“How did you get from him barging in to a dinner invitation?”
She listened as he gave her what was no doubt an abbreviated—and edited—version of the exchange.
“In the end, he promised to butt out of my life if I let him be part of our family.”
“And you agreed to that?”
“If he keeps his end of the bargain.”
“Steven’s the honorable type. He won’t go back on his word.”
“Yeah.” Patrick shoved a plate in the dishwasher with more force than necessary. “Heroes have a boatload of stellar qualities.”
They were back to that—the childhood resentment Patrick couldn’t shake and which was totally unwarranted, as far as she could tell. Steven wasn’t the sort to lord anything over a younger sibling.
But being constantly compared to a high-achieving older brother by teachers, coaches, and other authority figures took a toll on an impressionable child—one even loving parents couldn’t totally mitigate.
“Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, Patrick. You don’t have to have a chest full of combat medals or a roomful of trophies to prove you’re brave or admirable or courageous.”
“Right.” His jaw hardened into a stubborn line.
Her usual argument to try and convince him he was as worthy as his big brother wasn’t any more effective now than it had been on previous attempts.
Time to switch gears.
Cindy gripped the edge of the counter behind her and chose her words with care. “I’m happy he came over, and that you two reached a truce. Although I’m a little surprised he’s willing to compromise.” Surely a difficult challenge for a hard-driving, results-oriented man like Steven. “But I imagine he’s been kind of lonely this past year.”
“And that’s my fault?” Patrick scowled at her across the dirty plates in the dishwasher.
“I didn’t say that. There’s blame on both sides. You both have strong wills. But it’s sad to let stubbornness disrupt families. We’re the only relatives he has.”
“He doesn’t have to be lonely. Hope Harbor is full of pleasant people. He could have made friends, found a niche.”
“He didn’t come here for that. He came here for you. Because he cares.”
“So he claims.” Patrick slammed the dishwasher closed, and she flinched. “But I’m not letting him run my life.”
“Patrick.” She moved closer and touched his face, gentling her tone. “No one’s trying to run your life. We’re trying to save it.”
“Why does everybody think I need saving?” Red splotches mottled his complexion. “I have a steady job, two fantastic kids, and a beautiful wife who loves me. Or she used to.”
“You know I still do. But some days . . . it’s hard.” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “The nights you come home after you’ve had too much to drink, I . . . it scares me sometimes.” Her last syllable hitched.
Some of the color leeched from his skin. “I’ve never laid a hand on you or the kids.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She knuckled away the moisture misting her vision. “I worry about you when you’re—” She bit back the term drunk. It would only exacerbate his tension. “When booze muddles your thinking. I worry about what will happen as the kids get older and begin to realize their dad drinks too much. I worry about you getting a DUI—or having an accident and hurting yourself or someone else. I worry about our marriage if this continues.”
“You always knew I liked to have a few drinks. I never hid that from you.”
“I know—and I can handle you stopping at the bar for a drink or two with your buddies at the end of the week. But it’s gone far beyond that.”
“I have it under control, Cindy.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you stop tomorrow? Cold turkey?”
“If I wanted to.”
“What about if I wanted you to?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and her stomach twisted.
Asking him to stop completely was a giant step toward an ultimatum—one that could have serious, life-changing consequences for all of them.
The very reason she’d never issued one.
Patrick crossed his arms. “My drinking has never caused trouble for anyone in this house. Have I neglected you or the kids? Missed work? Created a public scene?”
“No—but I’m afraid any of those could happen if the situation continues to escalate.”
“I told you I’ve got it under control. Why can’t you trust me—like you trust Steven?”
“This isn’t about him. It’s about you.” She clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her palms. “I know you think you have it under control—but that’s a typical attitude of people with addictions.”
There.
She’d said the A-word.
“I don’t have an addiction.” Patrick’s denial came through gritted teeth.
Yes, he did.
But until he was willing to admit it, seek help, the merry-go-round would continue—and no amount of badgering from her or Steven would change that. It would only fuel his anger. All the reading she’d done about the subject was clear on that point.
“Would you consider going to an AA meeting? Talk to the people there, see if that might give you a different perspective? It’s anonymous, and you can find one up in Coos Bay, where no one will know you.”
He glared at her. “How often do I have to tell you? I don’t need help. Steven’s, yours, or AA’s. I’ve got this.”
“Would you attend one meeting? For me? Just to listen?”
“You’re beginning to sound like Steven—and I don’t want to fight with you like I fight with him.”
His warning was clear.
They were on a collision course with an even bigger argument if she didn’t back off.
Meaning their discussion on this topic would end as usual.
In a stalemate.
But at least there was one positive development. If Steven became part of their life, he’d be on hand to bolster her efforts and provide moral support.
And with him on the scene, perhaps exerting subtle influence—along with massive amounts of prayer from her end—maybe Patrick would come around.
If he didn’t?
Cindy eradicated that thought. She wasn’t going there.
Yet.
Dishcloth in hand, she moved to the table and wiped it down. “Instead of Steven taking us out to eat, why don’t we invite him here for Sunday dinner? He can’t be getting rich doing fishing charters, and I’m not a bad cook.” She flashed Patrick a stiff smile.
He didn’t return it.
“Between your job and keeping us fed, you spend half your life in kitchens as it is. Let him take us out if he wants to.”
“I’m not opposed to a restaurant meal, but he probably doesn’t get much home cooking, and I have a pork tenderloin in the freezer. It could be more relaxing to eat here.”
Not by much, though. The tension between the two brothers wasn’t going to dissipate overnight, even if progress had been made.
“Fine.” Patrick pulled out his keys. “I’ll text him.” He started toward the back door.