“Where is Zoe?” asked Pauline, a constant refrain whenever Jeff’s parents called in. “How is she doing?” And when Jeff pointed the phone to their little girl, the oohs and aahs were something to behold. “She’s getting so big!”
“You have to come to Paris,” said David. “I’m sure that once you have this slander business sorted out Sofie Fashion will apologize and offer you a job. And if not them, there’s hundreds of other places that will be glad to have you.”
“Thanks, David,” said Steph. The support of her in-laws meant a great deal to her. They’d been on her side from the start, never wavering in their opinion that she was the victim in all of this, and whatever was being said about her was nothing but a bunch of malicious lies. “And we’d love to move to Paris. Wouldn’t we, honey?”
“We’ll discuss it tonight,” Jeff said diplomatically. But she could see from the sparkle in his eyes that as far as he was concerned, the decision had already been made. He’d always wanted to return to Paris, and so had she, actually. So maybe the fact that the contract at WelBeQ had fallenthrough was a blessing in disguise. Otherwise they would have spent the next couple of years out in LA, and perhaps wouldn’t even have liked it all that much.
And Jeff had given up so much for her already, moving to New York, and prepared to move to LA. So maybe it was finally time to return to his hometown.
After cooing and fussing over Zoe for a few minutes, the call ended, and they both sat there for a moment, before asking, simultaneously,“What do you think?”
Jeff’s grin spread from ear to ear. It was obvious what he thought.
“Let’s do it,” she said finally. “Let’s go back to Paris.”
“Only if you want to,” said Jeff cautiously.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around her husband.“I want to. In fact I can’t wait.”
“Then let’s do it,” he said, and planted a sweet kiss on her lips.
CHAPTER 8
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When Tex arrived home from a long day at the doctor’s office, he liked to unwind by enjoying a nice cooling aperitif before dinner. Campari, soda and plenty of ice were all it took for him to relax. Then during dinner he drank a glass of wine, and when stretched out in front of the television at night, his arm around his wife, another one or two before going to bed. It was a habit he’d gradually gotten into, and even though from time to time Marge frowned when he topped up his glass during dinner, generally she was fine with it. Even though she didn’t drink a lot herself, or only on special occasions, she didn’t mind when he did.
But today, when he opened the fridge to take out the Campari, preparatory to mixing his drink, he discovered to his surprise that it was no longer there. Which made him wonder if he’d drunk the last of it yesterday? He didn’t think so. In fact he’d only cracked open a new bottle yesterday. Or was it the day before?
He turned to his wife, who was busy tending to her containers filled with herbs, located on the kitchen windowsill.“Have you seen that bottle of Campari? I could have sworn it was still almost full.” When Marge didn’t respond, he repeated, “My bottle of Campari, honey? Have you seen it?”
Suddenly she turned on him.“I poured it down the sink,” she said, and gave him a slightly challenging look that told him something was going on, even though he had no idea what. “Along with all of your other bottles. And Vesta’s, too.”
He blinked in confusion.“But… but… but…”
“You have a problem, Tex,” said Marge decidedly. “And if you can’t see that, you’re even further gone than I thought.”
“A problem? What problem?”
“A problem with alcohol!”
He stared at his wife of twenty-five years.“I don’t have a problem with alcohol.”
“Oh, honey,” said Marge as she shook her head in dismay. “You need help.”
“What help? What are you talking about?”
“You’re an alcoholic, Tex. And the sooner you realize this the better.”
“An alcoholic! Me!”
“Yes, you.”
“I’m not an alcoholic. I can stop whenever I want.”
“No, you can’t. I found three bottles in the recycle bin yesterday morning, and another two this morning. That means that between you and my mother, you managed to drink two bottles last night.”
“I didn’t drink two bottles,” he said. “I can’t drink two bottles. Two bottles, that’s… two liters, right? I didn’t drink two liters of alcohol. Two glasses, maybe.”
But Marge was implacable.“Two bottles, Tex. Two whole bottles.”
He was shaking his head, but could already see the way the wind was blowing.“I’ll stop,” he announced. “Not one more drop of alcohol. Just to prove to you I don’t have a problem. I don’t!” he cried when she didn’t look convinced.
But instead of arguing with him, Marge handed him a flyer instead.
“What’s this?” he asked as he frowned at the thing. “Alcoholics Anon— Honey!”
“You’re going,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. And from the set look on her face he knew he wasn’t going to win this battle. So he didn’t even try.
“Yes, honey,” he said meekly.
“There’s a meeting tonight, at the community center.”