U Is for Undertow

the bottom of each. The branches were covered with cutout leaf shapes in primary colors, each bearing a name printed in block letters. MATTHEW, JESSICA, CHRISTOPHER, ASHLEY, JOSHUA, HEATHER. Walker could see leaves with the names of siblings as well, one or two leaves for Mom and Dad, depending on their marital status. A generation of grandparents appeared above the immediate family, with great-grandparents closer to the tippy-top. He doubted grade-school kids could conceive of ancestors more remote in time.
    His sponsor was a guy named Leonard whom he’d met through the Episcopal church he and Carolyn attended sporadically. He’d been aware Leonard didn’t drink. They had few acquaintances in common, though they ran into each other at the occasional dinner party. Leonard’s wife, Shannon, was a kick, bright and funny, and Carolyn had been interested in getting the four of them together. Walker had resisted the idea. Being in Leonard’s company was like being in the presence of a born-again, and Walker preferred to keep him at arm’s length. Once Herschel laid down the law about Walker’s pulling himself together, he’d called Leonard and talked to him about getting help. Leonard had agreed to sponsor him and the two chatted frequently by phone. He was gradually warming to the man. He wanted his life back, and Leonard understood exactly where he was, even his ambivalence in the face of despair.
    He had to admit alcoholism was democratic, encompassing every age, race, social status, and financial standing. So far he hadn’t run into anyone he knew, but he was braced for the possibility. After his release from the hospital, he’d gone down to the police station with his attorney and surrendered himself to the authorities. The booking process had been matter-of-fact, for which he’d been inordinately grateful. He’d been more than cooperative, thinking to demonstrate that he was a cut above most of those who passed through their hands. It was a mark of how low he’d sunk that he deemed their opinions relevant. Later, at his arraignment, he’d pleaded not guilty and now he was waiting for a court date. When the cops caught up with him after the accident, he’d been forced to surrender his driver’s license, so he’d had to hire a car and driver to ferry him around town.
    Betty Sherrard, the bank vice president and portfolio manager, had offered a solution to the transportation problem. Her son, Brent, was living at home until school started in the fall. He was twenty and worked part-time stocking shelves at Von’s supermarket. He needed the extra money and he was able to tailor his hours to accommodate Walker’s needs. Walker paid him fifteen dollars an hour, plus mileage on his mother’s spare car, a 1986 Toyota. It was all a pain in the ass, but he had no choice.
    The woman standing up in front was speaking about the trajectory of her drinking woes, a spiral as relentless as a toilet being flushed, according to her report: First, the family intervention, which had shocked her into good behavior. She’d been one year sober and then her mother died and she’d begun to drink again the day of the funeral. Three months later, she swore off alcohol again, but there were countless falls from grace, each one more degrading than the one before. Her husband divorced her. She lost custody of her kids. She was a mean drunk and her friends had taken to avoiding her. One morning she woke up in her car, which was parked at a shopping mall a hundred miles from home. She had no idea how she’d gotten there. Her purse had been stolen and she’d had to hike to the nearest service station, where she bummed enough money to call and beg her ex-sister-in-law to pick her up. Waiting, she’d finally accepted the fact she couldn’t do it on her own. Now she was fifty-one days clean and sober, which netted her a big round of applause.
    Walker thought his circumstances were tame by comparison. True, Carolyn had forced him to leave the house, but he was confident she’d relent. He still saw his kids every chance he got and he still had a job, for god’s sake. He’d messed up badly, but his problems didn’t hold a patch on some he’d heard here. This was a bump in the road, a wake-up call. He’d stumbled off course and now he’d righted himself. All these stories about people losing everything and living on the streets? He sympathized, but his situation was entirely different. One guy had made it clean and sober for