beginning to feel hot under the helmet.
The door in front of him swung open and a man with red hair and a wiry, ginger beard stepped through. He passed Ethan, eyeing him curiously as he headed toward the stairs leading to the basement. About two steps down he stopped and turned around.
“Are you looking for the SAA meeting?”
“Uh, yes, I am,” Ethan answered quickly. Essay meeting? What the fuck’s that?
The man sighed and shook his head. “They don’t post it on the bulletin board. It’s such crap. The church lets us use the room in the basement, and we pay a fee to use it, but they refuse to let us post even a small notice, which would clearly”-he gestured dramatically to Ethan-“help new members like yourself figure out where to go. And yet they have no problem advertising the AA and NA meetings that go on here three times a week, each. But sex addicts? Forget it. We only get the room once a week, no bulletin board, and we’re supposed to be grateful.” The man pursed his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to rant. It just irritates me. The meeting room’s downstairs and we start in ten minutes. I’m Dennis if you have any questions.”
Sex addicts? This was Sex Addicts Anonymous?
“Thank you.” Ethan’s mind reeled. “I’ll be right there. I just need to use the restroom first. Say, Dennis?”
The man glanced at him.
Ethan cleared his throat. “Do you guys hire professional therapists or psychologists to do some sort of counseling at these meetings?”
Dennis looked confused. “Of course not. It’s a twelve-step program like any other. Addicts helping addicts. Why?”
Ethan grinned under his visor. “Just wondering. First time and all.”
Dennis returned the smile. “You should know that today’s the first day of the rest of your life. You took an important step by coming here tonight, and you should be proud of yourself. See you inside.”
Ethan waited until Dennis was out of sight, then exited the church. He could barely contain his exhilaration as he headed back toward his bike.
The infallible Sheila Tao was a sex addict.
He wondered if Sheila’s fiance knew and thought there was a helluva good chance the big Texan might just be as clueless as Ethan had been five minutes ago.
It was too delicious for words.
Abby looked up from her station at St. Mary’s Helping Hands. The brown hairnet might have looked ugly on anyone else, but she still managed to look gorgeous. Large blue-violet eyes searched Ethan’s face.
“Where have you been?”
He stiffened at her tone. Her voice was reproachful so he didn’t respond, just watched as she dropped a helping of mashed potatoes onto the plate in front of her. The recipient, an older woman with two missing teeth, smiled and moved on to the next station.
“You totally blew off tonight’s shift,” Abby said, wiping a drop of rehydrated potato from the side of the large tin. “We’ve been really swamped and Maxine’s pissed you didn’t call in. I didn’t know what to tell her.” Maxine was the head volunteer, in charge of scheduling.
“I’m sorry.” Ethan touched Abby’s arm. “My cell phone died. I had a last-minute meeting that took longer than expected.”
“With Dr. Tao?” Abby’s gaze was cool.
Ethan blinked. “No, with a student. A guy named Dennis.” The lie rolled off his tongue.
Abby turned back to her mashed potatoes.
Ethan couldn’t read her body language and a ripple of fear went through him. “Is there anything you need me to do now?”
“Start cleanup.” His girlfriend’s voice was clipped. “Or wait for me outside. Or go home. I don’t care.”
He touched her arm again. “You’re that mad at me?”
She shrugged off his hand. “We’ll talk later.”
He was dismissed. Chastised, he slunk into the kitchen, where another volunteer named Horace was loading the dishwasher.
“Look who decided to show up.” Horace grunted, his pockmarked face shiny under the harsh kitchen lights. “We have a schedule for a reason, rock star.” Horace jerked his head in the direction of three black garbage bags piled in the corner, bursting at the seams. “Take those out for me. Least you could do.”
Ethan’s skin immediately itched at the thought of touching garbage, but he managed a weak smile. “Sure thing, H.”
He grabbed two of the bags, his nose wrinkling at the smell. Pushing open the back door with his hip, he stepped out into the alleyway where the large metal trash bin sat. It was already overflowing with garbage, but he heaved the bags up and into the bin anyway.
One missed. Swearing under his breath, he heaved it again.
The alleyway smelled like piss and shit. It made him think of Marie, the former beauty queen from Albuquerque turned meth addict and whore. He took out his small bottle of hand sanitizer from his jacket pocket and liberally doused his hands with the clear liquid, savoring the memories of the last time he’d seen her.
Marie. Who had twisted and writhed under him, helpless, while his hands were around her throat. Who had looked at him with terrified eyes, just as he liked it…
His groin twitched. Hands clean, he reached into his jeans to adjust himself, his fingers lingering down there a little longer than necessary. She never did get her hundred bucks. What for? Dead people don’t need money.
A voice spoke suddenly and Ethan jumped, his hand flying out of his pants.
“You a bad man,” the voice said softly, seeming to come from nowhere.
Ethan whipped around, almost dropping his hand sanitizer. The alleyway was completely dark. Only the spot he stood in was lit, thanks to the dim bulb above the soup kitchen’s back door.
“Who’s there?”
“You do bad things.” The voice was deep. It had to be a man’s. And he sounded forlorn, as if things weren’t strange enough. “Very bad things.”
Ethan’s heart thumped. He stepped away from the trash bin and closer to the door, his posture rigid.
Was it his imagination, or was the voice vaguely familiar?
“Who’s there?” Ethan hardened his voice. “Speak, motherfucker, before I call the cops.”
“Bad things happen to bad people,” the voice said, drifting away.
Ethan looked down the alleyway, first left, then right, but there was nothing but blackness.
Shaken, he pulled open the door to St. Mary’s and stepped inside quickly.
And came face-to-face with his very pissed-off girlfriend.
CHAPTER 10
T he sun was still low across the sky, and the light in the room was golden against the plush white decor. Very soothing. Sheila would have killed for an office like this, but only those in private practice were entitled to such luxury. She was an educator at heart, though at the rate she was going, not for much longer.
She sipped her coffee and stared out the window.
“Did you finish that book on grieving I gave you?” Marianne Chang asked.
“I did. It helped.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“My father’s death?” Sheila shook her head and grimaced. “No thanks. Not today.”
“I think it’s important we open up a dialogue about this again. We’ve gotten sidetracked with all this Ethan business, but we’ve been neglecting the reasons that led you here.” The therapist’s voice was soft. “The things your father did to you, his categorical denial when you confronted him-”
Sheila put up a hand. “Not today, okay?”
It was seven thirty in the morning and Marianne had agreed to meet for an early session. Not that their
