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important to her, so familiar—but from another place and time. She let tears run down her face. It had cost her dearly in peace of mind to be away from meetings for so long, and she hadn’t fully realized it until she sat on a folding chair at a meeting in a church basement.
    When the chairperson asked if anyone had thought about a drink today, her hand lifted automatically. She told them about the champagne bubbles that shocked her out of her meditation this morning. And she laughed about “a new customer at the spa today” that she couldn’t get out of her head. She promised not to bore them with the hundred little things in the past few weeks that had made her cranky and discouraged.
    “That is all so unlike me. I haven’t even tried to make friends because I feel so vulnerable. How stupid is that? Instead of screwing up my courage, I’ve been standoffish.” Gianessa sighed. “I’m my own worst enemy. What’s that phrase, ‘My mind is a dangerous neighborhood to visit alone’?”
    The women laughed and nodded.
    Gianessa accepted the box of tissues someone passed to her. She smiled her thanks, used one to wipe away her tears, and set about blowing her nose with the rest.
    “I’ll get you some more tea,” Manda whispered.
    Gianessa nodded.
    She knew her AA program could restore her to sanity if she got back in the habit of meetings and got connected to a group here in Tompkins Falls. With a heavy sigh, she admitted that, by herself, she couldn’t get Justin Cushman and his cute butt out of her head. The last thing she needed was involvement with a client. Who was also the boss’s uncle. And, by the way, fifteen or so years older. And sometimes arrogant and demanding.
    Manda set the scalding mug of tea between their chairs just as Gianessa muttered, “Screw Justin Cushman.”
    Manda gasped.
    Gianessa shook her head. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
    Manda leaned closer and confided, “I feel that way sometimes, too.”
    Gianessa covered her mouth to smother a giggle.
    When she’d finished her tea and set down the cup, she whispered to Manda, “You’re an angel.”
    Manda snorted, “As if.”
    “So,” Manda said into the silence in the car, “where did you get sober?”
    “California. Palo Alto originally, and then I made a total mess of my life about four years ago—drunk driving with my baby daughter in the car, both of us injured. Then a pill addiction and divorce. I got clean and moved north of San Francisco, because it was the only place I could find work in my field. I’ve been clean and sober since, but I haven’t been to meetings since I left the coast, and I’ve been trying to handle everything by myself. Today I . . .”
    Manda just nodded. She had no idea what to say next. She wasn’t going to touch the “Screw Justin Cushman” line. Justin was difficult. And manipulative. Hell, he was obnoxious sometimes.
    He must have been poking around the Manse. Maybe he was the “new customer at the spa” and he’d gotten a massage from Gianessa, which he’d probably loved. Whether Gianessa was angry at Justin or had the hots for him, Manda didn’t want to know.
    She cranked up the heat as high as it would go. She was shivering without a coat. “You had to be desperate to walk without a coat in this weather. It’s gotten a lot colder this week. It must be twenty degrees tonight.” She poked a button to display the outside temperature. “Twenty-eight.”
    “Yes, I was desperate, you’re right.”
    Manda’s memory kicked in, and she heard herself say, “When I got sober last winter, my life was a disaster, and I had no idea how to get out of the jam I was in. Some asshole professor was stalking me, and one night he slashed a razor right through my warmest jacket, which also made it a bloody mess. I had to wear every layer of clothes I had when I went outdoors, until spring. So I understand about needing a coat.”
    “How awful. Our disease takes us to terrible