We left the hotel in search of a bar. I needed greasy food and beer. I still wanted to find Greg, but I wanted him to pay for what he had done to me and his kids. He needed to understand the consequences of his actions. Did he really think he could just walk away? If he was so miserable, why not just divorce me? Was it the money? I couldn’t figure it out. Greg was never that selfish. He always put his family first. So why leave this way? What if he had cheated on me, and something horrible had happened to him? Would I care? Of course I would care; he was the father of my kids. My head was swimming with too many questions crashing into each other. I needed to stop thinking, and the fastest way I knew to do that was alcohol.
We found what we were looking for a few blocks away at McGraff’s Pub. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of stale beer and Pine-Sol. The restaurant was fairly empty, save for a few single patrons who sat at the bar, staring blankly at one of several flat screen televisions playing various football games. We chose a booth, and Drew sat across from me, unusually quiet. When the waitress came over, I ordered a cheeseburger and fries, then without thinking, a Sam Adams, which made me think of Greg. My mood swung wildly between melancholy and anger.
“I still need to find him,” I said after Drew placed his order and the waitress left. I had finally found my words—most of them of the four-letter variety. On our drive down, I had been withdrawn and sad, lost in confusion, thinking of Greg as some kind of victim. With some solid evidence of an affair, I became the angry predator Drew had tried to draw out earlier. “But now, he better be terrified when I do.”
Drew shook his head. “Listen. I want you to stop and think. We technically don’t know any more than we did before we left to come down here. Dinner is just that—dinner. It could have been a colleague who happened to love Thai food. My point is, I’m okay with your anger because it’s so much better than that lifeless, silent person you were before. But you need to focus if we’re going to make some progress here. This is not a lecture.”
“Really? Because it feels like one,” I snapped, sitting back in the booth and staring past him. Greg used to call my silent treatment the Great Wall of Claire.
The overlapping sports games competed for attention, the announcers talking over each other in an enthusiastic rush. When our burgers and beers came, I gave up the brooding in favor of eating and drank four beers in succession. After the fourth, I asked for a shot of tequila.
Drew put his hand over mine. “Not a lecture, but legitimately a terrible idea.”
“I know. But I’m so damn tired of always having good ones.” I grinned.
He motioned to the waitress, who was at the bar picking up my shot, and held up two fingers. Suddenly, it was a party. And not the pitying kind.
Drew wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me upright, our hips softly knocking as we walked. Bump. Bump. I swayed unsteadily with every step. The tequila tasted acidic, sharp, and stabbing in my chest.
“Do you think he’s here?” I slurred. The street took on an unreal cast, and I squinted, blurring the glow of the street lamps together above my head.
“Here, as in Rochester?”
“Yeah, do you think we’re gonna find him?” It seemed important suddenly that Drew not only be there, supporting me, but that he genuinely believe in our mission. Our mission? I laughed, a single guttural “HA!” As if we’re superheroes.
Drew led me through the lobby and into the elevator. He pushed the button for the sixth floor. I watched the numbers above the door climb and winced at the ding when we reached our floor. The lights seemed too bright, the ding too loud, and the hallway swayed like a suspension bridge.
I fumbled with my card key, cursing at the unrelenting red light on the handle until Drew gently took the card. In a single movement, he slid it in, then out, and the green light blinked. I smirked. Show off.
In the room, I took off my shoes and tossed them on the floor. I dug out my pajamas—a T-shirt and mesh Princeton shorts—and with only a quick glance at Drew, pulled my shirt over my head, the hotel room air cold against my bare back. He had flopped on the bed and was studying the remote as I dressed. Whatever. Where the hell is my hair tie? I dug through my bag until I found a rubber band suitable for holding my long black hair away from my face.
“You’re always taking care of me when I drink,” I said, speaking slowly. HA! I didn’t even slur that one.
“Well, then, stop drinking so much.” He smiled and winked, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him.
I sat against the headboard, folding my legs underneath me, and cast a sideways glance at him. “Remember the prom?”
Drew shifted, pulling one leg up, ever so slightly angling away from me. He turned on the television and studied the guide. “Of course I remember the prom.”