Enough.
“You were drinking?” she said.
“The night I was in the ER?”
Owen stood up.
The bucket tipped over.
“Jess—”
“The night I thought I was losing him?”
She put her hand on the baby’s back.
“You were out here?”
“With a bottle?”
Owen’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jess looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“I found out five minutes ago.”
She nodded slowly.
Then she looked at the bottle on the workbench.
Then at her husband.
“Is that why you’ve been out here since yesterday?”
He didn’t answer.
She walked over.
She picked up the bottle.
She carried it to the recycling bin.
She dropped it in.
It clanked against the cans.
“You don’t get to use that,” she said quietly.
“Not tonight.”
“You’re going to sit at the kitchen table.”
“And you’re going to tell me everything.”
“And then we’ll see.”
She walked back into the house.
