“Maddie… my Maddie,” he mumbles, the words clinging together. “Knew you’d save me…”
A bitter laugh almost escapes me. Of course he thinks this is about him. Even now.
I slide off his jacket, accidentally tearing a seam. I don’t feel even a flicker of guilt. “You’re a mess,” I say. “An absolute mess.”
Removing his belt takes effort, awkward with his unsteady limbs.
When I finally get him upright again, he stumbles, nearly taking me down with him. I plant my feet and pull him toward the bedroom doorway.
“Come on,” I grunt. “You’re not crashing on the floor.”
He collapses onto the mattress with a guttural noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.
I push him toward the center so he won’t fall. Then I toss a blanket over him and step back to observe him.
“Well, that’s done,” I say, my whole body trembling with adrenaline, disgust, and pity.
My first instinct is to grab Snorty and go back to my room.
But then Joseph vomits.
I’ve read stories of people suffocating in their own vomit. So with this newest development, I know leaving him to his own devices is not an option.
I clean the mess from him and the bed, then wipe his face clean with a fresh towel.
Leaving the door open so I can hear his breathing, I settle myself into the living room sofa.
I haven’t had babysitting duties for a decade. But here I am today tending a million-dollar-a-year banker.
Snorty joins me on the sofa and I move him toward my chest, enjoying the reassuring warmth of his fur.
Was Las Vegas a mistake?
A key goal was to meet the Quench sponsor Henry Lemon. Mission accomplished in that sense.
But though the impression I made on him was not the greatest, I feel I can salvage our relationship.
First, I need to finish my report. I set up my office environment on the coffee table in front of me.
I unfold my portable keyboard and put my device into its center.
Seeing I'm settling down to work, Snorty repositions himself against me. A warm, steady presence.
Minutes slide into hours. My fingers move faster as ideas crystallize, paragraphs forming with unusual clarity.
At a certain point, Snorty stretches his paws and curls against me tighter. His soft breathing a calming counterpoint to Joseph’s muffled snores.
I fall back into my work.
Words flow cleaner now. Decisions align. The pieces finally click.
I check the clock.
3 a.m.
“Oh God,” I say to Snorty. “We worked all night.”
I rub my eyes, stand, and walk quietly to the bedroom. Joseph is still asleep in the exact position I left him.
