things. There were groups and classes for all ages all day long but in the evenings there was a veritable smorgasbord of support—solo parenting, grief group, singles, nicotine anonymous, AA, Al-Anon and Alateen.
She could smell the coffee. One thing about AA, the setting was almost always familiar—the folding chairs, the podium, the big box of doughnuts next to the disposable coffee cups. She was a little early and there were only a few people milling around. One of them was that sourpuss from the bookstore, so she smiled at him again. His expression softened only slightly, but he approached her.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Moody.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“My name is Moody,” he said, clearly unamused.
Well, that would explain things. His mother named him Moody and he spent the rest of his life living down to it. She put out her hand. “Sierra,” she said. “I’m new in town. Well, not this town. I live near Timberlake, which is how I saw you in the bookstore.”
“How long have you been around here?” he asked.
“Just a few days, but I found a job at that diner across from the bookstore. My brother and sister-in-law are nearby and I was ready for a change. I lived in Iowa.”
“Coffee?” he asked. “Doughnut?”
“I’m about coffee’d out already,” she said. “I’ll just sit down and wait till the meeting gets started.” A few more people were straggling in. “Have you been coming to this meeting long?”
“Long,” he said. “Anything I can tell you about it?”
She shrugged. “I’m pretty familiar with the program. I’m nine months sober,” she said.
“Good for you!” he said. His expression became more open, but he was stuck with that dour countenance. “I’m happy for you,” he added. “You’re young. Would you like to meet a few people?”
“Maybe after,” she said, noticing still more people entering the room. “Thanks, though. That’s nice of you.”
She had hoped this might be a small meeting, five or six people. By the time Moody was ready to begin, there were at least thirty. He had his agenda, typed in large print and slipped between protective plastic sleeves—even that seemed almost universal. They had a prayer, recited the steps, called out to newcomers. Sierra jumped up, just to get it out of the way. She still hated this part. “My name is Sierra,” she said.
“Hi, Sierra,” they said in unison.
“I just moved to the area, looking for a meeting, just meeting people.” She explained she was in recovery nine months and they clapped for her. There were a few comments—this meeting was a good one before work, they called themselves The Sunny Side Up.
There were two more newcomers—a woman about fifty, fresh out of rehab, a guy about thirty, here by court order and needing thirty days of signed chits. And then a guy stood up and said his name was Mark. He didn’t add that he was an alcoholic but Sierra thought, We have a winner! His coloring was pale with splotches, he was trembling, his eyes were red and watering. He was a little stooped—his gut hurt. Chances were good he was just coming off a bender. They were going to corral him right after the meeting, she bet. Nothing more was required of him, just that he listen. And he might bolt, but they were already on to him. Something might’ve happened to get him to a meeting. His wife might’ve finally left him, he could’ve lost his job or spent one too many nights in jail. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight. Just real hungover. As usual, she asked herself if she’d ever looked that bad.
When the meeting was over, people scattered pretty fast. This was, after all, a before-work meeting—convenient. She met a couple of women who welcomed her and told her they hoped she’d join them again and she said she probably would, but she wasn’t sure of anything except one thing—she was going to scope out the locations and times of the meetings around her so she wasn’t searching for one when she absolutely needed one.
Maybe she’d come again. She liked moody Moody for no apparent reason. He might be grumpy but he seemed steady.
She went to Cal’s to explain her new living space and, predictably, he was thrilled to hear she’d be staying at the Crossing.
The next morning she got up extra early knowing Sully would be up, but instead of rushing off to a meeting, she hung around at the breakfast bar until Enid and Frank showed up. After visiting with them for a while, she did a little cleanup in the store, then headed for the garden.
After two hours in the garden she took a nap, read her book for a while, washed some of her clothes and offered to cook Sully’s dinner. And she thought, My God, this is living. There was no television in her cabin, but Sully offered his if she wanted to watch TV. “Just lock the door when you go home,” he said.
“I’m surprised you lock doors around here,” she said.
“I forget most of the time. But lock yours. Every now and again we get a bad apple. Last spring Maggie shot a lowlife who’d kidnapped a girl.”
“Really?” she asked, astonished and impressed.
“I’ll tell you about that sometime when we run out of stories...”
She didn’t think they’d ever run out of stories!
Cal and Maggie were around the Crossing a little bit on the weekend, Maggie more than Cal. Cal worked on making a home every day.
Then came Monday morning and her new job began early. The diner didn’t open until seven but she was required to be there at six thirty to set up. There was training for her, but she’d waitressed on and off so many times over the years, very little instruction was required. There were several early customers who she learned were mostly locals or business owners and workers from the town and a bit later, a few tourists. It was steady but not what she’d call busy. There was competition off the highway and in surrounding towns—bigger places like Applebee’s and Denny’s.
And then at eleven who should come in but Moody. Just the sight of him had her beaming as though she loved him. Someday she’d figure out what it was about her and slightly mean men. Slightly if she couldn’t find a really mean one! She couldn’t put this on her brothers or father. Jed Jones might be nuts but he was sweet. Vulnerable. And the boys had always been kind, to women especially.
“Isn’t this a surprise,” she said to Moody.
“You aren’t hard to track down,” he said, sitting at the counter. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m pretty coffee’d out. Oh! Do you want coffee?”
“You’re very funny, aren’t you?” he asked, not cracking a smile.
“To some people,” she said, grabbing a mug from under the counter. She poured him a cup. “Anything to eat? Breakfast? Lunch?”
“Nah. Just the coffee.”
She took a breath. “You were tracking me down?”
He took a sip. “No, not really. But then I realized you told me where you worked and I come
