“I wasn’t going to say anything. I’ve had a few anniversaries along the way and, save the first month and the first year, I’ve always kept them to myself. I don’t know why—I don’t like making a fuss, I suppose. I know—you all probably think that’s stupid, and I’d agree with you.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Anyway. I got a lot out of Lucas’s share and I thought, seeing as I have an anniversary, too, maybe I ought to share it with you all.”

Frank smiled like a father encouraging a nervous child to let go of the edge of the swimming pool. “That sounds to me like the right decision. How long do you have?”

“Eight years,” Milton said. “Give or take a day or two.”

The room burst into applause for a second time. Frank reached into the box and took out a second medallion. He held it up and encouraged Milton to come forward. He did, uncomfortable at the applause that continued as he made his way to the front and accepted the chip.

“Congratulations,” Frank said as Milton sat back down.

Milton shook his head. It was almost as if he had just had an out-of-body experience. He didn’t know why he had raised his hand this time when he had kept quiet before; something in Lucas’s share had resonated with him, and sitting next to Victoria, as well as seeing the success that she had made of her own recovery, had inspired him. Perhaps he should share his milestones and his gratitude. He looked down at the chip in his hand: the AA logo was on the front and the back included a silkscreen printing of a picture that Milton remembered from an old copy of the Big Book that he had been given at the start of his sobriety. It showed two people, Bill W. and Dr. Bob, sitting next to a hospital bed where a third man, Bill D., sat listening to what they were telling him. Their meeting in Akron in 1935 was taken by many to be the first meeting of the Fellowship. The words beneath the picture were reputed to have been Dr. Bob’s words to Bill W.: “If you and I are to stay sober we had better get busy.”

He closed the chip in his fist and waited for the meeting to come to an end.

50

Victoria led Milton out of the meeting and into the late-morning humidity. The clamour of the street replaced the quiet of the room, and the peacefulness that Milton had felt started to fray at the edges, just as it always did as soon as a meeting concluded.

“You kept that quiet!” she exclaimed. “Eight years. Wow.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said. “And then… I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to do.”