"Okay, fine," Murray said. "But can we talk about the time we tried to sell blotters to that guy who ended up being a cop?"
They all laughed except Luke, who just smiled and looked uncomfortable. Olivia looked a bit confused. She wasn't sure what a blotter was, but if selling it to the police was a bad thing, then she wasn't sure she wanted to know more. Or did she?
Afterward, Luke walked her back to her car. He wasn't completely steady on his feet, and she was surprised to realize that not only had he decided to drink but he appeared to have had quite a bit.
"Thanks for coming over," he leaned her up against her car. "The guys liked you."
"Good," Olivia responded. "Luke, what's a blotter?"
"Ooooh, nothing for you to worry about," he answered as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
"I'm not worried, I'm curious," she insisted. "you can either tell me yourself, or I'll look it up online."
"Okay, Okay," he said reluctantly. "Blotters are square pieces of paper that have acid on them."
"You tried to sell acid to cops?" Olivia asked, trying to wrap her head around what she was hearing.
"It was a long time ago. I haven't done that kind of drug for years," he reassured her.
"But if you were selling it, you weren't just doing it," she pointed out.
"Yes, but if you're going to afford to do it, you need to sell it," he explained patiently.
"Of course," she shook her head bemusedly, as though it was the most logical explanation in the world. "Well, I best get going now."
She opened the driver's side door and slid into her seat.
"Take care and drive safely," he said as he shut her door.
She drove home in a bit of a daze, stunned and unsure of what to think about this new insight into her husband-to-be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She
S he awoke with a start. The room had darkened considerably, and she could just make out the shapes of the furniture around her. She had no idea what time it was or even how long she had been sleeping. She got up quickly, patting her hair and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes while she walked to the dining room.
The rest of the house was just as dark as her bedroom and somehow seemed twice as quiet. She glanced at the digital clock on her oven and discovered it was already 9:30 in the evening. She had slept for hours! She quickly picked up her phone to find out what had happened to her husband. He had probably answered her text, and when she didn't reply, he had assumed she wasn't interested. Or worse yet, that she was upset at him and ignoring him on purpose.
When she punched in her passcode, she was shocked to see there were no messages. He had never replied to her inquiry regarding going for a run. And he wasn't home, hours after his work would have been done. Had something happened to him? Was he okay? She quickly punched his name in her contact list and heard the phone ring. It rang several times before being picked up by his voice mail. She left a message, telling him she was worried about him and could he please phone to let her know what was going on.
Her heart was pounding. At one time he had done things like this regularly, but not now. Now they were in a good place, and he was happy to be at home. Wasn't he? But what could have happened to keep him away from home and not answering her phone calls or texts?
She dialed his number again. Again, it rang several times, but only his voice mail responded. Now she was becoming anxious. She didn't have any of the phone numbers of his friends from work, and he didn't have any other friends aside from them. How should she even begin to find out if something was dreadfully wrong?
She sat down at her computer and started googling hospital emergency numbers and placing calls. With each phone call, she learned he had not been admitted. At least not under his name. But what if something had happened and for some reason, he had no ID on him? She tried not to think about that, and she sighed a breath of relief with each negative response she received.
Having gone through all the hospitals in town, she sat on the couch, head resting on the back of it, eyes closed. She didn't know what else to do but wait. It was almost eleven now and she had exhausted all ideas. The only thing left to do was to go out looking for him, but that made no sense whatsoever. What if he returned and she was gone? No, if she left, she would just spend the whole time wondering if he had come home while she was gone.
She was pacing up and down her living room an hour later when she heard a key in the front door lock. She stopped, her heart picking up pace as she watched him walk through the door.
"Oh, thank God you're okay," she said, as she flung herself towards him, wrapped her arms around him and began to sob uncontrollably.
"What on earth is wrong?" he asked, surprised.
She took a few minutes to collect herself as it sunk in that he was, in fact, alive and well but that he didn't seem to realize how worried she had been.
"You didn't answer my text," she sputtered. "I phoned you and no answer."
"You know I get caught up sometimes and don't pay attention to my phone. It must have been turned on silent. "
"But it's been hours!" she protested. "You should have been home hours ago -I thought you were in an accident or something."
"Well, I wasn't," he stated with annoyance. "There is no need to make a federal case out of me taking a few hours to myself."
She stood stock-still in the hallway as he brushed past her and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and pulled out a beer. Chugging it back, he walked towards the living room and turned the tv on to the sports channel.
What had happened, she wondered. Were they back to this now? She thought when things were on track that they had put this behind them. But he seemed to think it was perfectly reasonable to come and go as he pleased, not caring if she was worried. Well, she wasn't going to let that happen without a fight.
Walking into the living room, she picked up the remote and snapped off the tv.
"We need to talk about this," she stated firmly. "I have had the fright of my life, and you don't seem to even care."
"What am I supposed to do?" he responded belligerently. "I can't control how worried and freaked out you get over little things."
"Little things? You disappear for an entire evening with no word of where you are, not answering texts or phone calls from your wife and that is a little thing?" she asked incredulously.
"So that's the kind of marriage you want, is it?" he asked, his voice rising.
"What do you mean? What kind of marriage?" she asked.
"The kind where I'm at your beck and call," he replied with a snarl. "You want to know where I'm every second of the day and night."
"What?" she asked, amazed. "All I'm asking from you is that you show me some respect and some common courtesy!"
"No, all you're asking from me is that you own me!" he yelled. "You knew I wasn't a stay at home kind of guy when you married me. You knew I didn't want a cozy little home with a measly little wife and matching his and her towels, so why are you complaining now?"