“Pretty soon, I figured out that the very attractive money was combat pay,” Becky said.

When Alice was sober, she was diligent, generous, painstaking and charming. When Alice was on a bender, she was devious, defiant, sometimes cruel...and charming. “It was like taking care of a baby who never got older but could filibuster like a senator, which she could, it was her birthright, okay? Lying was to Alzy like the cello to Yo-Yo Ma. She had a gift. It was almost something you could admire.”

With a reproving look that asked, how could you suspect anything else, Alzy would sometimes tell Becky, “I’m just getting my briefcase out of the car.” But minutes would pass. Alzy would not return. Then the grim hunt would begin. Friends’ houses, restaurants, libraries, parks, bars, bus shelters along the lakeshore, the Civic Center parking lot.

Becky would be afraid to call Alice’s sisters or her mother and father or her ex-husband, afraid that they would put Alice back in rehab and Alice would lose her good job or never see her children again. Becky would also lose her good job. The Hodges trusted Becky and treated her like family. And Alzy was ever gallant, loving, contrite, when she was sober.

“I loved her,” Becky told Stefan and me. “I wanted to save her. But I was only one girl.”

Alzy loved Christmas.

The first Christmas after the final salvo of the custody battle with her ex-husband, she was to have the girls with her starting that Christmas Eve. Not a drop of liquor passed her lips. The days were tender and festive. But when they went back to their dad several days later, her mood plummeted.

That New Year’s Eve was gorgeously counterfeit: The sun was so high and bright it was impossible to believe that the high temperature, in late afternoon, was minus four. In the evening Alzy sat and gazed into the fireplace and drank huge mugs of what Rebecca believed was tea. Becky recalled Alice turning to her and saying, “I love my little girls. And I love my husband. I had everything. I ruined everything.”

“It’s not all your fault, Alzy,” Becky told her. “You have a disease. You just can’t have booze, is all. It’ll kill you.”

“Then I might as well be dead.”

“Not even a little. Your girls need you. Your husband probably needs you. You can see how much he loves you. So many people love you and admire you and count on you.”

As I listened to Becky, Stefan made tea and brought each of us a mug. Becky thanked him and went on.