Date night. Every Thursday, with few exceptions, 6:30 p.m. finds Beth and me rounding the outside corner of a murky-green clapboard building with freshly painted trim, inhaling the intermingling scents of steak, fresh cigarette smoke, and spilled beer wafting through the open crank window. The neon lights of Budweiser, Harp, and Coors Light create a holy glow surrounding the door as we pull the heavy wood open and pass into the darkness. Blinking, we glance around and slowly the motley collection of familiar faces forms and hearty greetings ring out, "Hey, the girls are here!" Expectant grins, beer tokens, and hugs or friendly touches are always next.

It’s an odd place to find ourselves so accepted and welcomed. The small bar with the great food has its own regular crowd: slightly dusty tradesmen; off-the-clock servers and bartenders; a salesperson who splits his time between Allentown and Annapolis; and our personal favorite, Jeff, the owner of a local supply company and the guide for the two of us as we nestled our way over the past few years into the camaraderie they generate. Others pass through as well, some oddballs, some antagonistic. All find a temporary space to settle into with a cold beverage and some conversation. For Beth and me, it’s a chance to relax with some friends after a difficult week while still having some space to talk with each other.

Gwendolyn Bounds and her partner, Kathryn, found that same feeling of comfort in a similar dark, beer-christened space in Garrison, New York. For them however, Bounds in particular, the comfort they found there was a much more drastic transition from their life in Manhattan, prior to September 11, 2001.

Bounds’s reflection on her healing in the days, months, and eventually years that passed after the terrorist attacks are carefully collected in Little Chapel, the Wall Street journalist’s first book. She recognizes the tremendous influence the Guinan family and regular patrons had on her life and future decisions, and she recounts how the intimate nature of those friendships allowed her access to a childhood portion of her soul she thought she had left behind forever.

Daily life for Bounds and her partner in the pre-September 11th, 2001 world was a busy one. As the fashion columnist for the Wall Street Journal, Bounds attended all sorts of glamorous events, dined with celebrities of the fashion industry, and in general invested most of her time and energy to advancing in her field as quickly as she could. Her partner worked at the same paper in a different capacity and was on a similar path. Their apartment was everything they wanted: close to work, in a busy, interesting section of the city, and it had a fantastic view of the World Trade Centers directly next door.

The first plane hit when Bounds and her partner were dressing for work. Unsure of the cause or consequences, they were swept up in the race to leave the area; little did they know how different their lives would become. After a few months of borrowed living arrangements (house sitting, pet sitting), the two traveled with a friend to a suburb of the city across the Hudson River called Garrison’s Landing. The quaintly preserved area did not register as a possible temporary home until the trio stopped for a beer at the local pub (also the general store). It was at that point that Bounds began to feel the pull of the past. She associated the comfort, familiarity, and friendship she saw there with memories of growing up in North Carolina and visiting her grandfather at his fishing house along the shore. Flashes of these feelings, as well as how she came to (temporarily) leave them behind as she grew older, are interspersed throughout the book.

The history of the Guinan family, the town itself, and many of its inhabitants become Bounds’s primary focus as she grows accustomed to life in Garrison. As her own difficulties with the aftermath of the terrorist attacks take their emotional toll, she finds solace in the troubles and triumphs of the Guinan family. A partial sabbatical from the Wall Street Journal allows her to become even more involved with the pub. She does not fail to incorporate plenty of humor in the book, often at her own expense, but there are a few spots that made me tear up as well.

Bounds has discovered in herself many of the lessons we claimed to have learned following the tragedies of that terrible day. What she manages to do that many have not is to demonstrate real growth and change, not superficial fear-based philosophies. Bounds truly re-examines her own life, finds it lacking something special, is intelligent enough to recognize that quality in Guinan’s pub, and has the wherewithal to go after it. Her book is inspirational without being preachy. The background in professional journalism doesn’t hurt, either—the structure is entertaining and informing and easy to become swept away by, much like a good novel.

So this Thursday as I make my way into my little pub, I’ll smile to myself a little, buy a round for the bar, and think of the family that these strangers have become.