She fidgeted with the seam on her jeans and said, “No, but I know he’s watching me. I can feel it. What about you? He called you my pretty boy sponsor the night he showed up at the shelter. I bet he’s watching you, too.”

“I haven’t seen him around, and I don’t think he’ll come over the bridge into Dark Knights’ territory. I want to be supportive of you moving out, and I think it’s great that you’re doing so well. But have you considered moving to this area? I’m sure you can find a job here.”

As much as Quincy would like to help her find a job in Peaceful Harbor, she had to take those steps herself, at least for now. When Quincy had started running NA meetings, he’d asked Biggs if the Dark Knights could help find people in recovery jobs and housing. But after a long discussion about the realities of recovery, they’d agreed that because of the nature of the beast, and in an effort to keep Biggs’s business associates and Peaceful Harbor safe, they would help only after completion of rehab plus six months of commitment to the NA program.

“It would cost me twice as much to live here,” Simone said, and she was right. The Harbor was a lot more expensive than Parkvale. “And I can’t live at the shelter forever.”

“I get that, but you never know. It might be worth asking around.”

“I will. I promise.” She pushed her curls out of her eyes, and they sprang right back into them.

“Can’t ask for more than that. Come on. I have to get the meeting started.”

He called the meeting to order, and everyone took a seat around the circle. They began with a moment of silence, and after the readings and announcements, Quincy asked if anyone would like to share.

Jacob, a clean-cut guy in his early thirties, said, “I’d like to.”

Quincy nodded.

Jacob remained seated, as they did when they had a small group, and said, “I’m Jacob—” The door opened, and he paused.

“Sorry.”

Quincy spun around in his chair, and the air rushed from his lungs. Roni was walking tentatively toward the group. He pushed to his feet and said, “Excuse me for one second,” quickly closing the distance between them.

“Hi,” she said softly, gazing eagerly at him from behind her glasses. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s okay. It’s good to see you. I want to talk with you, but I can’t during the meeting.”

“I know. I’m here for the meeting. I read online that it was an open meeting.” There were open and closed NA meetings. Open meetings were open to anyone interested in finding out about the program, while closed meetings were for only those who identify themselves as addicts or believe they might have a drug problem.

Quincy couldn’t believe his ears, or that she’d researched the meeting. “It’s an open meeting, but I don’t understand.”

“How can I truly understand what you’ve been through and the challenges you’ll face unless I’ve spent time in your world?”