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I recall the last time JD had called. I saw his name pop up on Darren’s cell, which he had left on the coffee table. I told Darren that his cousin was calling, but Darren told me to let it go to voicemail. I don’t know why he did that, since he didn’t seem to be in the middle of anything. Later, he said he was going down to his office to meet with Cheryl about reopening the club. I heard him call JD on his way out the door. If I was the suspicious type, I would have wondered if Darren didn’t want me overhearing a conversation with his cousin.
“Maybe,” I reply. “I don’t think often, though.”
“Can you find out? I really want to know that JD’s doing okay.”
“Sure, I’ll ask Darren.”
After I hang up with Amy, it’s another hour before I finally hear Darren. I hop up to get the door. Darren stumbles in, and I immediately smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains what took him so long.
“I’m fine,” Darren insists to Marshall, who stands behind him.
Marshall turns to me. “He’s all yours.”
“How much did he have to drink?” I ask.
“Too much.”
“Fuck off,” Darren grumbles to him.
Marshall wishes me a good night, and I close the door.
“I don’t think alcohol and Vicodin mix well,” I say with worry, remembering the pharmacy instructions.
“Took Motrin today,” Darren mumbles as he goes over and flops down on the sofa.
I sigh with relief. I can’t remember if there are interactions between alcohol and antibiotics, but mixing the painkiller with alcohol was a definite negative. I get a glass of water and set it down near him. He was worried that reliving the events would be traumatizing for me, but it looks like he’s the one having trouble. I wonder if Sergeant Trawley had any new information for him.
“You want help getting into bed?” I ask.
“I’m fine where I am,” he murmurs.
I help him out of his shoes. He closes his eyes. I sit there for several minutes before getting up to get a blanket. I place it over him and ready myself for bed. It feels empty without him, but I eventually fall asleep. This night, I do have a nightmare.
* * *
Sitting at the table,still in his clothes from last night, Darren groans as he holds his head. I set the glass of water and Motrin in front of him. I consider opening the blinds, but he might not be ready for the morning light.
“How’s the hangover?” I ask.
“Sucks,” he grumbles.
Going into the kitchen, I return with an egg scramble with spinach and avocado, along with a banana-blueberry fruit salad topped with honey and granola.
“I looked up what foods can help with hangovers,” I explain. I go back into the kitchen and bring out ginger tea with lemon.
“Know what else cures a hangover?” Darren asks. “Hair of the dog.”
“What is that?”
“More drinking.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That can’t possibly work.”
He shrugs. “I’ve never tried it, but JD said it works as long as you avoid the hard stuff.”
JD does seem to do his fair share of drinking, so maybe he knows what he’s talking about. I’ve seen JD drunk but not smashed.
“Does JD drink a lot?” I ask.
