my lips. “Meg, for god’s sake, drink it.”
I clamped my mouth shut, grunted “No!” and jerked my head away. “I’m not drinking any more of that shit.”
“Well, at least you’re talking in intelligible sentences,” Eric replied.
My head swirled. “I’m going to be sick.” And I vomited into the bucket Eric shoved under my chin. “God, I feel awful.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I opened my eyes. Eric’s concerned face swam into view. I snapped them shut. “I’m going to be sick again,” I said, and retched once more into the bucket. Mortified, I wished I could disappear into the bucket myself.
I felt my body warm to the weight of his hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes. His face didn’t swim any more. “I’m okay now.” He left his hand for a second longer on my shoulder, then he took the bucket away.
“What happened?” I looked around, amazed to see the morning sun streaming through the kitchen window. It was the next day.
“Isn’t it obvious? You passed out.” Eric held up an empty vodka bottle. “Do you remember how full it was?”
I lied. “I think there was only about a third left.” It was more like three-quarters. No wonder I’d passed out.
“Meg, when are you going to stop fooling yourself and face up to the fact you have a drinking problem?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. I didn’t have a problem. I could stop any time I wanted.
“How did you get in here?” I asked to change the subject.
“Through your unlocked door.”
I swore. I’d been too drunk to lock the doors. Would’ve served me right if the guy in yellow had walked in.
“Meg, you can’t keep avoiding it. The sooner you face up to it, the sooner you’ll get cured.”
“Look, Eric, I really appreciate your being here. But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” I got up from the kitchen chair and would have fallen, if Eric hadn’t been standing next to me. “Whoops . . . guess I’m still a bit dizzy.”
Eric sat me back down into the chair like I was some kind of a china doll and passed me the mug of coffee. “Here, drink more of this, and take these.” He passed me a couple of Tylenol. “Some food will help. I’ll make you breakfast.”
With two hands, I raised the trembling mug to my lips. The warm liquid felt good. My head pounded.
I set the mug down and watched Eric move around with the ease of someone very familiar with the workings of a kitchen. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
Eric threw some chopped dill into a bowl of eggs, smiled and said, “Just one of my many talents.” He whisked them into a fluffy golden liquid and poured the mixture into a sizzling pan. He shook the pan back and forth over the burner. “Want some cheese with your omelet?”
“Sounds good.” I tried to sound cheerful but felt more like burying myself six feet under. “Look, I’m sorry to put you through this. It’s not very pleasant.”
“Meg, you aren’t the first drunk I’ve dealt with, and you certainly won’t be the last.”
He called me a drunk. Is that what he thought of me? I took a gulp of hot coffee and almost burnt my mouth.
“You usually seem to know your limit, Meg. What got you going this time?” He placed the perfect omelet on the table in front of me and sat down. Today, with his thick black hair tied behind his head in a ponytail, his face appeared more open and, I suddenly realized, more careworn. Obviously, he had more important problems on his mind than my piddling ones. “Something’s bothering you, Meg. I think it’s been a worry for some time. Tell me, if it will help.”
I took a bite of omelet. “Delicious.” I took another bite. I’d never told him about Gareth.
Eric drank his coffee in silence. I patted Sergei and looked out the window then turned back to Eric. His soft grey eyes were still focused on me. My arm throbbed, but I tried not to rub it. He smiled with a twisted smile that seemed to say, “Take your time. I’ll be here when you need me.”
I hesitated, then blurted out, “My ex is coming tomorrow.”
He raised his eyebrows in question. “Tell me about him.” And I did.
At the end he said, “I think you should call and tell him not to come.”
“I can’t. I need to see him. I need to firmly close the door and lock it.”
“Do you want me to be with you?”
I looked at his sympathetic but strongly masculine face, and thought not. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I need to deal with Gareth on my own.”
“Everything’s okay, Meg. You can stop rubbing your arm.”
I looked down at my hand moving slowly back and forth. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
“Don’t worry, Meg, I’ll make sure nothing happens.” Eric placed his hand gently over my hand and held it tight.
For a long moment, I sat absorbing the comforting warmth, then pulled my hand free. I didn’t want this. I didn’t need it. Not now.
Eric gave me a searching glance, then nodded his head as if to say, “I’ll go your speed,” and got up to retrieve the coffee pot. He filled my mug and poured himself some.
“Did the police come by yesterday?” he asked.
I searched through yesterday’s fog, but couldn’t remember. What if they had come? “Why do you ask?”
“I want to know what they said to you about Marie.”
I took a deep sip of coffee. “Nothing.”
Eric stared at me, his expression signalling that he didn’t believe me.
“Okay, okay. I don’t remember. I was too damn drunk. Is that what you want to hear?”
I jumped out of my chair and stomped to the fridge to get Sergei’s food. I’d probably forgotten about him, too. Although, judging by his non-committal state on the floor, I’d say I did manage to do at least that much.
“You’re lucky. They probably didn’t have the time before they went into the bush to get Tommy and Marie,” Eric said.
“Oh, dear, that means they’ll arrest Marie.”
“If they find her. Turns out she wasn’t at Louis’s camp.”
“But . . . she left a note saying she was going there.”
“The police think she ran away. They’re searching the woods around the camp as we speak.”
“Why?
