swath of pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
That’s not my gig. I don’t offer hugs or grasp hands. I come, I sit, and I try not to make eye contact when I see these people outside these concrete walls. I give an hour of my time. Nothing more.
With Sondra distracted, I seize my chance and dart for the coat closet. The weather has been fickle as it shifts into spring, but I can always count on the breeze off the ocean being a bit too cold. As I round the corridor, I stop in my tracks.
Anne is sobbing. The collected business woman who relayed the news of her separation is anything but apathetic. She’s just as broken as the rest of us.
Guilt sweeps over me. This isn't how she wants to be seen. It’s why we come here after all—to perfect the lie that we’re fine. Lies like that take practice before they’re displayed for the world to believe, and this group is a captive audience. She doesn’t want me to see her like this, just like she doesn’t want me—or any of us—to know the truth. Her divorce wasn’t inevitable. It wasn’t mutual.
It’s another casualty of the war she’s fighting against herself.