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“I guess so. My brothers hated going, but I liked talking through things. Like I mentioned before, I’m dyslexic and have ADHD, so I had a lot of special coaching and counseling all through school.”
“That must have been really hard.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “All of my brothers are supersmart, and I was the dunce. Even after Mama got me help, I struggled in school. Trouble focusing and that kind of thing. Although it was better with the medication.”
“Do you still take it?” Elliot asked.
“How do you think I run a kitchen every night?” It felt strangely comforting to tell her my secret. Other than my family, no one knew. I didn’t share mostly because I was unsure how people would react. There were differing opinions about medication. Over the years I’d learned to keep it to myself. Somelooked down on me for the “crutch” of drugs, but I knew without a doubt that the medicine had saved my life. I don’t know where I would have been if not for Mama and Mrs. Marley. “I had this great teacher when I was nine. She was the one who figured out what was going on with me.”
The song changed to something more up-tempo. Sorry to have to let go of her, I suggested we return to the table.
She agreed. When we got back to the rest of them, Thad had ordered another shot of tequila for everyone at the table except for Rafferty.
“Do we dare have another?” Elliot asked me.
“Like you said, we have tomorrow off. We may as well live it up.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
I wokeup the next morning to a throbbing headache and a sour taste in my mouth. Opening my eyes was like prying open a window that had been painted shut. Groaning softly, sure a truck must have run over me, I turned onto my side.
Where was I? The sight before me confused me for a moment. I stared at a bad painting of lilies, hung on a green-tinted beige wall.
Next to me, I felt someone stir. I turned over to see Elliot sound asleep, her dark hair splayed over the pillow.
Oh, God, no. Did I? Did we?
I had my shirt and boxers on. Was it possible we’d just passed out here? What was the last thing I remembered from last night? A third tequila shot, and then it went blank.
I had to get out of here before she woke up. Sitting up gingerly, head like a lead ball upon my parched body andstomach churning, the room began to spin. Okay, not yet. I would just lie here for a few more minutes. Just until I felt better.
There was a glass of water and two painkillers on the ugly bedside table. I managed to take them and drink the entire glass before lying back down beside my pastry chef.
What had I done?
I fell back asleep and woke hours later to the smell of bacon and greasy hash browns. This time, I opened only one eye without moving anything else. Elliot stood over the small round table pouring a packet of sugar into a paper coffee cup. Steam rose in the air, dancing in the cold room. Didn’t they heat this place?
I took another scan of the room. Mustard-colored drapes and cheap furniture. My jeans were strewn over the easy chair in the corner. My Red Wing boots lay on the floor like dead soldiers.
Elliot turned and saw that I was awake. “Hey. How are you feeling? I brought coffee and breakfast.”
With some effort, I managed to sit up straight. “What did we do last night? How did we end up here? And did anything…happen?”
She laughed at my angst. “Nothing happened, other than you passed out in my bed and I had no choice but to get in there with you. If you haven’t noticed, they shut off the heat after the beginning of May in this dive, so there was no way I was sleeping on the chair.”
“I would have been mortified had you done that.” How was I to broach the subject of my lack of pants?
“We had a lot to drink.” Elliot crossed the room to give me the cup of coffee.
I took it from her outstretched hand, but the smell made my stomach lurch, so I set it onto the bedside table. If I vomited in front of Elliot, I might as well be dead. Could a man die from humiliation? If it were possible, I felt certain it would happento me today. Despite the chill of the room, a hot shame coursed through my body. Beads of sweat sprouted on my nose and forehead. A droplet ran down the small of my back. If the way I felt was any indication, my perspiration was about forty proof.
Elliot grabbed the other cup of coffee and crawled back onto the bed, stretching her legs out long. She wore sweats and a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. How could anyone look that good after drinking the night before? Maybe she hadn’t had as much as I had?
“How do you look so perky?” I asked, grimacing as I shifted to get a better look at her. Deciding that was too much, I lay back on my side, with my right cheek resting on the pillow.
“It’s a mirage. I feel like death.” She took a sip of coffee before setting it aside. “That doesn’t taste too good.”
“Yeah, same here.” I closed my eyes, gearing up for the question at hand. “Why am I here and not at home?”
