A Curve in the Road(34)

“Definitely not.” She sets the glass down, slides it away, and burps like a trucker, then glances toward the bar. “Where did he go? I need another one.”

The doctor in me can’t help but try and talk some sense into her. “If you keep this up, you’re going to be sick, or worse. I’m sure you know that people die of alcohol poisoning. You should drink some water.”

Her glassy-eyed gaze meets mine, and she merely shrugs.

I notice her clammy skin and greasy honey-colored hair. I doubt she’s showered since the night I saw her at the funeral home. Nevertheless, despite her poor personal hygiene, she’s still a naturally beautiful woman with a dewy complexion and big blue eyes—the type who doesn’t need makeup. Personally, I have to work at my appearance, and this contrast makes my insides squeeze like a fist.

“Where’s your car?” I ask, remembering the clunkers I saw in the parking lot.

She gestures inelegantly. “That way.”

“You’ll have to leave it, wherever it is. I’ll take you home. We can talk while we drive.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m not going home.”

“Why not?”

Her speech is so badly slurred I can barely make out a word she says. “Because my husband can’t see me like this.” She reaches for the empty wineglass, picks it up by the stem, peers inside, and tries to suck out a few remaining drops. “Thanks to you.”

“And why is this my fault?”

“Because you went to my house, and now he’s suspicious. Not that he wasn’t suspicious before. He probably was.”

My stomach muscles clench tight with dread. “Suspicious of what?”

Paula looks up at me drunkenly, as if I’m a fool. “What do you think? It’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it? The reason you’ve been texting me. The reason you went to my house.” She sits back and waves a hand through the air. “Because you’ve figured it all out. You know what was going on between Alan and me.”

I feel a bit sick, because she appears to be admitting flat out that she and Alan were having an affair.

I’m not sure what to say or do. I’m in shock, and I can’t speak.

“I need another glass of wine,” Paula says, squinting toward the bar.

At this point, I could probably use a stiff drink too, but I resist the urge because I need to keep my wits about me and get the whole story out of her.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I say.

“You’re probably right.” She tries to get up but staggers sideways and almost knocks over the chair.

I leap out of my seat to grab hold of her. Just then, the bartender exits the washroom. “If you’re done, Paula, and I really think you ought to be, you’ll need to settle up at the bar.”

Swaying on her feet, Paula reaches for her purse and fumbles with the zipper. She pulls out her wallet and hands it to me. “Pay my bill, will you? Use cash.”

I take the wallet from her limp grip, move to the bar to ask the amount she owes, and hand over a wad of twenties. Paula can barely stand, so I return to help her. The bartender sees me struggling, comes over, and helps me get her to the door.

“Do you have a car here?” he asks me.

“Yes.”

As soon as I push the door open, bright winter sunlight blinds me. I’m forced to squint as we drag our drunken cargo to my mother’s vehicle.

We manage to get Paula settled in the front seat. Then the bartender says, “I don’t know who you are, but go easy on her, all right? She’s going through a rough time. She just lost someone.”

I want to scoff, because I’m the one who lost someone. Paula’s someone was never really hers to lose. Or maybe I have that backward. I don’t know anymore.

I buckle Paula’s seat belt, shut the car door, and face the bartender.

“Where are you planning to take her?” he asks as I begin to dig through my purse for my keys.

“Home.”

The bartender regards me hesitantly, then follows me around to the driver’s-side door. “You can’t take her there. Not like this.”

I stop and stare. “Why not?”

I have no intention of hauling her to my mother’s house to sleep this off. Not with my family there—my mother, my son, and my nieces.

The bartender rubs at the back of his neck. “Her husband can be a jerk sometimes. Alan had a place here in town, just a few blocks away. That’s where she’d want to go.”

“A place . . .” Alan had a place? “Can you give me the address?”

Again he hesitates. He studies me painstakingly. “Jesus. Are you Alan’s wife?” He points at his own face and draws a circle in the air with his finger. “I’m guessing because of the bruises. You were in the accident . . .”

This is unbearable. I feel like I’m the only person in the world who knows nothing. “You knew Alan?”

He nods and looks down at the ground. “Yeah. He was a good guy. Came here a lot. He helped me last year. He noticed a lump on my neck and told me I should have it looked at. I doubt I’d be here today if he hadn’t pointed that out to me. So . . . I’m sorry about what happened. It’s a real pisser.”

By this point, I feel like I might throw up, because it’s just been confirmed that my husband was cheating on me and this man seems to know more about his extracurricular activities than I ever did.