“That’s a lousy way to talk about yourself.”
She gave a minuscule shrug.
“Do you really have that low an opinion of yourself?”
“There’s not much evidence to the contrary, as my sister the lawyer would say.”
“Savannah never said that about you.”
“Maybe not, but I’m sure she’s thought it often enough.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. She’s made something of her life. What does she see when she looks at me? A big zero.”
“She sure didn’t see that this week. You were there when she called. You stayed with Will when she couldn’t be there.”
“I was a body. That’s all. And don’t tell me that I cooked, because you did as much of that as I did.”
“I like to cook.”
“Great. Good. Be my guest.”
“Are you drunk?” he came right out and asked.
Her look was venomous. “No, I am not drunk, and that’s the real bitch of this whole thing. I can’t even do that right!” She took a shallow breath. “I’ve tried, God, I’ve tried. I’ve had glass after glass of the stuff, and I keep waiting to feel numb.” The venom in her eyes had faded, giving way to a slow rise of fear. “But it’s not coming. I don’t know if I’m not drinking enough fast enough or what, but I’m not feeling better. I think of Megan and it hurts. God, it hurts.”
Her eyes had filled with tears. She raised both hands to her face, unaware of dropping the glass in her lap. Sam grabbed for it quickly and set it aside. Then he curled his fingers around her wrists.
“Come upstairs, Susan. You’ll feel better after you’ve had some sleep.”
The heels of her hands were firmly anchored against her eyes. “I won’t feel better again.”
“Sure, you will,” he coaxed. He rubbed his thumbs lightly over the insides of her wrists. “You need sleep and a little distance from all this. Drinking hasn’t helped—”
“I need more.” She took her hands from her eyes, took Sam’s hands right down with them. “One more,” she said, hopeful through her tears. “That’s the one that will work.”
He held tight to her wrists. “It won’t. Trust me. It’ll only hurt more.”
She shook her head, vigorously this time. “No.”
“Yes.”
Her face crumbled. “It can’t. Nothing can hurt more than what I feel right now.” She let her head loll against the wall. But she was breathing quickly, shallowly, and her throat was working in a convulsive kind of way.
Sam knew what was coming before she did. He drew her quickly to her feet, and by that time she had shaky fingers pressed to her mouth. She ran out to the hall, tore open the powder-room door, and reached the toilet in time to be violently sick.
He was right there to support her. He stood behind her, legs set wide, one arm around her middle as she bent over, the other holding her head.
The spasms continued until her stomach was empty, and even then the dry heaves went on for a bit. When he was sure that she had nothing more to throw up, he put the toilet seat down, propped her on it, and began to bathe her face.
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t have that, so she closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry. Oh, hell. This is disgusting.”
“Shhh.” He wiped around her mouth.
When he dropped the cloth in the sink and wet another, she cried softly, “How can you stand being in here?”
“I’ll live.”
