What was saving, anyway? From what? For what?

She had never been available to this man she had to admit she did not love except in some very fundamental way that had something to do with her love for her father, whom she had also failed to save.

THE TRANSFIGURATION BY ELLEN MCGRATH SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 88

That’s not the first step,” she said to the old man. “The first step is admitting you are powerless over alcohol.” The television was the only light in the room, screening an infomercial about the longevity of people in Okinawa and a doctor’s willingness to share their secret for just $30 a month in six-month installments.

In truth, the man was not very old. But his drinking had turned him into a hermit with a white beard and long gray hair. The ash hung precariously from his Pall Mall. She lifted up the china bowl full of dog-ends so he could flick the cigarette off.

The man’s ex-wife imagined a fire in the house where they had raised their son for the first seven years of his life. She had moved out and their son…