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Despite the hyperbole, Holly sees Baljit’s point. Moreover, she’s relieved to hear that Baljit—the first of the tribe she has interviewed since Elaine’s death—is eager to proceed with therapy. But “We’ll see” is all Holly is willing to say.
Fifteen minutes after Baljit leaves, Reese occupies the same chair, dressed in a navy suit and wearing minimal makeup. The similarities between Reese and Baljit are hard to overlook. Both in their late thirties, educated, successful, ambitious, blunt, and impenetrably self-assured. Holly realizes the same description could apply to her, as well. And yet the two women don’t remind Holly of each other, and she certainly doesn’t see herself in either of them. Racial differences aside, Baljit is married with a seven-year-old daughter, although as best Holly can tell, her husband spends most of his time in Asia. Reese, on the other hand, is single. More significantly, the two women give off wholly different vibes. Baljit seems driven by unbridled determination to prove herself—in essence, to win—while Reese, despite her intolerance for inefficiency, is far more contemplative and practical. In some ways, Holly sees her as the rock of the group.
“How are things?” Holly asks.
“Six weeks without a drop,” Reese says matter-of-factly.
“And how are you feeling about it?”
Reese considers the question for a moment. “I’ve been through rehab three times and gone to God knows how many AA meetings. I was beginning to think I’d never be able to stay on the wagon.”
“No?”
“I used to go to bed drunk. Even if I blacked out, I’d still get up the next morning and be at work on time. I’ve always done my job well and risen steadily up the corporate ladder. I’m a top-earning partner at thirty-eight, despite the drinking. But I’d basically resigned myself to the idea that I would live my whole life as a functional alcoholic and then die alone.” She sighs. “It’s not an uncommon fate for lawyers.”
“You’re not resigned anymore?”
Reese sweeps her hand around the room. “This changed everything. The ketamine. Our group. You. A few months ago, I didn’t think sobriety would ever be in my future, and now it feels… easy.”
“I’m glad, Reese.”
“Me, too. Because while I could drink my way through my career, I couldn’t do the same with the rest of my life.”
“You mean with your family?”
“I don’t have a family. I was an only child. And my parents are dead.”
Reese has always resisted discussing her childhood, but Holly senses an opening. “How old were you when your parents died?”
“Mom passed about fifteen years ago. But it was a blessing. She had early onset Alzheimer’s.”
Holly offers a sympathetic smile. “And your father?”
“I was eight.” Reese snorts. “They told me he died of cancer.”
“He didn’t?”
“When I was in ninth grade, one of my cousins broke it to me that Dad actually died of cirrhosis. I think he called it a ‘shot liver.’ Because as my loveable cousin stressed—in front of a bunch of my classmates, mind you—Dad was a fall-down drunk.”
“That’s awful.”
Reese shrugs. “Like father, like daughter, huh?”
“I meant finding out that way.”
“Not the best way to hear it. Then again, I like to think my cousin came to regret humiliating me. Especially after his prized dirt bike blew up. Well, caught fire.” A small smile tugs at the corner of Reese’s mouth.
Holly arches an eyebrow. “How?”
“A loose wire and a leak in the gas tank.” Reese eyes her knowingly. “He wasn’t hurt, but I don’t think his motorbike was ever rideable again.”
“I see.” Holly maintains a neutral expression, but she’s surprised to hear that her most unflappable client acted out to that degree. Even as a teenager.
As if reading her mind, Reese says, “I know it’s not really an excuse, but I was young and stupid and going through one of the worst periods of my life.”
“Why’s that?”
“My mom had just been put into a home.”
