BEN WOKE WITH a hangover about as bad as expected. Daylight flooded the car, stabbing into his brain through closed eyelids. He groaned, wishing with all his heart to be dead.

He would’ve happily turned over and gone back to sleep for a few more hours, but his body had other ideas. As the various systems came back online, Ben got accurate feedback on his overall condition, and it was not encouraging. His head hurt something fierce, his legs were cramped from lying curled up in the confined space of his Toyota’s back seat, and his mouth tasted of carpet.

But the main fight went on in his stomach. No longer used to the eroding effects of alcohol, his insides started cramping and rumbling as soon as Ben’s head reconnected with his body. Together with the brightness of this beautiful Indian summer’s morning, queasiness turned to nausea. Cursing himself, the glaring light, and the universe in general, Ben scrambled to sitting and just about got the curbside door open before the contents of his stomach made it all the way up his esophagus. He retched, supporting himself on the car door with one hand, at once amazed and revolted at how awful this part of the hangover experience was. Clearly, he had suppressed a lot of the unpleasantness that had ruled his life all these years ago.

When he could breathe again, Ben sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The light still stung his eyes, and his head pounded fiercely. Coffee and Advil were the only answer to the burning question of What next? So Ben climbed over the pool of sick and slammed the rear door shut, wincing at the resultant crash. Then he opened the driver’s door and rummaged in the door compartment for the painkillers he knew had to be in there. He located them eventually and closed this door more carefully, then locked the car and straightened up.

According to Ben’s watch, it wasn’t even half past eight. His shift didn’t start until midday, a major reason for even allowing himself the breakdown last night. He felt depressed about how conscientiously he planned even stupid shit like this.

There was a café on the other side of the street, and Ben made a beeline for it. Upon entering, he snuck into the bathroom at the back first, where he peed, rinsed his mouth, and washed his face. Then he bought a large black coffee from a sleepy barista behind the counter.

Outside in the alleyway next to the café, Ben popped a few Advil and washed them down with sips of coffee. This forced him into inactivity for several minutes, to let his stomach get over the shock of the strong coffee and the pills. Finally, the combination of painkillers and caffeine afforded his head some relief.

Now what, though? As the world started to be recognizable again, Ben’s mind turned to what he had gotten himself into, and the feelings of shame and guilt grew ever stronger.

What had pushed him to this foray into the blackest part of his past? Ben had known for months that Helen and he were done. Why this breakdown now, then? Was he trying to punish himself? Give up on everything he had fought so hard for? Was it not worth having a life, even if Helen wasn’t a part of it any longer? Ben still had his daughter to think about, and his job, even if it no longer promised the career he’d always wanted.

He rubbed his smarting eyes and wandered down the alleyway, away from the traffic noise on the main road.

The piles of garbage and the peeling paint on the doors he passed hardly registered, so steeped was he in his own misery. This filthy part of town suited his mood, but at last something did manage to penetrate the haze of self-loathing. It was a familiar slogan, on a big faded yellow sign tacked to a broad blue door to his right.

The sign above the door read “South Central Atlanta Community Center.” Ben looked at his watch again. It was ten to nine.

He went inside.

A SIGN ON the wall by the stairs directed Ben to a room on the second floor. When he entered, half a dozen men and women were already seated on cheap plastic chairs. Another four or five arrived within minutes. Ben sat down near the door. Most of the people seemed to know each other, greeting one another in quiet voices.

One man, gray-haired but energetic looking, went to the front and put a sheaf of papers onto a podium bolted to the floor in the center, facing the rows of chairs. He kept looking at the door as if waiting for someone. When the man at last gave a wide smile and a nod toward the back of the room, Ben turned around. His heart missed a beat.

Donnie Saunders walked into the room, carrying two large coffee urns. “Sorry, Arthur,” Saunders said in his low voice that didn’t carry. He hurried to a table at the back, where cups, milk, and sugar were already arranged in neat formation.

Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the man. What was Saunders doing here? Of all the possible AA meetings in this city, why had Ben walked into this one? Should he just leave? But Saunders was bound to see him now, whatever he did.

Before Ben could make up his mind, Saunders turned around and their eyes met.

The surprise in the other’s gaze only lasted a moment. Then Saunders’s expression changed, becoming soft and gentle. Ben couldn’t look away from the unusual indigo eyes, and Saunders’s gaze lingered, too. Saunders nodded and gave Ben a small smile. Ben returned the smile, surprised to feel his panic drain away. Saunders wouldn’t judge him for being here.

As the other man sat down in the last row, Ben turned his attention back to the front, and the man called Arthur. The old man’s warm gaze travelled around the room, and Ben’s heart rate was almost back to normal. He no longer wanted to leave.

“Welcome, everyone.” The old man’s voice was warm, and Ben detected the merest hint of an almost-forgotten British accent in the words. “My name’s Arthur, and I’m an alcoholic.”

As the room murmured the customary response, Ben relaxed. He could do this. He was on familiar terrain here.

“Let’s say the prayer,” Arthur called. Ben murmured along and caught himself listening out for Saunders’s quiet dark voice behind him.

As the meeting progressed, Ben’s mood calmed even further. Memories of past AA meetings came back to him, and a sense of peace he had always felt at them. He was not a religious man, but the ceremonial nature of these gatherings, so often resembling a church service, had been the anchor he had needed to get sober all these years ago.

The knowledge of being in the same situation as the other people in the room, of feeling that he wasn’t a failure, that others struggled with the same demons, and understood what he was going through, had been his salvation. And it hadn’t lost its magic. Ben had never made friends with anyone at meetings, not even with the one sponsor he’d had for a while. But having this safe space to return to when he needed it, that roomful of people that never judged, and who didn’t care who he was, had been a lifeline.

Ben didn’t get up to speak. He just listened to what the others had to share. And throughout the meeting, Ben was acutely aware of Saunders behind him, just as silent as he was himself.

After an hour, Arthur concluded the meeting, and they recited the serenity prayer again. A scraping of chair legs started up, but Ben stayed in his seat for a few more minutes, keeping his eyes on the floor, hoping nobody would approach him. Today he wasn’t up to connecting with a roomful of strangers. But out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Saunders went up to the front and helped Arthur straighten chairs and tidy away leaflets.

When most people had either left or were engaged in conversation, Ben got up and went over to where the coffee urns stood, in no rush to get home. He was at peace here and keen to keep that feeling alive for as long as possible. Ben was just about to take a cup when Saunders appeared by his side.

“Hey.”

The other man’s smile was shy and sort of sideways, but his eyes were still gentle. He seemed genuinely pleased to see Ben.

Ben took a deep breath. “Mr. Sau—”

“Donnie,” the other man interrupted him. “It’s just first names here, remember?” “Right,” Ben said, mind blank. “Right. I’m sorry.”

Donnie gave a shrug and reached past Ben for two cups, then filled them both with steaming coffee. He held one cup out and caught Ben’s gaze with his. “Glad you came, Ben.”