Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
This wasn’t a frat party.
How on earth could she get in this state?
As I had this thought, she attempted to lift her head while slurring, “Jamie? Hun. I’m sho shorry. I promoish. Thish time, I promish, never again.”
She then let her head fall.
It was the “this time” that got me, and when it did, a chill slid down my spine.
It was my understanding they had a child. An infant. He couldn’t be more than one, or if so, not much older.
“Good Lord,” I murmured.
The water came before Mother and Jamie did, and I was crouched, attempting to get the second half of the glass I’d poured for her down her throat when they arrived.
I turned my head and looked up at Jamie Oakley.
My husband Roland Castellini was the epitome of swarthy, masculine, sophisticated Italian/American good looks.
Jamie’s features were not elegant or refined, but rugged and robust. He was more in line with the Marlboro Man than Armani. Which made all that was him, his tall, muscular frame encased in an impeccably tailored dinner jacket and trousers, incongruous in the most delightful ways.
I had this thought in a flash before the look on his face as he stared down at his wife washed it clean away.
Worry.
Anguish.
Heartbreak.
Oh yes, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen his beautiful wife and the mother of his child in this state.
A knock came on the bathroom door, which prompted Jamie to continue his journey to his wife and brought me out of my crouch.
I looked to Mother. “I ordered a cup of coffee as well.”
“Excellent idea,” Mother replied. “Oakley, can you get her to the lounge?”
She didn’t have to ask. As if she weighed as much as her slip dress, he’d already lifted Belinda in his arms, and with wide strides of his long legs, he was moving to the lounge.
I gave mother the glass of water and went to the door to fetch the coffee.
I took the tray from the waiter, which was full service, with a small pitcher of creamer, sugar bowl and a container of selections of sugar substitute, doing so with Mother hovering close so they couldn’t see inside, even if I only allowed the door to be open wide enough so I could bring the tray in.
I set the tray down, stepped back, and saw that Jamie was on the couch with Belinda, her propped against his side, and Mother had given him the glass of water. He was doing much better—a practiced hand—at getting the liquid into her.
“I appreciate your time, and discretion, but you don’t have to stay with us,” Jamie murmured, not shifting his attention from what he was doing.
“I believe we do,” Mother denied.
Jamie didn’t argue, perhaps because he saw the benefits of having us there should they need anything further from the staff, perhaps because he knew of my mother, and as such, understood resistance was futile.
“How does she take her coffee?” I asked, feeling helpless, and oddly, a great deal more.
This centered around sadness…for him. Indeed, I felt such a depth of sadness for someone who was an absolute stranger, it was vaguely disturbing.
“With cream and three sugars,” he said, then he lifted his astonishing blue eyes to me. They were so astonishing, even in the circumstances, having them aimed at me for the first time, I felt my breath hitch. “But now, after I get another glass of water in her, she’ll take it black.”
I nodded.
As time went by, and liquids went into Belinda, she grew more in control of her body as well as more coherent.
She didn’t meet our eyes.
The pain had left Jamie’s affect, and tightly reined anger had replaced it, so she didn’t meet her husband’s eyes either.
“Would you like me to order another cup of coffee?” I offered.
“No,” he stated shortly. “Another fifteen, twenty minutes, she’ll be fine to walk out of here.”
Indeed, he had practice.
“I think now, we’ll leave you,” Mother announced.
Jamie looked up at us.
Belinda did not.
“Again, I appreciate all you’ve done.” His arm around his wife tightened. “We appreciate it.” He turned his head to Belinda. “Don’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.” She lifted her gaze to Jamie. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those shrimp, hun.”
I knew as one who, against my will, came into close contact with her vomit, that was such a lie, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
I was aided in this endeavor by Jamie assuming a You are so full of shit expression as he held her gaze.
She wasn’t so far gone she missed her husband’s expression.
“You know my stomach isn’t good with shellfish,” she said defensively.
“We’ll talk when we get home,” he said resolutely.
Her gaze, still vague, drifted from him.
I knew by the way it did, they’d talk.
She just wasn’t going to listen…or make an effort to change.