Free Death Will Help You Leave Him by Elizabeth Zelvin Page B

at the door when Jimmy’s exclamation stopped her.
    “Ha!”
    “Something on the funeral site?”
    “No,” he said. “Look at this. ‘Iacone’s Bakery. Making Brooklyn lick its lips since 1946.’ Nice website.”
    “That doesn’t sound much like organized crime, does it?” Barbara said.
    “Not connected, just cannoli,” I said.
    “It doesn’t prove anything,” Jimmy said. “Crime families nowadays go in for legitimate businesses. They could be laundering money as they sell the biscotti. Hey, these look good.
Il pasticciotto, il bocconoto, la sfogliatella.
” He rolled the words out sonorously. “Nice pictures.”
    “Show me,” Barbara said.
    “What about work?”
    “It’s okay if I’m late,” she said. “I’ll stay late if I have to. Hey, these look good. That settles it, this is my assignment. I’m going out to Brooklyn to that bakery. I’ll take a day off next week. I’ll schmooze with whoever works there, dig up whatever I can about the family, bring you back some pastries— everybody’s happy.”
    “Our old friend Mars mentioned a couple of meetings he hits regularly,” Jimmy said. “And I got the numbers of the other rehab folks.”
    “Fast worker, aren’t you,” I said.
    “The two who had never gotten clean and sober before both asked me to sponsor them,” he said. “I told the woman she should find a woman sponsor, but it was fine to call me if she was afraid she’d pick up. The guy, I said I’d be glad to do it on an interim basis, and let’s see how we get along on the phone.”
    Barbara kissed him on the top of his head. Cute.
    “They could see right away how good you are. You have what they want.”
    “Thanks, poppet, but I don’t think I’m all that special. They hear sixteen years and they think I’ve got the magic bullet, that’s all.”
    Yeah, right. Sixteen years one day at a time of undiluted reality is a long, hard haul. In the small corner of my heart that’s honest and maybe even a bit humble, Jimmy is my hero.
    “So you’ll cover the recovering crowd,” I said. “What about me?”
    “Oh, you’re going to the meetings.” Jimmy chuckled. “It won’t hurt you to get around, see some different faces, hear new stories.”
    I’d latched onto Jimmy’s home group and found a few meetings near my apartment. I’d gotten into a groove.
    “Besides,” he added, “I have to put the program first. If I’m sponsoring somebody, it doesn’t feel right to milk him for information.”
    Barbara drooped.
    “I’m Luz’s sponsor,” she said. “I’m only trying to help her. Do you think I shouldn’t be doing this at all?”
    “No, pet, I’m not taking your inventory,” he said. He grabbed her hand and smacked a couple of kisses into her palm. “You do what feels right to you. I’m only talking about myself. I’m me and you’re you, okay?”
    “Ohhh,” said Barbara, bouncing back. “Is that what they’ve been trying to teach me in Al-Anon all these years?”
    “When I talk to them on the phone,” Jimmy said, “I can ask what meetings they go to. I’ll do the groundwork. Then Bruce can bump into them at a meeting and make friends.”
    I noticed he had no doubt I’d be willing to pump a program person for information. I didn’t mind. Sobriety was hard enough without actually becoming the kind of person who had nothing to be ashamed of. Not today, anyhow.
    “Or I could always relapse,” I offered, “then I could play detective in the rehab.”
    “No!” they said in unison.
    So I like jerking their collective chain once in a while. It makes me feel a little less powerless.

Chapter Seven
    In AA, everything’s an anniversary. In a couple of weeks, I’d be ten months sober. I still hadn’t told my mother. I kind of hoped she’d figure out for herself that I’d stopped drinking. But the few times I’d seen her, she hadn’t said a word. Since my dad died, she didn’t keep so much as a beer in the house. I used to carry at least a