THE CHIANTI IS SMOOTH, FULL-BODIED, GOES down easy. I had planned to drink beer, but Ted sends a bottle over and before we know it, it's empty and David is calling for a second. By the time the first course arrives, huge plates of pasta with rich, red marinara sauce chunky with tomatoes and meat, David is on the third bottle. He's nice and relaxed. He's also famished. Chopping wood and Gloria's angst have obviously built up a tremendous appetite. Lucky for me, he's hungry enough to consume both our dinners, hardly noticing that I keep ladling my portions onto his plate. Having a big guy as a partner has its perks. I can sit here sipping wine while he does the heavy lifting.
Keeping my nose pointed to the window, I start in on a third glass of wine. Three glasses out of three bottles. It occurs to me that David is starting to look bleary-eyed. Even with all the food, three bottles of wine take a toll. I don't think David will be driving home tonight.
We finish up. I pay the bill minus the wine, which was on Ted, and I end up helping David out of the restaurant. Ted tells us not to be strangers. David goes for his keys.
"No way. We're only a block from the cottage. You can crash at my place tonight."
David seems to be considering it, though I can't be sure if the vacant look is a thought being processed or the slide into a wine-and-food-induced stupor. It doesn't matter. He comes along at my urging, and we're halfway down the block when he stops. His eyes clear for a minute, and he looks at me with a frown of concentration, like he's remembering something important. He jabs a thumb back toward Luigi's.
"Wait. I can't leave my car out on the street."
At first, I don't understand. Then an image of my Jag flashes, and I realize he's concerned if there's some crazy out there vandalizing nice cars, his might be the next target.
Like, even if it hadn't been personal, a Hummer is in the same class as a Jaguar. We're talking elephant versus, well, jaguar.
"It's okay. I'll get you to the cottage and come back for the Hummer. I'll park it in the garage."
That appeases him. The frown smoothes back into blankness. We continue down the sidewalk, David under his own swaying steam. I unlock the door to the cottage, lead David to the couch, give him a push. He sits down abruptly.
"I'll go move the car," I say. "Then I'll come back and make up the bed in the guest room. You sit here until I get back, okay?"
His eyes are open and he appears to be listening, but I could swear he's already fast asleep.
I dig his keys out of the pocket of his jacket along with his wallet and cell phone. He doesn't stir. There's a "missed call" message flashing. It's pure nosiness that makes me hit the "hear now" button and press the phone to my ear.
"Hey, David, it's Tamara. If you get in before eleven, call me. I'm a night owl. Maybe we can still get together."
I erase the message and close the phone. My instincts were right. I'm glad David is here with me.
I put the phone on silent mode and place it along with his wallet on the coffee table. The keys I take with me on the run back to the parking lot behind Luigi's. In five minutes I'm cramming that tank into my garage. Lucky for me I had the garage built higher and longer than average. Otherwise, the Hummer would never fit. As it is, it's like squeezing paste into a toothpaste tube.
Another five minutes and I'm back in the house. David hasn't moved. He's still sitting up, his eyes are still half-open but he's snoring. I've never seen anyone sleep with his eyes open. I stare at him for a minute, trying to decide if I should carry him up the stairs to the guest room. What happens, though, if he awakens in my arms? No, better to lay him out here and cover him up with a blanket.
Which is what I do.
Finally, at eleven thirty, I'm in a pair of sweats and curled up in my bed with Frey's book open on my lap.
Here we go-chapter seventeen.