Stepping Up To Love (Lakeside Porches 1) (6 page)

“You must be clearing up if you know my name already!” Carol laughed. “How are things going?” They walked out to the parking lot together, and Carol asked her, “Cassie has a few of the men watching out for you. What’s that about? You got trouble?” Manda nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

“I guess not,” Manda said. “Things are quiet right now, and I’m doing okay. But thanks for asking.”

“How long have you been sober?”

“Must be two weeks,” Manda said in surprise.

“Has it been hard?”

“Life’s been a little hard, but staying sober has not been too bad. When I think about a drink, I remember where it took me. Or I pray, which is what this old guy Charlie told me to do. It works every time. And to be honest, life’s a lot less hard now than it was a month ago.”

“Good; that attitude of gratitude will really help you. For my money, the best burgers are at Ralph’s. Know where that is?” Manda shook her head. “Follow me,” she suggested.

Manda laughed, “That’s about all I am able to do lately—follow people in AA and do what they tell me.”

Carol winked. “Good thinking. It works better that way.”

Fifteen minutes later Manda was glad she had come with them. “This is the best burger I’ve had in my whole life!” she said. Her hands were dripping with juice, and she was pretty sure she had ketchup on her nose.

“I live for these fries every week,” the twenty-something woman with the half glasses said. Manda thought her name was Annette. She saw the woman looking at her ring finger. “No husband?” she remarked. Manda wondered what was coming. Not more gossip, she hoped. Annette went on, “I think it’s easier to get sober when you’re single. I feel so bad for the girls whose husbands are still drinking or who give them a hard time about coming to meetings.”

“Guess I’m lucky,” Manda said.

“You looking?” Annette asked her.

“I am off men for life.” Manda declared.

The table erupted with laughter. Suddenly she felt like one of them. Even though they were all different ages and were leading very different lives, they were all trying to stay sober. She had that in common with them. She felt connected with these women, almost the way she had as a freshman with the other Presidential Scholars.

Manda realized how much she missed spending time with friends and having fun together and supporting each other. It had been too long, and that isolation had cost her.

Carol gave her a wise look. “Good idea to steer clear of relationships for a while. But you might want to rethink that in about a year.”

“Why a year?”

“You’ll change a lot in your first year of sobriety. Things will look different. You’ll be able to handle things you couldn’t. And you’ll be better at relationships. Barb is dying to tell you about her picker.”

The woman her age with the edgy haircut set down her burger and grabbed a handful of napkins. Manda laughed. Maybe she’d tell them the napkin story later.

“My picker!” Barb prefaced. “When I got to AA I could really pick 'em,” she said. “If there was a loser in the pack, I’d pick him. And date him. And be miserable. And get rid of him. And pick another one. And another one. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Got sober. Traded in the defective picker.” Barb picked up her burger again and turned it around for the best bite. “Got me a good picker now.” She bit into the burger and smiled.

Annette told Manda, “She got married last summer to a really good guy.” Barb was nodding and chewing. “So keep an open mind, but we do advise staying out of relationships the first year. Get into the Twelve Steps.”

“Isn’t that the poster that hangs on the wall at the meeting? The Twelve Steps. We admitted we were powerless and yada yada.”

“Exactly. The steps are designed to be done in order, and they’re a proven way to clean up the mess you made as an active alcoholic and change the bad habits and ways of thinking that could lead you right back to a drink. You’ll want a sponsor—a woman who’s experienced in AA—to work with you on the steps.”

Carol added, “Use this first year to get to know yourself and develop a relationship with your God or your Higher Power.”

Manda still had no idea what a Higher Power was. She asked them, “What is this ‘God as we understand him’ thing? Do you all have some common definition of God?”

Carol told her, “Just the opposite. You can understand God your own way; I can understand her my way.”

Manda smiled. Apparently people from all beliefs and religions came together in AA. She was glad she wouldn’t have to argue about her God or explain him to anyone.

“And it’s nobody’s business. But it’s important that you find a God or a Higher Power, not just to help you stay sober but to guide your life. Did I just lose you?”

