Not Today by David E. Feldman

Author:David E. Feldman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery, mystery, suspense, thriller, mystery thriller, women sleuths, female sleuth, private detective, private investigator, amateur sleuth
Publisher: David E. Feldman
Published: 2021-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

THE MEDICAL FACILITY, which housed the groups that C3 was mandated to attend, was actually a complex of three low, brick buildings that had been built in the 1960s. The complex now housed two dentists, an obstetrician, an ophthalmologist and optometrist husband/wife practice, a freight forwarder, a candy manufacturer’s corporate office, and the Rockplace Counseling Center, which offered mental health and addiction-related services, social work and, after hours, twelve-step meetings of various kinds.

C3’s parole conditions required that he participate in group counseling twice a week, one-on-one at least once a week, and daily twelve step meetings, with at least four of these being Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

He had asked his father if he could move back home. He hated the halfway house, where there was some camaraderie and mutual support, but also a feeling that reminded him a little of prison. He wasn’t really free. His father responded that he needed structure, and C3 agreed, saying his father would be better able to keep an eye on him if he were living at home. Surprised, his father had relented.

The ongoing Covid virus situation had migrated all of these to a video chat platform. Today was the first day of in-person meetings, which were limited to the first ten attendees to show up, all of whom were to be masked and practice social distancing. The rest would attend online or by phone. Today was Adult Children of Alcoholics—ACOA.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Terence, and I’m an adult child.”

“Hi, Terrence,” the group said in unison.

“Today’s topic is Step One,” Terence continued. He was in his fifties, wore silver, wire-rimmed glasses, had thinning grey hair, and a slight paunch that spilled over his belt. “I’m powerless over the family disease and my life is unmanageable.”

Most of those in the room nodded. C3 was looking at a young woman with dark hair and a single, thin, auburn braid. She wore a too-tight lilac blouse with ruffles fringing a plunging neckline.

“I grew up in a crazy situation,” Terence went on, “with an alcoholic mom and a father who gambled and ran with some bad people. It wasn’t my fault, and I couldn’t cope with the dysfunction. I didn’t cause it, I couldn’t control it, and I certainly couldn’t cure it. So, it came out the side of my neck, so to speak. I acted out, caused trouble, broke windows, got high, got in fights. Anyone identify? Tracy?”

The young woman with the lilac ruffles had sensed C3’s interest and was looking pointedly in the opposite direction, but her energy remained focused on him. He could feel it—a spark between them. She was startled by the question. “Hmm ...?”

“Can you identify?”

“With ... oh, um, kind of, I guess ...”

“How so?”

“I-I’m not sure I’m comfortable enough to share this. It can take me a while to feel safe.” She turned toward Terrance, focused now on the question. “Um, I did have a pretty abusive stepfather and stepbrother. And you don’t want to know about my boyfriends.”

Terrance nodded sadly. “I understand.

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