Tex was staring before him with what are often termed unseeing eyes. He was between patients at the moment, and suddenly found himself in want of a pick-me-up. His last patient had been Ida Baumgartner, and the woman had given him a lot of grief by demanding that he visit her at home from now on, insisting that she was a sick woman—too sick to make the trip to the office for her appointments. He couldn’t very well point out she wasn’t really all that sick—and that there were actual sick people who needed his advice a lot more than she did.
He was feeling sandbagged, which was the customary sensation associated with a visit from that formidable woman. Which is why he was in need of a pick-me-up.
Absentmindedly he opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and reached for the hip flask he kept there for emergencies—and Ida’s visits. And he’d just unscrewed the cap and put the little metal bottle to his lips when suddenly the door of the office flew open and Vesta burst in.
“Don’t do it!” she cried, and before he could stop her, had slapped the flask from his grasp, causing it to describe a perfect arc across the office, bounce off the examination table and hit the wall with a dull thwack, causing alcohol to spill all over the floor.
“What did you do that for!” he said, appalled by this spillage of perfectly good whiskey. Immediately the smell filled his nostrils, and he sniffed with relish.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” said Vesta, patting his shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”
Belatedly he remembered Vesta was his sponsor now, and he was hers. He closed his eyes.“Oh, God.”
“I know, I know. It’s tough, but we have to power through, Tex. I’ve been reading up on this twelve-step business and the first few weeks are the hardest. After that it’s going to be a breeze. So you just hang in there, you hear me?” She eyed him keenly. “Speaking of the twelve steps, I’ve got one for you. I once destroyed all of your underwear. There, I’ve said it. Now it’s your turn.”
“What are you talking about?!” he said, feeling the strain more keenly by the second.
“Step eight! I made a list of all the people I’ve harmed, and I’m willing to make amends to them. So this is me making amends to you.”
“I see. But what does my underwear have to do with the twelve steps, pray tell?”
“You’re going to laugh,” she said, and produced a sort of high-pitched giggle, “but I once read that some men have trouble conceiving because their underwear is too tight. Squeezes the male undercarriage and… well, you know more about the human anatomy than me. Cuts off the blood supply or the oxygen to the male machinery or whatever. So when you and Marge had been married a year, and still no baby, I figured you were strapping your stuff in too tight, and so one morning I snuck into your bedroom and removed all of your underwear and destroyed it. I figured I’d get you to go commando, like the Scots, at least until you got yourself a new set. And I was right! One month later Marge gave me the good news.” She winked at him. “Listen to your dear old mom, buddy. She knows.”
He would have reminded her that she was not his mom, but there was no point. And besides, he was experiencing a spell of weakness. Vesta must have noticed, too, for she studied him closely, then said,“You’re showing all the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, Tex. You need to talk to people. Open up.”
“I don’t think…”
But before he could stop her, she was hugging him to her chest, and patting his hair.“There, there,” she murmured soothingly. “Vesta’s here. Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he muttered brokenly.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]
Steph was rocking Zoe on her lap, and singing softly. The baby had just been fed, and was ready for beddy-bye. They were on the patio, enjoying some quiet time. Her mom and dad were off doing whatever they did for the winery, and so was her brother. And Jeff was upstairs getting ready to go out. He came out of the house now, looking very smart in a polo shirt and fashionable white jeans. With his sunglasses and a light pink pastel sweater draped across his shoulders he could have walked straight out of a Ralph Lauren commercial.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s going to be a chance to meet outside work, in a casual setting.”
Jeff was meeting a work colleague with whom he’d never seen eye to eye from day one. Clive Balcerak came from a long line of bankers, and for some reason that Jeff had never been able to understand, had taken an instant dislike to Jeff from the moment the latter had joined the team. Somehow he felt threatened by Jeff, seeing in him a competitor and not a colleague. It had resulted in some petty sniping, some undermining of Jeff’s authority, accusing him of all kinds of things and generally making an absolute nuisance of himself.