“No, actually, I know God’s been watching out for me lately.” She thought about her prayers in the car the night she left Kristof’s. That God had been listening and had dramatically changed her life in a single day. She had a feeling she could rely on that God and ask for help with all of the problems she was dealing with right now.

“Keep talking to your God, Manda, and let Him guide your life. Do you have a sponsor yet?”

“I know you just told me what a sponsor is, but could you say it again?”

Carol said patiently, “A sponsor is a woman you can talk with, who’ll read through the Big Book with you, and guide you through the twelve steps. She’s someone who’s comfortable with her sobriety and who is living the way you’d like to live your life. Sometimes a woman continues to be a close advisor long after the newcomer has gone through the steps using the Big Book, so—"

“I’m sorry. Can you explain what you mean by ‘the big book’?”

Annette told her, “Tomorrow we’ll make sure you get your own copy of the book
Alcoholics Anonymous
. We call it the Big Book. It explains the program of recovery that men and women have been using for decades to recover from alcoholism, and it really works. For tonight we’ll give you our phone numbers so you can call anytime you want to drink. Or talk. Or have coffee.”

Carol smiled. “Or get a burger.”

“Maybe I’d better get a phone,” Manda mumbled. But she probably couldn’t go for burgers and fries every week without blowing her budget and gaining a ton of weight.

Manda still had no phone a week later. After supper—a quick salad— she headed to the library and spread out her books, notes, and review sheets on a table. She had been using this quiet area of the library lately because it was in view of the checkout desk. She set her “creeper beeper”—the name students had for the electronic escort device issued to them by campus security—close at hand. She opened her laptop, and immersed herself in review for her Senior Accounting exam.

When she heard the fifteen-minute warning just before closing time at midnight, she packed up her materials. She slung her tote bag over her shoulder and felt it bump against someone before settling on her shoulder. Hands gripped the straps of the tote and pulled it backwards and Manda with it. Instinctively, she activated her creeper beeper. Two alarms shrieked, one overhead and another at the entrance just beyond the checkout desk.

“They won’t be here in time, Manda baby,” Kristof snarled. “I’ll have your face sliced and be out of here before they even get out of their chairs.”

Manda wasn’t listening. She managed to shrug out of her tote, and she slipped out of his grasp, throwing him off balance. As she twisted away from him, she felt a searing pain in her shoulder. She made a break for the checkout desk but first caught a glimpse of a small knife—or maybe it was a straight-edge razor—in his hand. One student worker gaped at her. Another said helpfully, “Miss, you left your tote bag and laptop behind.”

Manda took a steadying breath. “Call nine-one-one,” she ordered them, her voice hard.

A librarian came out of her office, phone in hand.

When she hesitated with her finger on the Send button, Manda yelled, “Now!”

The call went through, and Manda took the phone to explain the problem. Just as she finished, two campus security officers burst into the library.

One officer went after Kristof, who was exiting through an emergency door at the end of the darkened reading room. The other officer planted himself at Manda’s side. He told her, “Tony Pinelli told me to yell at you for not registering your cell phone number with security. He’s on his way in, and he’s steamed.”

Manda groaned, “Wait until he finds out I don’t own a cell phone.”

“Ma’am, no offense, but you have to be insane to be a victim of stalking and not own a cell phone.”

“That would be correct, yes,” Manda said humbly. If she could spend money on olives and burgers and fries, she could spend money on a cheap cell phone. What was she thinking? That was one more piece of evidence that alcohol had crippled her commonsense. Maybe she could still work an accounting problem at competitive speed, but her judgment was faulty.

“Are you aware you’re bleeding?” the security officer asked her.

Manda noticed the students had backed away from her. The librarian pointed to the shoulder of her fleece jacket. The light blue fleece was sliced through and stained with her blood.

Manda investigated her skin under the three layers of clothing and registered the searing pain where the knife had penetrated all three layers and broken the skin on her shoulder. She felt the blood drain from her face and told herself to sit on the floor.

