“Part of my recovery involves helping others who’re struggling with alcohol. Would you help me by listening to my story?”

Brandon sat on the floor. “Do I have a choice?”

“Always.”

“Fine.” Brandon’s stomach lurched again. “Have at it.”

“I started drinking when I was thirteen,” Alan said. “I fell into a group of rich kids who had easy access to booze. We always had the good stuff—vodka, gin, rum. I couldn’t say no to any of it, but I had a particular fondness for vodka. I drank every day of high school, college, and law school. No one ever called me on it, so I thought I was getting away with it. I got married a month after I graduated from law school, and it didn’t take my new wife long to realize I was drinking all the time. If I wasn’t at work, I was drunk. She hadn’t signed on for that, so she left me two months after the wedding. I found out much later that she was pregnant when she left. I have a fifteen-year-old son I’ve never met. You see, by the time I finally hit rock bottom and admitted I was an alcoholic, I’d lost my job, I was broke, my ex-wife was remarried, and another man was raising my son.”

Despite his best intentions to stay detached, Brandon was moved by Alan’s story. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I go to my son’s football games just so I can watch him for a few hours. Lucky for him, he looks like his mother, and I can tell just by watching him that he’s popular with his friends. He thinks his stepfather is his real father, and since I’d never do anything to mess up his life, I have to be satisfied with a few glimpses every now and then.”

“That must be really hard.”

“It is, but I’ve managed to find a good life for myself. I’m married again, and I have two little girls who are the joy of my life. I’ve been sober for twelve years, five months, and thirteen days.”

“You count the days?” Brandon asked, incredulous.

“Every sober day is a victory to be celebrated.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about everything that happened to you, but I don’t see how it applies to me.”