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Runstan’s brick façade spanned three storefronts at the end of a generic strip mall that held a Chinese restaurant, a pizza place, and a dry cleaner’s. The Runstan entrance was a glass door flanked by squarish windows, and it didn’t look like a multimillion-dollar business, but you don’t have to be an alcoholic to know that appearances are deceiving.
It was 7:27a.m. when cars started appearing, turning into the strip mall and parking lot. I kept an eye out for Lemaire in his maroon Volvo. So far, no luck. There were designated spaces for the president, vice president, and sales manager, but not accounting.
The designated spaces filled up, and I got a look at Stan Malinowski, the owner, when he got out of an old Explorer. I remembered him from years ago. He’d grown bald and round, but still hada port-wine stain on his forehead. John nicknamed him Stain, which was the one time I remember my father yelling at my brother.
I prayed Lemaire would show up. Car after car came in until the lot was full and the Runstan employees had gone inside.
No maroon Volvo and no Lemaire.
•••
I drove to the office and parked in the farthest corner of the lot, next to a gray Porsche Carrera and a white Mercedes S-Class that belonged to the owners of the insurance and reinsurance agencies. Whoever said crime doesn’t pay never worked in insurance. Or reinsurance.
I chirped the Subaru locked and headed toward the entrance with a box of donuts. I opened the door into Merrie Olde England and a waiting area with a well-dressed man and an attractive woman, a mix of my parents’ clients. More than one soon-to-be ex met their next soon-to-be ex in our waiting room, which made my parents as proud as billable pimps.
“Good morning, Sabrina,” I said to the receptionist, who looked up from her desktop over black reading glasses. She was an older friend of my mother’s, and her sweet face was framed by clipped gray hair and omnipresent pearl earrings.
“TJ, how are you?”
“Great, thanks.” I set the box of donuts on the table. “You?”
“Fine. Gabby wants to see you on her pro bono case. It’s some type of prisoner litigation for Holmesburg inmates.”
“Will do. I’ll see her after John.” I left the reception area and headed down the hallway toward his office. His door was closed as usual, so I knocked and opened it to find my father standing in frontof John’s desk, which surprised me. We usually went to my father’s office, not the other way around.
“Dad, John, good morning.”
“Bright and early, I see,” my father said curtly, folding his arms in his dark suit.
“Good morning, TJ.” John looked strangely grim in a European fit shirt with a shiny Hermès tie, regarding business casual as Straight-up Communism.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, keeping it light. I hoped that John hadn’t told my father about Lemaire, which would only complicate the situation.
“You tell me,” my father shot back.
John answered, “TJ, I told Dad about last night. I told him everything.”
Dumb smart person. “Why?”
“I had to. It was the right thing to do. We can’t hide a secret that big.” John met my eye directly. “I told him you fell off the wagon.”
“What?”I recoiled, shocked. It felt like a gut punch. I couldn’t collect my thoughts. I’d be sober for two years on June 7, and my sobriety meant everything to me. It was the one thing I prayed over every night.
“TJ, I had to. I don’t think we should keep it secret. I told Dad I smelled alcohol on your breath before his birthday dinner and how you admitted you had a few beers. We left the house so Mom didn’t find out. I’m sorry, I promised not to tell, but it’s the truth.”
No. It was a lie, the worst lie ever. I’d worked so hard to stay sober. I changed everything about my life and followed the program like a religion. I hadn’t relapsed, not once, which was crazy. My home group even called me Relapse Virgin.
My father scowled. “TJ, you think this is my first rodeo? You andJohn disappearing last night? I knew it wasn’t on a case of Gabby’s. She covered for you, too. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”
No, no, no. I didn’t know what to say. It killed me that he thought I was drinking again. I struggled every day to stay sober. Some even struggled to stay alive. Others didn’t succeed. Jesse, for one. But I couldn’t think about him now.
John interjected, “I told Dad that we called your sponsor, and he got you back on track. It’s okay, TJ. You can admit it. Dad understands, and so do I.”
My chest tightened with anger. I was too furious to say anything. I couldn’t support the lie but I couldn’t bust John. I’d never call my sponsor with my brother anyway. That wasn’t even how it worked.
My father sighed, unfolding his arms. “TJ, listen to me. Hear me. You cannot start drinking again. You have to stop drinking for good. If you drink again, you’re fired.”
“Fired?”It panicked me. “Dad, no, I need this job, you know that—”
