“I don’t know why I became an alcoholic. Or why I kept messing up my life over and over. I guess there was something inside me that was deeply unhappy, and I was looking to numb the pain.” He gripped the steering wheel. “At first you don’t expect to fall into the abyss. A few drinks and you feel better. But soon that turns into more, and then before you realize it, you’re out of control. Then the only thing that can block out the shame of continually screwing up your life is more of the same. It’s a cycle. And it’s unbelievably difficult to break.”
Arthur didn’t say anything.
When they reached his house, Daniel wondered if he’d revealed too much. Dread seized him again. Now that Arthur knew how weak he was, he might not want him as a chauffeur anymore. He pulled into the circular drive and in front of their grand house that he wouldn’t be able to afford in twenty lifetimes. He put the car in park and got out, attempting to settle his nerves.I should have kept my mouth shut.
He opened the door and Arthur stepped out, looking as composed as he’d been in Dan Hutton’s. “My family can’t find out that I talked to Hunter today. Understand?”
He nodded. The promise would be easy to keep. Payne and Kirk acted like Daniel didn’t exist, and their wives were worse. Payne’s wife, Everly, once had Daniel take her to Starbucks five minutes away—after she’d driven to the Picketts’ in her BMW. When they got to the coffee shop, she changed her mind and ordered him to drive her back to the Picketts’. But Daniel never complained. Dealing with mercurial family members was part of the job.
He shut the door and headed for the Bentley’s driver side.
“You were wrong, Daniel,” Arthur said.
Wincing, he gulped and turned around.
Arthur’s eyes were filled with pain. “Your answer. It was a good one.” He turned on his heel and headed for the house.
Daniel exhaled, then hopped into the Bentley and drove it into the multibay garage. When he parked the vehicle in its spot and shut off the engine, he bowed his head with relief.
Then compassion filled him. He couldn’t imagine watching a child suffer with addiction. Seeing Britt’s struggles with anxiety broke his heart, but she was coping. And from what he could tell about Hunter, he was doing okay. He looked healthy, which was a good sign. And although Daniel tried not to listen to their conversation, he was glad to hear he was sober and keeping up with his parole officer. But it wouldn’t take much to topple off that wagon and plunge right back into the nightmare.
Daniel knew that better than anyone.
***
On Monday, Britt placed a bowl of fuji apples on the table in the K&Bs education room. She took a step back, scrutinized it, and moved one of the apples over half an inch. There. A perfect still-life subject. A sheaf of drawing paper and two packs of colored pencils lay near the bowl.
“That’s going to be a challenge for him, don’t you think?” Maude set out a Bundt cake next to the tea set in the corner of the room.
She turned and looked at Maude. “Bundt cake?” Britt raised a brow. “We’re having an art lesson, not a coffee klatch.”
“Where did you hear an old-fashioned word like that?”
“Books, Maude. I read lots of books.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She lifted the lid off the pot and sniffed. “Ah. Good old Earl Grey. It will go nicely with the orange dream cake.”
Britt started to protest, then just smiled. When she’d told Maude and X that she would be giving Hunter a few art lessons, their reaction was typical—Maude shrieked, and X calmly nodded. Maude had wanted to do a whole tea service, complete with dainty sandwiches and scones. “I’m sure Hunter isn’t a dainty sandwich kind of guy,” Britt pointed out.
“Oh.” Maude got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Probably not. His hands looked quite big—”
“Will you leave the kids alone?” X shook his head, but he was chuckling.
They had compromised with Earl Grey and Chips Ahoy! cookies, but Maude pulled a fast one and brought the Bundt cake. Oh well, she was an excellent baker. The snack would be good.
“He should be here any minute,” Maude said. “I’ll give him a proper greeting and send him your way.” She peered at Britt. “How are you doing?”
“Okay.” Surprisingly she wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be, probably because she was in her element and knew exactly what she was going to teach Hunter. Her friend was right—it was a challenge. But from what he showed when he drew that second seashell, she didn’t think it would be that hard. If it was, they’d just work on one apple. No rush.
Once Maude left, Britt glanced at the clock. Almost two. She hurried to the bathroom to check her hair. She’d swept it up in a bun and wrapped a neon-yellow-and-pink scarf around it. It was hot today, so she wore white and gray gingham shorts, a white T-shirt, and tan sandals. Several curls had slipped out of the bun,and she tucked them back in. She stared at her reflection. Yep. Her face was still long and her skin still pale. However, she could do something about that last flaw.
Not wanting to waste time staring at herself, she left the bathroom and went back to the education room. Hunter was already there, sitting in the chair and staring at the apples, looking pensive.Uh-oh.Maybe Maude was right, and she was too ambitious in her still-life choice. “Hi,” she said, walking toward him.
He turned to her and smiled, but it didn’t completely reach his eyes. “Hey.” He looked at the fruit again. “Is that today’s lesson?”
“It doesn’t have to be.” She tugged at her hem, then put her hands behind her back. “We can draw something else.”
“No, it’s fine.” He stared at the bowl again.
