Sure, it was possible Dave was threatening him, but I was pretty sure Jerry would have told me about that. Even if he were done with me, he would want me to know. In fact, if the threat were serious enough, he would have reported it himself.
By the time I reached my car, I’d decided to do nothing for the time being. I would assume Jerry was putting space between us, assume the late-night party with his friend had extended through the day, and assume that if Dave was bothering him, it was nothing that made him overly concerned.
All the way home, I thought about the fact that it was impossible to get a habitual or a circumstantial liar to tell the truth. But just as I rounded the corner onto Jealousy Junction, I realized that wasn’t entirely true. Sometimes, a steady, mind-numbing flow of alcohol can elicit the truth. If lying is deeply engrained, an essential part of who a person is, maybe not. But for most, the lowering of inhibitions, the effort required to keep all the pieces of a lie organized, and the desire to connect more deeply with another human being that alcohol can bring to the surface often turns it into a truth serum.
I decided to stop trying to curtail Tanya’s drinking as I had been.
It was time to get drunk, and I would join her, in part, because I also wanted the numbing, not caring feeling she was constantly seeking. A state of mind that would free me from the nagging fear, a fear that squashed my logic, that Jerry was ready to dump me.
I changed course and drove across the island to Coastal Liquor. I bought vodka, huge, fat green olives, and vermouth. Then I went by Twelve Tables and placed a to-go order for mushroom risotto and the sourdough bread they served that was made fresh daily at the Kitchen Bakery. There was nothing like a sumptuous dinner of savory comfort food to nurture the desire for more alcohol.
At home, Tanya was in the guest room with the door closed. I changed out of my work clothes and jumped in the shower. I felt the need to cleanse the day, the campground, and my neediness off my skin. While the water pelted me, I started laughing. Normally, people think about the cliché of a guy trying to get a girl drunk when he thinks she’s too reticent for sex. The idea of getting my sister drunk was too funny. It also made me feel like a teenager. It also made me kind of optimistic. Maybe we could reconnect after all.
I dressed in leggings and a crop top. I dried my hair and left it loose. I touched up my burgundy toenail polish and even took the time to put on makeup. This would be a party. It felt good to fix myself up just for me instead of for work or a man.
Downstairs, I set the table and two martinis. I placed the drinks on the table, stepping back to admire the icy sheen on the outside of the glasses and the luscious color of the olives against the white pine table. I was a little surprised Tanya hadn’t come out to see what I was up to. I took a sip of my drink and went to the guest suite, knocking firmly.
“Yeah?”
“I have dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s risotto. And fresh bread.”
“Yeah, sounds nice, but really—“
“I made martinis.”
The door opened, and I wondered for the first time if my sister was an alcoholic. I shouldn’t have been so quick with that label. She was still drowning her sadness and fear, but she was drowning it a bit too frequently and with too much enthusiasm. After our girls’ night of partying, I would definitely talk to her about it. Alcohol was not going to take away the hurt. But first, I needed to find out what she was keeping from me. I put my hand behind my back and crossed my fingers, wishing myself luck and finesse in trying to get her talking more honestly.
“You have to eat something if you’re going to have a drink,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I love martinis. Thanks for thinking of it.”
“I know you better than you realize.” I smiled and gave her a hug.
“Where’s Jerry?”
I shrugged. “Still partying with his friend, I guess.”
Her question made me feel slightly better because I had the sense she honestly didn’t know where he was, which suggested they weren’t in touch behind my back.
A moment later, we were slathering butter on soft, tangy sourdough and reaching the end of the liquid in our glasses. The stir sticks stood bare inside the glasses.
Tanya pushed her chair away from the table. “Done?” Without waiting for my answer, she began clearing the table. I heard her in the kitchen, actually sticking the plates and utensils in the dishwasher, opening and closing the fridge to put away the food. A moment later, she returned and picked up our glasses? “Another?”
“Absolutely.” I went into the living room and glanced out the window, which had become a robotic habit. Dave was not there. It was jarring to see nothing but trees standing across the street, keeping watch on my house. I’d become adapted to his silent, staring form. I turned away from the window and put on some dance music.
Tanya returned with the drinks, and we sat on the couch, half-turned to face each other.
“This is fun,” she said.
“I know, right?”
“I’ve almost forgotten about him.”
I didn’t know which him she meant, and she didn’t try to clarify. I took a sip of my drink. “What really happened with you and Jake? It seems so unexpected, after all these years.”
“That’s just it.” She sipped her drink. “All these years means you really get to know someone. To be honest, I started to feel like all he wanted was my money.”
I thought this was ironic since I’d had the impression she liked being with Jake because she didn’t
