Binding the Shadows
Page 62

“You’re good for him. Good for Jupe, too. I’m really glad you’re in their lives.”
“Me too.” I wanted to say something more, but a silence hung between us for a moment. It was broken by the sound of the patio door sliding open.
Rose stepped inside the living room. The fringe of white bangs that normally was perfectly styled around her forehead was messily pushed to one side. Her glasses dangled from a slender chain around her neck. Her face was still as a stone. “Owner talked with all the waitresses. No pair with their description came in.”
Fuck. What the hell was going on?
“Someone needs to stay here in case they come back,” I said heading toward the foyer. “I’ll drive down to the Village. There’s only one way here, so if Yvonne’s on that road, I should see her.”
“I’ll come with you,” Adella said reaching for her purse. “Mama, you stay.”
“It’s eight,” I said, glancing at the clock on the mantle. “Lon should be finished with his business dinner and on his way home soon.”
“I’m not calling him,” Rose said. “I don’t want him worried while he’s on the highway. He drives like a bat out of hell when he’s upset.”
That was true. “He keeps his ringer off most of the time anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I’m sure Jupe is fine,” I said, more for me than them. “There’s a logical explanation for why he’s not answering my texts, and—”
“Car!” Rose shouted out of the blue. “Someone’s pulling up the driveway.”
I didn’t hear it, but I didn’t have her knack. We all raced out the front door to find Yvonne helping Jupe out of her car. Relief washed over me. Christ, I’d gotten way too worked up.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” Rose shouted angrily at Yvonne. “It’s been two hours. I know you weren’t at the diner, so don’t tell me you were.”
“I’m sorry,” Yvonne said as shut Jupe’s door. Why was she holding onto him like that? I couldn’t see what was going on. The driveway lights were on, but they weren’t bright. Everything was cloaked in shadow. “Time got away from me. I ran into someone Lon and I used to know from the Hellfire Club. We were chatting, and I guess I didn’t hear the phone.”
She turned around and was mumbling something to Jupe, blocking my view of him.
“What’s going on?” I said. This was all wrong. Jupe should be bounding over to see us. Why was he so quiet?
“What the hell?” Rose said. “What did you do, Yvonne? What—”
“There’s no need to throw a big hissy fit,” Yvonne snapped as she turned around. That’s when I saw Jupe’s face for the first time. His head bobbed. He took a step and faltered.
I was already running toward them.
“He had a couple of glasses of wine, that’s all.”
“What?” I reached out and caught him just as he was stumbling. Couple of glasses of wine? He smelled like he’d been smashing grapes in a vineyard. His body was limp. He fell into my arms like a sack of bricks. I hoisted him as Adella ran up and helped.
“What in the devil are you talking about?” Rose shouted. She didn’t believe it. She hadn’t caught up—couldn’t see him. He was stinking drunk. Moaning and weak. “Where did you go that serves wine? It sure wasn’t the diner.”
Yvonne was panicked. Her cool, aloof exterior had melted away completely. “We went to a different restaurant. It was Evan’s idea, and I hadn’t seen him in—”
Rose slapped Yvonne across the face.
And again.
Yvonne slid down the side of the car and crouched into ball, covering her head with her arms as Rose continued to flail at her.
Christ.
“Come on,” I said against Jupe’s ear, as calm as I could. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”
I half carried, half dragged him across the driveway in a daze. He could walk a few steps, then his legs would turn to noodles and give out. He was trying to say something, but his words were slurred. Everything seemed surreal. Like time had slowed. I could hear Rose screaming at Yvonne behind me.
“I’ve got him,” I told Adella firmly. “I do this at the bar all the time. I can handle this. Go stop your mother from hurting her. If she’s drunk as well, better call her a cab and get her out of here before Lon gets back, or he’ll kill her.”
Getting him up the stairs was the hardest part, but I managed. He seemed to sober up a little and started talking in a small, roughened voice. Mostly just little drunken observations that made no sense, like his shoes were too big, and that was the reason he was having trouble walking. And was he at home? Where were we going?
“Here’s your room,” I said, kicking open his door and dragging him through in the dark. It was cleaner than usual, due to the Giovannis’ visit, so I didn’t have to wade through piles of clothes and teetering stacks of comics. Right before I made it to his bed, he made a horrible noise, tried to push me back, and vomited all over my arm. Twice. Good God, it stunk of wine.
“I’m sorry,” he said brokenly. “So sorry.”
“Hush. It’s not the first time someone’s done that,” I said. “Bartender, remember? I’m a vomit cleaning expert. Sit down on the bed. Can you do that? Mind the nightstand.” I got him down, half sprawled on his pillows. Wrangled his shirt off and used it to mop up vomit around his mouth and off my arm. It took some work to prop him up against the headboard. I turned on the lamp next to his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.