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“Not as spicy as you two, apparently.”

“Bailey Margaret, knock it off,” my father said.

“Oh, it’s okay, pookie,” Nancy told him, massaging his arm. “This is all new for her.”

Nothing about my father screamed “pookie” but I supposed there was no nickname to suggest alcoholic-on-the-golf-course either.

I would have gone to my room except I didn’t have one.

Nancy and Dad had no such issues.

“We’re heading upstairs,” Dad said. “Gotta get up early.”

“No, you don’t,” Nancy said, sounding confused. “You said you don’t have anything until noon.”

My father gave her a look. A heated look.

“Oh!” she said. “Oh, oh,right. Of course. That thing you have to do. You definitely need yourrest, pookie.”

Nancy wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack. She also had no acting skills. Bud Miller, who kept falling asleep during our Midsummer rehearsals, and occasionally yelled out, “Take your marks!” for no reason was a better actor than Nancy.

My father shook his head, as if even he was mystified as to what he saw in his girlfriend.

Nancy slurped the last of her wine and said, “Pookie, your little blue pills are in the top drawer of the island. You’d better grab one.”

I would rather breathe in a vat of asbestos than endure this for one more second.

My father’s cheeks and nose were always red because he drank too much, but they were noticeably darker. He looked like an overripe tomato.

That didn’t stop him from digging out a pill bottle from the drawer. “Blood pressure meds,” he told me.

Because blood pressure medication was always blue. Not. But I allowed him his bad cover up because I never, ever wanted to discuss any of this ever again.

Mrs. Marner’s comments about me not cooking and taking advantage of Jake were nothing compared to this. I would welcome them in comparison.

“Goodnight,” I said, taking a sip of wine from my glass and not making eye contact.

I’d only had a third of a glass, which should enter me into the hall of fame for Incredible Restraint. But I couldn’t afford a headache or a hangover. I had to be at work early tomorrow, looking professional and prepped for my appointments.

I was covering up the charcuterie board with plastic wrap so the cheeses didn’t dry out when I got a text from Sara.

Been DMing with James’s friend and he has some interesting info. Meeting him in ten minutes. You should come up to Danny O’s.

That was a phenomenally bad idea.

For many reasons. Starting with the fact that I had to be on point at work tomorrow and ending with the fact that everyone at that bar hated me.

There was a thump from above my head.

Then the distinct sound of Nancy moaning.

No. No and no.

Be there in twenty.

I had no idea what Sara thought any conversation was going to accomplish, but she reminded me of myself a few months ago. Digging, digging. I respected that she felt something was off and wanted to right a wrong.

These days I was a little preoccupied and getting the message loud and clear from everyone in my life that slinking around alleyways and meeting up with strangers was neither smart nor effective.