Waldo managed a skeptical snort. “When did you start believing in God?” He tightened his grasp of Bill’s hand. “But thank you, baby.” He sighed. “Well, at least we still got each other. Someday we’ll be two old queens sitting on the porch of the nursing home cruising the orderlies and all this,” he concluded wistfully, “will seem very far away.”

After breakfast, Bill went to his office. He was in the process of converting the business from real estate sales to property management because, working alone, he was less and less able to compete with the big realty companies setting up shop in the Castro. Of course, he could have gone to work for one of them, they’d all been around sniffing him out, but Bill didn’t want a boss. Unable to fight them and unwilling to join them, he decided to take the expertise and contacts he had accumulated over a decade of rehabilitating old houses and contract himself out as a property manager. He was negotiating with half-a-dozen owners of apartment buildings to take over the day-to-day responsibilities of being a landlord. The conversion was complicated but today he was grateful that the work kept his mind occupied and away from Nick.

When he had done all he could do, it was dark outside. He sat at his desk for a few minutes sorting through his options: home to an empty apartment, a solitary meal in a restaurant, the bars or a backroom somewhere. Another alternative occurred to him and fifteen minutes later he was sitting on a folding chair in the basement of Blessed Savior at an AA meeting. He had come in late and as quietly as he could, but a few men glanced over at him when his chair squeaked as he pulled it out to sit. Just like a gay bar, he thought disdainfully, everyone checking out the fresh meat. But even as the thought passed through his head, he knew the comparison was false. The eyes that met his were not predatory but friendly, even kind, and they did not linger, but quickly returned to the front of the room where two men sat at a table; the secretary of the meeting and the speaker.

The secretary was saying, “We ask that all newcomers raise their hands to identify themselves. A newcomer is someone in his or her first thirty days of sobriety. We ask this not to embarrass you but so that we may get to know you at the end of the meeting.”

Bill flushed. He had hoped to miss this announcement. Two other men raised their hands, one saying, “Hi, I’m Bryan and I’m an alcoholic with four days.” The other said, “I’m Les, and I have twenty-two days today.” They were greeted and applauded. Bill kept his hand down as he always did when he went to a meeting, out of pride or shame—he was uncertain which.