|
|
|
|
|
|
"Get that son of a bitch out of here," Mike said, turning so quickly that he dislodged Ruth's calming touch. He strode across the room to stare out the dining room window. His hands, near his sides, clutched the waist-high windowsill. Abby could see by the rigidity of his stance and the whiteness of his knuckles the effort Mike made not to attack Philip Rousseau. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Better get him sober first," Lowell admonished. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'll rustle up another cup of coffee or six," Hannah said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I need to use the john," Philip muttered. He followed Hannah from the room. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ruth joined Mike at the window. "You need some more mousse to sweeten up this sour evening. Come on, or I'll feed it to you myself." Again taking his arm, she coaxed him to his seat. Pointedly ignoring Abby, she began to talk about the delayed plans to expand Arlen's Kitchens to a new state. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When Philip had not returned after a while, Lowell went after him. A few minutes later, Philip reappeared by himself. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Here," Ruth said, filling an empty cup with coffee from a carafe Hannah had brought. "Drink this." Surprisingly he obeyed and even downed a few more cups. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Eventually Lowell, too, rejoined the group. Then Ruth, with a dazzling but forced smile for Mike, went to freshen up. Abby hoped that the atmosphere might become more pleasant when everyone was finally reassembled, but that was |
|
|
|
|
|