“Bear,” I say, “you said he closed down, but isn’t he supposed to share his bad-luck story with his sponsees? Isn’t that part of the club?”
In my head, I feel a flashbulb popping. Because maybe that has something to do with why he currently only has one sponsee.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Augusta didn’t say it quite like that in her version.”
Busted. “I ran into Harry last night, and he kind of, sort of shared the rules of the club with me last night. The real rules.”
“He did?” Bear said in obvious disbelief.
“He even sent me a PDF.” I pull up the list on my phone.
Rule #1: Don’t give details about Bad Luck Club to anyone who’s not luck-challenged.
Rule #2: Really. Don’t talk about Bad Luck Club.
Rule #3: You bring ’em, you bought ’em. (Translation: You must sponsor anyone you bring.)
Rule #3A: Life’s not a group project. If you won’t do the work, no one else will.
Rule #4: Sponsors and sponsees must share their origin stories with each other. No cutting corners. Radical honesty.
Rule #4A: Absolutely no dating between sponsors and sponsees.
Rule #4B: This one’s more of a suggestion than a rule, but if you’re nervous about spilling your secrets, sitting back-to-back might be the way to go.
Rule #5: Your bad luck does not have to meet any kind of quota. You won’t be judged based on how bad your luck is, nor will you be categorized. If you’re in pain, you belong. If you need help, you’re in the right place.
Rule #6: No lying to others in the group, especially not to our sponsors. People have lied enough to us. Let’s not lie to each other.
Rule #7: The biweekly challenges are key to improving your situation and your luck. The rules are a little like baseball. Skip three challenges, and you’re out.
Rule #7A: Dad says that sounds too harsh. If you skip three and make a half-assed attempt at a fourth, THEN you’re out. The challenges are a core way for us to connect as a group and improve ourselves.
Rule #8: Maybe this should go without saying, especially given Rules #1 and #2, but do not, under any circumstances, share someone else’s story without their permission. We’re not here to entertain others with our misery. We’re just trying to survive.
Rule #9: If you have to miss a meeting, TELL SOMEONE. Otherwise, we’ll have to organize a search party.
Rule #10: If someone new comes to Bad Luck Club, introduce yourself. Remember that desperation brought them here, just like it brought you.
Rule #11: You must laugh at least once at every meeting. Otherwise you’re out. Okay, that’s a joke. But laughter is why we’re alive, isn’t it? Laugh anyway.
Rule #12: Bring something to share with your fellow Bad Luckers. Think potluck.
Rule #13: Have fun!
For half a second, I’m worried I might have gotten Harry in trouble, but Bear’s eyes light up with glee. “Well, I’ll be damned. Harry’s finally getting ready to move on!”
“I think so,” I say, smiling. Because, hell, I’ve known Harry for less than a week, and I’m proud of him too.
“That’s excellent news.” His smile broadens. “We were three sheets to the wind when we wrote that, but I refused to let Cal change a single word. In vino veritas.”
“I like them,” I say, because for the most part it’s true. There’s an earnestness and warmth to the rules—a real desire to help people and connect with them. There were glimmers of that in Augusta’s book, but I suspect that’s only because she cribbed from theirs. “Although it did surprise me to find out there are thirteen.”
He chuckles. “Like it says, you have to have a sense of humor about yourself.”
“Bear,” I say, rocking in the chair a little, enjoying the way it moves. Imagining Cal huddled over it, smoothing the wood until it shone. “I know Cal doesn’t like his private business made public, but I don’t have to bring his name into it, or yours. I’ve made him that promise, and I mean it.”
Bear thinks on this a moment, still looking down at my phone, then hands it over.
“Even so, I’ll work on him,” he says. “There’s no earthly reason a man shouldn’t take credit for his own creation.”
“Are you okay with me recording this conversation? Going on the record?”
He waves a hand in agreement, and I set up my phone to record us.
“Can you start off by confirming how the club works?” I say. “I have a pretty good picture at this point, but I’d love to hear about it from you.”
“Most of it’s there in the rules. People who’ve been in the club for a while can take in sponsees, others who’ve had bad luck and can’t shake it. Sponsors and sponsees share their bad luck stories with each other, everything that’s gotten them down in the dumps. It helps us bond, and it gives us a better idea of the self-work the sponsee needs to do to change their life around. We meet every other week. There’s always a theme for a meeting, and the sponsors set challenges for their sponsees based on it. A sponsee can skip challenges, but if they skip three and then fudge a fourth, they’re out.” He shrugs apologetically. “We had to set a limit. If people don’t want to do the work, then we can’t force it.”
“And can you tell me about how you decided to start the club?” I ask, feeling almost breathless.
His smile is sad, and I know he’s remembering those desperate days and hours that brought him and Cal to that juncture.
“We both found ourselves alone at the same time. Alice died, and my ex-wife decided she didn’t enjoy being married to me nearly so much when I was around the house. Meredith and I were about to move to Florida before we split up, and she didn’t ask for a divorce until we’d already sold the house. Cal couldn’t bring himself to stay in the house he and Alice had lived in together, so we bought the Cluster. We didn’t know what to do but circle our wagons. Cal’s mother, God rest her soul, passed away when he was eight. Aneurysm.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And it occurs to me he’s just unpacked a whole lot to be sorry for. “For all of it.”
He nods. “Thank you. I had no interest in flipping houses. Too much like my old career working in construction, but Cal had lost his spark. Couldn’t bring himself to look at his machines anymore. So I agreed to start the business with him, even though my heart wasn’t in it. And one night we were sitting in here, drowning our sorrows with whiskey, and it struck me that what we needed was some like-minded people around us.” He rubbed his chin. “When you’re feeling down, there’s nothing like pulling another person out of the muck to get you standing straighter.”
There’s wisdom in this, so I nod, choosing not to bring up the one thing that still bothers me about the club: Bear and Cal may have helped other people rise up from the muck, but who is giving them a boost? Because as far as I can tell, the only two people in the history of the Bad Luck Club who’ve never had a sponsor or specially assigned challenges are the two of them. I suspect that Cal, at least, would benefit from it.
But I want to keep Bear talking, so I’m not ready to bring that up.