Free Benchley, Peter - Novel 07 by Rummies (v2.0)

feelings for Kevin. I think Hector learned
something from that, too, but it may be up to us to help him see what it was.
And I feel good about Cheryl. She's been letting that bastard guilt ride her
pretty hard, but maybe now she's ready to throw him in the dirt. I feel good
that Scott's with us. . . ."
                   Gimme a break! Preston grimaced and clenched his fists. Don't talk
about me. Make believe I don't exist. He let his eyes wander around the circle,
expecting to see someone nudge someone else, expecting to hear a derisive
snigger. But all heads were bowed.
                   "These twenty-eight days will be just the
beginning for Scott. He's got a long, long road ahead, and it's up to us to be
his guides."
                   Marcia stopped and nodded to Hector, who sat
to her right.
                   Smoking wasn't permitted in therapy, but
Hector, in whom nicotine withdrawal provoked panic that had once led to threats
of violence against the clinic's Methodist chaplain, had been granted
dispensation to pack his gums with snuff. He sucked his cud and thought of
something to say.
                   "I'm Hector. I'm a junkie. I guess I feel
okay today, no problems. . . . But I got to say, I don't know what Lewis and
what's-his-name . . . Kevin . . . got to do with me. Like, the last thing in
the world I want to do—I mean, it comes after cutting my tongue out and maybe
kissing goats—is—"
                   Lewis sat up straight and opened his mouth,
but Marcia pointed a finger, silencing him, and said to Hector, "It's not
about mechanics. Hector, it's about relationships. We'll go into it
later." She nodded at the fragile little bird who sat to Hector's right.
Cheryl.
                   "I'm Cheryl. ..." She sounded like a
frightened kitten, as if worried that any sound above a whisper would give
offense. Though Preston kept his head down, his eyes refused to
look away from her. She was tiny and so thin that her head looked oversized and
her bones seemed to be held together by her clothes. A cap of ebony hair
surrounded a face made up only of lips and cheekbones, for the eyes lived in
dark caves deep in her skuU.
                   "I'm still sad that Karen graduated
yesterday. I mean, I'm glad she made it through, but I'm really going to miss
her. I see her starting out on a new life, and it scares me, 'cause I don't
know how much of a life I can have and . . . well, I guess you could say I've
got mixed feelings about it all."
                   When, after a beat, Cheryl said nothing more,
Lewis smiled at Preston and declared, "My name is Lewis, and I
have the gift of alcoholism."
                   ''What?" Preston realized he had spoken out of turn, and he
added quickly, "Excuse me."
                   Marcia said, "Lewis, that's not fair to
Scott."
                   "Oh, all right." Lewis shrugged.
"I'm Lewis and I'm an alcoholic. I'm a bit upset today because I have a
new roommate whom I do not like. He treats me like I've got leprosy. Not that
I'm not used to dealing with homophobes, but this one is particularly conceited
in imagining that I'd ever want to put a move on him, and . . . well, it's just
so tiresome having to justify yourself to every new bigot that comes along.
Anyway ..." Lewis dismissed the thought with an imperious wave.
                   Silence. Preston 's time had come. He had nothing to say.
What could he say that would mean anything to these people—a hooker, a junkie,
a fruit and an anorexic? He had nothing in common with them. Their problems
were theirs. If they wanted to blab about them, that was their business. His
problems were his, and he'd deal with them. They couldn't understand.
                   A drop of sweat fell from the tip of his nose.
                   "Scott . . . ?" Marcia said softly.
                   No way