Page 35 of Wine & Whiskey
She begins opening them, revealing an assortment of sandwiches. “Are you guys hungry? We have tons of leftovers, so eat up.”
The enticing combination of fresh-baked bread and spicy mustard makes his stomach growl. Not having eaten since last night, he’s ravenous.
Nathan walks in carrying two bags of chips and a carton of bottled beer. He adds them to the spread on the counter and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Nathan.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Nick.”
Glancing at her watch, Carrie pats Nathan on the butt. “Look, you’re even home in time to watch your precious game.”
“Yes!” Nathan walks into the living room and flips on the TV. Carrie and Shae both laugh as he sinks down onto the sofa, mesmerized by the screen. Without taking his eyes off it, he yells back toward them, “Hey, Nick. Come and check out the game.”
Shae smiles and nods at him. “Go on. I need to work on the Sangria.”
Another reason he loves her—easy-going and good-natured with her friends and him. He kisses her on the cheek and takes his plate of sandwiches to the sofa.
Carrie shakes her head. “What the hell? The men are lying in front of the TV, and the women are in the kitchen cooking. Is this not the twenty-first century?”
Nathan leans over and nudges him. “This will really get her riled up.” Their playful banter makes him smile. Shae’s lucky to have such good friends. Carrie’s a handful, but it looks like her fiancé can keep up. Nathan yells back over his shoulder again, “Woman, bring us some beers.”
Nick coughs with laughter, almost choking on his sandwich. Carrie grabs two bottles and walks into the living room. Her sweet smile to Nick contradicts the fire burning in her eyes at Nathan. He tries to keep from laughing as he accepts the beer from her. “Thank you, Carrie.”
She stands in front of Nathan, blocking his view. Unscrewing the top, she lowers herself down to straddle him. “You want a drink, baby?”
He nods his head. Taking the tip of her tongue, she licks around the rim before taking a long sip. She kisses him and holds the bottle to his mouth. “I’ll bring you a beer because we’re dating, and I’m still pretending to be nice. But, after we’re married, if you call me ‘woman’ again, I’ll take this bottle and stick it—”
“Okay, you two.” Shae’s warning from the kitchen interrupts their exchange. “We have company.”
Nick shakes his head and holds up his hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Carrie kisses Nathan on the cheek and climbs off his lap. He winks at her before taking a drink. “Thanks, woman.”
The game and Carrie’s antics aren’t enough to distract him from what happened in the bedroom. His memories have faded, and he can’t quite picture his mom’s face anymore. Not wanting to upset her, he couldn’t tell Shae when the memories came flooding back the image he saw in his head had turned into her on the floor being beaten, her injuries at the hands of his father. Waves of nausea flow over him. He takes a deep breath, trying to push away the disgusting thought. Her sweet voice brings him back to the present.
“I thought you might want this instead.” She stands in front of him, a small glass of whiskey in her outstretched hand. Worry etches her face before she smiles at him.
God, how he loves her. All he wants to do is bury himself in her again and shut out the rest of the world. “Thank you, sweetness.” He sets the tumbler on the coffee table and stands up. Cupping her face, he kisses her on the forehead. “I need to make a call. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, he leans against his car and finds the number in his phone. Illogical yet persistent dread coils in his stomach he must eradicate. For her and for himself.
“Good afternoon, Arbor Meadows. How may I direct your call?”
“Fourth floor, please.”
“Yes.” The chirpiness leaves her voice. He asks for the department of lost causes. “One moment, please.”
A new voice comes on the line, subdued reflecting the lack of hope for the patients residing there.“Fourth floor, this is Margaret. How may I help you?”
“I need to check on the condition of a patient, Salvador DeMarco.”
“May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“This is his…” He swallows down the bile in his throat before he can continue. “Son, Nick DeMarco.”
“Yes, Mr. DeMarco. There’s no change in your father’s condition.”Sympathy fills her voice. “You realize, sir, his prognosis will not change. His vegetative state is permanent. I know how much you must love your father. Maybe a visit would be of benefit to you. He rarely receives any visitors.”
“Thank you.” He hangs up.
Only two other houses are visible on Shae’s street within her gated neighborhood. Two boys about a quarter mile down the road play basketball in their driveway. The faint drumbeat of the ball bouncing on the ground, with an occasional metal clank from hitting the goal, is oddly comforting. The kids look about the same age he was when his mother died. His hope is they are really as carefree as they appear.
