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Dorothy picks up her purse. “I’m going to run downstairs and get some coffee. I’ll be right back,” she says. Everything exhausts me lately, so when she comes back, I’ll be asleep, and I probably won’t remember she was here.

JIM

“Sir, I think you’re done for the night,” the bartender says.

“Done? Why would I be done?” I only had one vodka. Or was it three? I’ve lost track, probably because I’m a little drunk. Or a lot drunk. I’ve lost track of that too.

I have a fondness for this bar. The Tiki Hut is the place I go to when I need to hide from the world. It’s easy to pretend I’m in the South Pacific, with all the bamboo hanging from the ceiling, and the walls filled with masks of the gods of the Hawaiian Islands.

I don’t want to be anywhere but on this barstool getting drunk. Hopefully I will forget how much I hate myself for not being present for Maggie while she deals with her dad’s illness. What kind of selfish husband am I that all I can think about is how much I hate my job?

“I’ll take another vodka,” I say. The bartender, who’s dressed in a grass skirt over shorts, ignores me. He pretends to wipe the spots off the glasses. My phone rings again for the third time, but I don’t even look at it. “Bartender, why aren’t you bringing me another vodka?”

“Because you need to go home,” Sam says as he sits down on the stool next to me.

“Where’d you come from?”

“I was born in Texas, but I’ve lived in Connecticut most of my life.”

“Maggie called you, didn’t she?” I ask.

“Yes. You didn’t come home, and she couldn’t reach you. I told her I had a feeling I knew where you were.”

“I should’ve gone to a bar further from home. I need to find a place where nobody knows my name.” I start laughing at the reference and almost fall off the stool. Sam helps me back up. “I’m fine, you can go.” I push twenty bucks toward the bartender, and he pours another vodka.

“You haven’t gotten drunk this often since we were in college,” Sam says.

“Yeah, it’s better than I remember.”

“Won’t be tomorrow.”

The other patrons look as if they’re having as much fun as I am. One man has his head on the bar. I think he’s asleep—or dead; I’m not sure which. And the three women sitting in a corner are laughing uncontrollably.

“Hey,” I yell to the bartender, “get my friend here a drink.” The bartender looks at Sam, who shakes his head. “It’s rude not to accept a drink from a friend.” I pat him on the back.

“Fine, I’ll have a Coke,” Sam says to the bartender, then turns to me. “I gather you still haven’t told Maggie that you’re thinking of giving up your practice, have you?”

I down the vodka. “Her dad was just diagnosed with dementia, and now she thinks she’s going to get it. I can’t tell her I want to quit my job.”

“She needs to understand why you’ve been weird.”

“She already thinks I’m a horrible husband.”

“And you think getting drunk’s going to make that better?”

“I’m not drunk.” I stand up quickly, get dizzy, and sit back down. “I’ll be fine after I find the bathroom.”

“It’s in the back on your right,” the bartender says, eavesdropping on our conversation. Then he walks away, his grass skirt sashaying as he goes.

I walk across the room, and instead of the bathroom, I end up in the kitchen. One of the busboys walks me to the bathroom. When I get back to the table, I tell Sam that I’m ready to go, and I take my keys out of my pocket.

“You could barely find your way to the bathroom. I’m not letting you drive home like this. We need to get you some food. Food and coffee.” Sam practically picks me up and walks me out to his car. He drives around for what feels like an hour, although I’m drunk, so it could have been ten minutes. We go to a coffee shop, where he plies me with coffee and food until I stop talking nonsense. “I can’t tell if you’re sober, so I’ll drive you home, and you can get your car in the morning,” Sam says. I make him swear that he won’t tell Ellen what I’ve told him.

We pull into the driveway, Maggie comes out, as if she’s been standing at the window watching for me. Now I feel even worse than I already do. She looks wary, standing there in her pajamas with an unzipped parka over them. She thanks Sam, and he nods, gets back in his car, and drives away. Maggie and I are standing in the middle of the driveway. I see the disappointment in her eyes.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, but it’s freezing out here.” I realize I left my jacket in my car at the bar. As I walk toward the house, she stops me.