Homeport

testing.”
    “Yes,” she said carefully. “I did the testing. I authenticated the piece, and the documentation was properly filed. You know that, Andrew. You worked on it too.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s gone now. The insurance company’s rejecting the claim until they have documents, our mother is threatening to come in and see why we’re so inept that we lose not only a fine piece of art but its paperwork, and Cook’s giving me the fucking fish eye.”
    “I’m sorry I left you alone with this.” Sorrier now that she could see how he was handling it. “Andrew, please.” She walked over and took the glass out of his hand. “I can’t talk to you when you’re drunk.”

    He only smiled, dimples popping into his cheeks. “I’m not drunk yet.”
    “Yes, you are.” She’d been there herself recently enough to know the signs. “You need to get into a program.”
    The dimples faded. Jesus Christ, was all he could think. Just what he needed. “What I need is a little cooperation and support.” Irked, he snatched the glass back and took a long gulp. “Maybe you’re sorry you left me alone with this, but that’s just what you did. And if I want a few drinks after a miserable day of dealing with the police, running the Institute, and tap dancing for our parents, it’s nobody’s fucking business.”
    As she stared at him her chest tightened, squeezing her heart with the pressure. “I love you.” The words hurt, just a little, because she knew neither of them said them often enough. “I love you, Andrew, and you’re killing yourself in front of my eyes. That makes it my business.”
    There were tears in her eyes and in her voice that played on his guilt and infuriated. “Fine, I’ll kill myself in private. Then it won’t be any of your goddamn business.” He grabbed the bottle and strode out.
    He hated himself for it, for putting that disappointment and hurt in the eyes of the only person he’d ever been able to fully depend on. But goddamn it to hell and back, it was his life.
    He slammed the door of his bedroom, didn’t notice the stench of stale whiskey from his binge the night before. He sat in a chair and drank straight from the bottle.
    He was entitled to relax, wasn’t he? He got his work done, he did his job—for all the good it did him—so why did he have to get grief for having a couple of drinks?
    Or a couple dozen, he thought with a snicker. Who was counting?
    Maybe the blackouts worried him a little, those weird and empty pockets of time he couldn’t seem to account for. That was probably stress, and a good stiff drink was the best solution to stress.
    You bet it was.

    He told himself he missed his wife, though it was becoming more and more difficult to bring up a clear picture of her face, or to remember the exact pitch of her voice. Occasionally, when he was sober, he had a flash of truth. He didn’t love Elise any longer—and maybe had never loved her as much as he liked to think. So he drank to blot out that truth, and allowed himself to enjoy the sense of betrayal and misery.
    He was beginning to see the value of drinking alone now that Annie had barred him from her place. Alone, you could drink until you couldn’t stand, and when you couldn’t stand you lay down and passed out. It got a man through the night.
    A man had to get through the night, he thought, brooding at the bottle before tipping it back again.
    It wasn’t that he had to drink. He was in control of it and could quit whenever he wanted. He didn’t want, that was all. Still, he’d stop, cold turkey, just to prove to Miranda, to Annie, to every damn body they were wrong about him.
    People had always been wrong about him, he decided, stewing in resentment. Beginning with his parents. They’d never known who the hell he was, what he wanted, much less what the hell he needed.
    So fuck them. Fuck all of them.
    He’d quit drinking, all right. Tomorrow, he thought with another chuckle as he lifted the bottle.
    He saw the lights cut across the room. Headlights, he decided after a long, wavering study where his mind blinked out and his mouth hung open. Company’s coming. Probably Boldari.
    He took another long gulp and grinned to himself. Miranda had a boyfriend. He’d get some mileage out of that. It had been a long time since he’d been able to tease his sister over something as interesting as a man.
    Might as well get started on it now, he decided. He got to his feet, snorting with laughter as the room