“You bitch!” he shouted. He knocked her hand from his shoulder and she stumbled. I caught her and pulled her to the side, propping her so she could hold the top of the booth seat to steady herself so I could grab her purse.
“She told you she wasn’t feeling well, man,” I pointed out as I handed her a napkin from the table so she could wipe her mouth, while I collected her things. “You should have listened.”
The guy was beet red with fury, his eyes fixed on Clara like he wanted to hit her. Dropping her shit in the booth seat, I turned to him. “Let it go, man,” I warned him. “Go clean yourself up.”
His angered stare trained on me. “Get that bitch out of here,” he fired back.
“You’re a real classy guy,” I piped back as I returned to collecting Clara’s things. I shoved the large envelope containing her separation papers in her purse with another envelope I only took a second to observe before putting it in her bag. It had her name on it written in my uncle’s handwriting.
“Come on, Clara,” I murmured as I took her arm. She stumbled out beside me and just before we exited, I looked over to Mandy at the bar. She was already talking to some other guy. Her eyes met mine and she shrugged, raising her beer bottle in silent farewell.
I looked back down at Clara who had just rested her head on my shoulder as we walked.
Cock-blocker.
“We have five minutes until we meet with Clara,” Ashley points out. “We should probably stop here.”
After they remove my mic and I stand to go, Ashley asks, “Do you really think she made herself puke on that guy?”
I laugh. “Knowing Clara, yes. She’s good at making assholes look and feel like assholes.”
Ashley nods a few times and gives me a small wave. “See you next week.”
“So we heard about the chili dog puke scene at the bar,” Ashley informs me once we’re all set up.
I scrunch my face in embarrassment. “He told you about that?”
She laughs. “Yes. Did you do it on purpose?”
“Knowing me, yes, but I was pretty smashed so I really don’t remember.”
“So Paul took you home that night. What happened?”
He had to stop twice on the way to my house so I could relieve myself of more vomit on the side of the road. It was awful. Made worse by the fact that each time we stopped Paul got out and stood with me, getting a front row seat to my humiliation. I was mortified. By the time he got me home, I had nothing left in my stomach. He followed me inside and into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of water. I turned and leaned against the counter as I chugged it, noticing he was staring at me, arms crossed, eyes angry.
“Thanks for bringing me home,” I murmured. “I’m sure you have other things to do tonight, so you can go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he informed me. “I want some answers.”
Placing my glass on the counter, I asked, “Answers to what?”
“Why did you go in there and get smashed? Because of Marcus? Because if that’s the case, I thought you had tougher skin than to let him bring you down.”
I didn’t answer him right away. Instead, I busied myself getting two Ibuprofens and putting two slices of white bread in the toaster. I desperately needed something in my stomach.
“Was it Marcus?” he finally asked when I didn’t respond.
“No. He didn’t help though,” I mumbled.
“The separation papers?” he questioned.
Meeting his gaze, I decided to give him the truth. Well, most of it. “Twenty-five years ago today my parents were killed in a drunk driving accident.”
All the color drained from his face.
“I don’t remember them. But . . . it’s still a sad day for me.” I studied his expressionless face. Did he know? Did he know it was his uncle that took my parents’ lives? I really couldn’t tell. His lack of any response could mean many things. Maybe he did know, or maybe he didn’t and he just felt sorry for me.
“My soon-to-be ex, Kurt, had the separation papers delivered today, of all days, of course,” I continued. “Then Marcus decided to act out against me. So I got drunk. Something I usually don’t do.”
“Shit, Clara,” he sighed. “Did the guy that hit them die too?” Out of all I said, he was centering in on my parents.
My throat tightened. He didn’t know. He had no idea what his uncle had done. Anger rose up inside of me. Marcus and Paul thought Dennis was such a great guy. He’d left them this adventurous legacy with this notion that he was a good man. He’d moved here and hid from his past. They didn’t know him at all.
“He was forced to go to rehab. Some probation.”