He smiled in the darkness. “Pretty terrific.”
“But you didn’t kiss me. Not on the lips. What have you got against mouth-to-mouth kissing?”
“That’s two questions. Good night.”
* * *
“George?”
His wife’s voice seemed to come to him from a distant shore across an ocean of scotch. Dr. Allan raised his head and saw Amanda silhouetted in the open doorway of his home office. She looked lovely, desirable, and strong. He couldn’t stand the sight of her. Her strength accentuated his weakness.
She came into the room. When she reached the desk, she picked up the liquor bottle and checked the amount remaining in the bottom of it. Even in his inebriated state, the silent rebuke didn’t escape him.
Querulously he said, “What is it, Amanda?”
“So you do remember me. I’m glad to know that. Do you by any chance recall that you also have two sons?”
“Is this a riddle?”
“Your older son is withdrawing a little deeper into himself each day. I’ve begged him to tell me what’s troubling him, but he becomes sullen and silent. His teachers at school have had similar experiences lately. He bottles up his problems inside himself, and no one can pry them out. He’s so like you, it frightens me.
“I’ve just come from your younger son’s bedside, where I listened to his prayers. He asked God to help Daddy, then he started crying, and I had to hold him until he fell asleep.”
George rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes. “I’ll go in and kiss them good night later.”
“You’re missing the point. I don’t want you to kiss them good night. Not in your present condition. They’re not stupid, you know. They know that something is terribly wrong with you, and it goes beyond the drinking.”
“ ‘The Drinking’? Like it’s a proper noun?”
“It’s become one. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh really? Would you call the last forty-eight hours typical? You came home yesterday morning looking like something out of a fright film. God knows how long it had been since you slept. You didn’t offer me a single word of explanation for your lengthy absence or how you looked. You didn’t ask after my well-being or the children’s. You came straight up to this room and sequestered yourself and haven’t come out since.”
For emphasis, she slammed the bottle back onto the desk. “You’re stinking drunk, and I’ve heard you crying. The first makes me angry, and the second breaks my heart. George,” she said imploringly, “how can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Dammit, George, when did your definition of marriage change?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“If you won’t confide in me, then we don’t have a marriage, not the kind we pledged to each other. But on paper at least I’m still you’re wife, and I demand to know what the hell is going on.”
“Christ, are you deaf?” he shouted. “Nothing’s wrong.”
She didn’t back away from his mounting anger. Coldly, she said, “Don’t lie to me. You’re coming apart before my eyes.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No, I won’t,” she said, giving her smooth bob a hard shake. “You’re my husband. I love you. I’ll defend you with my dying breath. But first I have to know what has turned you from a fine physician, husband, and father, into a blubbering drunk.”
He glared at her, but she didn’t back down. Amanda had a merciless stubborn streak. “Your problem has something to do with David, doesn’t it? Don’t bother to lie. I know he’s at the root of your personal crisis. What brought it about?”
“Drop it, Amanda.”
“What did he ask you to do?”