The officer yakked, “It’s probably a superficial cut, but it’s going to bleed until we can get something on it, and we need to keep you here until the police arrive.”

Sitting wasn’t working. Manda felt like she was going to pass out. She lay flat on her back on the floor to stop the dizziness.

The officer rambled on, “They’ll take your statement and then we’ll get you some treatment.”

Manda watched everything around her blur. Voices faded. Someone crouched down beside her, and she heard Tony say, “I’ve got her. Wake up, honey.”

She looked up at him gratefully.

Tony told his colleague, “Your partner has Kristof in custody for assault and for violating the Order of Protection. Kristof took a header off the stairs in the dark and sprained an ankle. He’s out of commission at least for tonight, but we can expect him to talk his way out of custody before noon tomorrow.”

Tony shook his head and told Manda, “The guy is connected. Let’s see that cut.”

Manda opened her jacket and showed him the slice on her shoulder. The wad of tissues the librarian had given her was soaked with blood.

Tony pressed a clean handkerchief to the wound and made a call to the nearest Urgent Care facility. “Put some pressure on that for me, honey. The police just came. I need you to give them a very brief statement. Then I’m going to carry you out to the truck, and we’re going for a ride.”

She nodded and did as he said. While she was telling the police her side of what happened, she could hear the two students giving two entirely different stories. One said Kristof was a student offering to help carry her books. The other knew it was Kristof but insisted he had been helping Manda with her work when she freaked and started yelling at him.

If she were paranoid, Manda would say Kristof knew her habits, had planned the attack, and had chosen a night these two students were on duty and would mislead the authorities and discredit her. But that was insane, wasn’t it?

The librarian had only seen a bleeding, wild-eyed Manda descend on the front desk and did not know what incident had transpired between Manda and her alleged attacker. And so the authorities had contradictory information about the incident. Even though Manda was bleeding, her story seemed not to be credible in some eyes. But she was sober, and she was clear about what happened.

Help had arrived in time. This time. What about next time? She gave into tears.
God, I did my best, and so did the police, but I couldn’t keep myself safe
.
I don’t know what to do now.

The ride to Urgent Care with Tony was frightening. Manda could not hold on tight enough to keep her shoulder from bleeding, and she felt nauseated. She did not remember being carried into an examining room, but the sting of anesthetic brought her fully awake. She tolerated a shot of Procaine and felt a tugging on the shoulder. She turned her head to watch someone’s hands draw three stitches through her skin and carefully tie them off. Next came Steri-Strips on the more shallow sections of the cut.

After the young physician applied a bandage over his handiwork, he gave her two Tylenol and told her to go home and rest.

Tony accepted a sheet of wound care instructions on her behalf.

“Can you walk?” Tony asked her.

Manda shook her head. “Too dizzy.”

Tony scooped her up, deposited her in the truck, and slammed the door. He headed the truck back to her campus apartment and lectured her, “You cannot—I repeat cannot—operate without a cell phone programmed with campus security, my number, and Joel’s. Do you hear me?”

“I do. I will take care of that first thing tomorrow,” she said meekly.

“And how will you pay for it?”

Manda confessed, “I don’t get paid until next week.”

“So how are you going to do this tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Tony. What do you recommend?”

“Good answer. I recommend I pick you up at your door—not the outside door; your apartment door—and we go shopping together. I can convince Joel to run a tab for you, but you and I first have to determine everything you need to save your butt until you are no longer the responsibility of this campus and its security force. Be ready with a list at eight o’clock sharp. And be ready with a repayment plan to your boss.”

He helped her up the stairs, double-checked the locks on the apartment door and her bedroom door, and asked her, “Quick quiz: when am I picking you up?”

“Eight tomorrow morning.”

“Where?”

“Here at my apartment door, not outside.”

Tony gave her a gentle hug without putting pressure on her wounded shoulder. “You sleep with your creeper beeper next to your pillow and take it into the shower with you. Promise?”

“I promise. Thank you, Tony.”