“No.”
“I’m glad.”
“Not today. Not right now at this minute.”
“That’s good.”
“But I did drink. I fucked up.”
“It’s okay, man,” said Handy. “We’re alcoholics. It’s what we do.”
Cord heaved a long, shuddering sigh.
“Where are you?” said Handy.
“I’m in Rome. I’m sitting in front of a big fountain. I don’t know where to go, and I don’t know how to make things right.”
“Yup,” said Handy.
“What does that mean?” said Cord angrily.
“It means, I hear you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cord, rubbing his eyes.
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“But I am,” said Cord. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know what I’m going to say?” said Handy, after a pause.
“Yeah.” Cord laughed sadly.
“What?”
“Go to a meeting.”
“Right. What else?” said Handy.
“Accept the things I cannot change.”
“Good one. And…?”
Cord tipped his head to look at the navy sky. “You’re going to tell me to wait for God to tell me what to do.”
“How’ve you been doing on your own, man?” said Handy.
“Not so well.”
“Yup,” said Handy again. Cord’s fury ebbed, and he began to laugh. “Gio came to surprise me,” he said. “Handy, he hired a golf cart. To drive my mom around Rome. And I just—I don’t know. I blacked out or something.”
“You were drunk?”
“No,” said Cord. “Sober as a mouse or whatever they say.”
“A church mouse,” said Handy.
“Yeah. But I just went comatose. In the golf cart.” Laughter bubbled up, and Cord giggled. “Gio told me to go to hell,” he said. “My family didn’t know what was going on. My mom…”
