Creep - Jennifer Hillier [31]
Ethan had never been to church, so he didn’t know. But even in his limited experience, something seemed off.
If this was a regular church thing, or maybe an evening wedding or memorial service of some kind, why weren’t people entering the church through the front door? And why weren’t people in pairs? Most people didn’t go to church alone, right?
He finally locked his bike and headed toward the side entrance, keeping his helmet on. He didn’t think this would seem weird since it was raining and the lower half of his face was completely exposed anyway. The door was sticky and it took a good yank to get it open. Stepping into a small landing, he had the choice of taking the stairs up or down, or he could walk straight through. A glass door was six feet away, leading to what he assumed was the main area of the church.
He wasn’t sure which way to go.
He peered at a bulletin board to his left, hoping it would tell him what was going on here tonight. Scores of notices on colored paper were stapled to the corkboard—bake sales, yard sales, Sunday-school updates, walking and exercise groups, offers for free Avon makeovers. He squinted to read them through his tinted visor, his scalp beginning to feel hot under the helmet.
The door in front of him swung open and a man with red hair and a wiry, ginger beard stepped through. He passed Ethan, eyeing him curiously as he headed toward the stairs leading to the basement. About two steps down he stopped and turned around.
“Are you looking for the SAA meeting?”
“Uh, yes, I am,” Ethan answered quickly. Essay meeting? What the fuck’s that?
The man sighed and shook his head. “They don’t post it on the bulletin board. It’s such crap. The church lets us use the room in the basement, and we pay a fee to use it, but they refuse to let us post even a small notice, which would clearly”—he gestured dramatically to Ethan—“help new members like yourself figure out where to go. And yet they have no problem advertising the AA and NA meetings that go on here three times a week, each. But sex addicts? Forget it. We only get the room once a week, no bulletin board, and we’re supposed to be grateful.” The man pursed his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to rant. It just irritates me. The meeting room’s downstairs and we start in ten minutes. I’m Dennis if you have any questions.”
Sex addicts? This was Sex Addicts Anonymous?
“Thank you.” Ethan’s mind reeled. “I’ll be right there. I just need to use the restroom first. Say, Dennis?”
The man glanced at him.
Ethan cleared his throat. “Do you guys hire professional therapists or psychologists to do some sort of counseling at these meetings?”
Dennis looked confused. “Of course not. It’s a twelve-step program like any other. Addicts helping addicts. Why?”
Ethan grinned under his visor. “Just wondering. First time and all.”
Dennis returned the smile. “You should know that today’s the first day of the rest of your life. You took an important step by coming here tonight, and you should be proud of yourself. See you inside.”
Ethan waited until Dennis was out of sight, then exited the church. He could barely contain his exhilaration as he headed back toward his bike.
The infallible Sheila Tao was a sex addict.
He wondered if Sheila’s fiancé knew and thought there was a helluva good chance the big Texan might just be as clueless as Ethan had been five minutes ago.
It was too delicious for words.
Abby looked up from her station at St. Mary’s Helping Hands. The brown hairnet might have looked ugly on anyone else, but she still managed to look gorgeous. Large blue-violet eyes searched Ethan’s face.
“Where have you been?”
He stiffened at her tone. Her voice was reproachful so he didn’t respond, just watched as she dropped a helping of mashed potatoes onto the plate in front of her. The recipient,