“Gretchen. Let's go sit up in your room, have some coffee and a nice talk-” Candace attempted.
Gretchen surrendered no ground. “No, no. Don't need that. Don't want that. I just want to go for a walk.” She wobbled on uncertain legs. “I don't feel so good.”
I didn't speak. I just took her arm and steered her back toward the house. She stumbled along the first few steps, leaning against me for support. Then she wrenched away, as if I smelled foul and she couldn't bear another whiff. She pivoted and bolted down the path.
I grabbed her arm and she didn't try to wriggle loose. She stood there, penitent, her head cast down in silent shame. Her muscles trembled beneath my fingertips, and her skin felt like a furnace.
“Gretchen.” I kept my voice soft and nonjudgmental.
“Just… just get me up to the house. Don't let nobody see me.” She leaned against me, dropping the wine. It fell onto the soft grass by the path and Candace retrieved it. I watched the liquid-poison to Gretchen's system-roll languidly within the clear shell of the bottle.
We smuggled her into the house, entering through a rear door near the kitchen. Uncle Jake sat in the study, in full view as we tried to ascend the staircase with the stealth of burglars.
“What's wrong?” he called.
“Nothing,” I answered. “The sun just got to Gretchen.”
Uncle Jake didn't challenge us further, but I could feel the weight of his stare against my back.
Bob Don wasn't in their room. I eased Gretchen down on the bed. Her eyelids fluttered and she let out a small moan.
“Gimme something damp,” she begged, and I hurried to the bathroom, rinsed out a washcloth, squeezed out the excess water, and laid it across her forehead.
“I'll go find Bob Don,” Candace said.
“No, don't,” Gretchen murmured, but Candace was already gone.
I am usually a resourceful man, but my limbs and mind felt numb. I didn't want to sit through Gretchen's drunk. I wanted to bellow at Gretchen, but I kept my mouth shut. I sat next to her on the bed, watching the gentle flutter of flesh beneath her eyelids. Slowly those eyes opened and fixed upon my face.
“I don't understand how it happened,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than a sigh. “I didn't want to drink anything. I didn't. Never again.”
“What upset you?” She didn't answer me. Perhaps Lolly's death had nudged Gretchen back toward the demon rum. Seeing her die in front of all of us had been one of the most unnerving experiences of my life. I couldn't blame Gretchen for wanting to dull her own pain, but I felt disappointed in her.
“Gretchen, you don't need booze. We'll go over to the mainland tonight, find an AA meeting in Port O'Connor. You need to talk to folks about why you drank.” At least I assumed she did. What I knew about AA was gleaned entirely from television. I had done little to participate in Gretchen's sobriety other than offering unobtrusive support. I knew, with a keen and sudden tightness, I could have done more.
“Not AA. Not right now. Later.” She put her hand on the cool wetness of the cloth. “I don't understand. All I drank today was a little coffee and then a couple of Dr Peppers. Then-all of a sudden-I felt funny, craved a hit of wine. Couldn't-couldn't help it, Jordy! I couldn't help it!” She began to sob, a deep crying like she'd lost a part of herself that could never be regained.
I surprised the hell out of myself by taking her hand. She clasped my fingers hard. I bent over, whispering, “It'll be okay. It'll be okay.”
“No, no, it won't. He'll leave me. Bob Don said he couldn't take me drinking, he'd leave me if I fell off the wagon.” Dread widened her eyes. “Oh, God damn me for drinking!”
I squeezed her hand and said, “God won't desert you. Neither will Bob Don, or any of us.”
“Why”-she swallowed-”must you be so like him? Why? I can't give him a baby, I never could.” Her words slurred together like voices raised in distant hue and cry. Her drawl slowed and deepened; she almost sounded like a man.
“I'm sorry, Gretchen.”
“Oh, Jesus, don't be. I wanted his baby to grow inside me. Never could. Not meant to be, my mama said. She said God knew I'd make a lousy mother. God doesn't give babies to drunks.” Her eyes stared past my shoulder, riveted to the arabesque swirls on the ceiling. “Now Bob Don's got you, he's got his child. I don't got nothing.”
“You have your husband, Gretchen.”
“He'll leave me-” she sobbed, then hiccuped loudly. She covered her mouth with her fingertips and belched softly, a tear running down her cheek. Fear made her body as rigid as a board.
“He won't leave you. I won't let him,” I soothed. “Now, how much did you drink?”
She swallowed. “One whole bottle, and part of another. I snuck it out of the bar. I drank it up here. It made my mouth all cold, so I wanted to get warm. I decided I wouldn't- couldn't stay in the house. So I wanted to go to the beach, on the other side of the island. I could drink down there, yes I could. Maybe take a swim. A long swim…” She closed her eyes again, her breathing labored, her words mumbled. “I used to swim down there, when I was younger. Tom told me the sand's still soft. I used to swim there with Paul. We'd watch the egrets fly. We'd laugh at them clowning around in the shallows, scaring up fish.”
Her memories seemed as delicate as old lace. “Who's Paul?”
Her eyes were distant. “I thought I saw him again last night.”
“Who? Paul? Who is he?”
She shook her head.
I held her hand and didn't know what else to do. “And you don't know why you drank?”
“I was drunk before I knew it,” she muttered, absently rubbing her eyebrows. “I'm sorry I hit you this morning. I lost my temper. Stupid of me.”
I released her hand and walked over to the vanity, where a glass of Dr Pepper sat in its puddle of condensation. Some soda, its color lightened by melting ice cubes, remained in the bottom. I sniffed at the glass. Nothing. I sipped cautiously, rolling the liquid in my mouth. I went and spat the mixture in the sink just as Bob Don came in, followed by Candace and Aunt Sass.
Sass took one look at Gretchen. “Oh, dear. Drunk again.” She said it without malice, but also without pity. Pain stiffened Bob Don's face. Gretchen turned her face away into the comfort of her pillow, her shoulders hunched.
“Not exactly,” I said softly. “Her soda's been laced with Everclear. Someone set Gretchen up to drink.”
Bob Don convened an unlikely war council in Aunt Sass's room. Gretchen was napping off the wine, calmed and reassured by Bob Don that he wasn't bailing out of their marriage. Sass, Candace, Bob Don, and I sat on Sass's unmade bed. I kept a fair distance from Sass. I don't believe either of us had forgotten the harsh volley we'd exchanged after breakfast.
The room, even being one Sass occupied only as a guest, already bore her indelible imprint. Clothes lay haphazardly on the floor and across furniture, dropped where she'd shed them. Earrings lay in scattered profusion across a side table, and a forest of cosmetics bottles sprouted before a mirrored vanity.
“I hate to say it, Bob Don,” Sass began, after a hesitant glance toward Candace and me, “but she could have spiked her own drink and just claimed that she didn't mean to get drunk.”
He nodded. “But I don't believe she'd lie.”
“Alcoholics fib if they want to drink, hon. Remember that second husband of mine.” She glanced again with discom-fort toward me. “Aubrey's daddy was a heavy drinker. Very heavy. I know how hard it's been for Bob Don.”
I said nothing. Her own imbibing last night had been of epic proportions. And I was no more comfortable with seeing Aunt Sass's pain than she was showing it to me. “I think her soda was laced. She was too miserable at the thought of Bob Don finding out she'd drunk.” I tugged at the corner of the comforter. The room felt stifling hot, despite the gentle circling of the ceiling fan overhead. The air smelled of Aunt Sass's perfume-sweet and slightly smoky, like a singed rose.