“Jesus, I couldn’t talk about this stuff.”

“Not specifically, maybe, but you could talk about what you’re going through and the way it makes you feel. That might help more than you think, Matt.”

“I don’t think I could do it. Hell, I can’t even say I’m an alcoholic. ‘My name is Matt and I pass.’ I could phone it in.”

“Maybe that’ll change.”

“Maybe.”

“How long have you been sober, Matt?”

I had to think. “Eight days.”

“Gee, that’s terrific. What’s so funny?”

“Something I’ve noticed. One person asks another how long he’s been sober, and whatever the answer is, the reply is, ‘Gee, that’s terrific, that’s wonderful.’ If I said eight days or eight years the reaction’d be the same. ‘Gee, isn’t that great, isn’t that terrific.’ “

“Well, it is.”

“I guess.”

“What’s terrific is that you’re sober. Eight years is terrific and so is eight days.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Sunny’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you going?”

“I said I would.”

“Are you worried about that?”

“Worried?”

“Nervous, anxious.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m not looking forward to it.” I looked into her large gray eyes, then looked away. “Eight days is as long as I’ve gone,” I said casually. “I had eight days last time, and then I drank.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to drink tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit, I know that. I’m not going to drink tomorrow.”

“Take someone with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the funeral. Ask someone from the program to go along with you.”

“I couldn’t ask anyone to do that.”

“Of course you could.”

“Who? There’s nobody I know well enough to ask.”

“How well do you have to know somebody to sit next to them at a funeral?”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Would you go with me? Never mind, I don’t want to put you on the spot.”

“I’ll go.”

“Really?”

“Why not? Of course I might look pretty dowdy. Next to all those flashy hookers.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think so at all.”

I tipped up her chin and tasted her mouth with mine. I touched her hair. Dark hair, lightly salted with gray. Gray to match her eyes.

She said, “I was afraid this would happen. And then I was afraid it wouldn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m just afraid.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Do I want you to leave? No, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to kiss me again.”

I kissed her. She put her arms around me and drew me close and I felt the warmth of her body through our clothing.

“Ah, darling,” she said.