The carnival was good. Our grandson was so cute, his face painted as a lamb, his costume all wooly. I did not stay for revelries in the park. I came home. I could not clear the uneasy thoughts jangling in my mind. Was Laura drinking again?
Did we have a problem? Was she drinking alcohol so soon out of recovery? Or was I overreacting – which I was prone to do.
Husband and I nipped out in the afternoon. I told him of my fears.
‘If she’s drinking, she’s drinking, there’s not a lot you can do,’ he said.
We pulled up the drive at home. Laura sat at the front door waiting for our return. She stood on our approach.
‘Hi. Are you feeling better?’ I asked.
‘Yes, much better. I don’t know what was wrong with me this morning.’ We entered my house. ‘How was the carnival, did you take pictures? Can I see them?’
‘Do you want coffee?’ I asked, filling the kettle.
‘No. I’ll get going.’ And off she went without looking at the pictures.
I looked at Husband. ‘What was that all about?’
‘What?’
‘Arriving just to go.’
He shrugged.
Her face looked tired. Makeup covered her eyes. ‘I know why she came,’ I said. ‘To see how the land lies. You know after not coming to the carnival.’
Again Husband shrugged.
So, another tale came our way: The night before the carnival, Laura invited serious drinkers to her house. Apparently she was drinking vodka straight from the bottle, saying, ‘Look at me. I’ve only been out of rehab for two weeks.’
Nice.
;
addictchild 