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We had rooms in a fleabag motel that was right next to a big country-western bar. We'd been out until way too late, drinking and dancing withthe local redneck girls and Bob had let his macho get in the way of hisgood sense; he'd matched me drink for drink all night. That was a badidea, I weigh around two hundred pounds, at least fifty or so more thanBob. Bob was really, really drunk as I steered his laughing, singing,stumbling ass back to the motel at three a.m."C'mon! I'll race you, fucker!" Bob challenged and spun out of mysupporting hands. He careened off and before I could catch or warn him, hewiped out into a muddy, horrible-smelling water mitigation pond that wasin the lot between the motel and the bar. I was pretty soused myself andcollapsed on the bank howling with laughter at Bob, who was trying withlittle success to crawl up out of the deep, stinking baby-shit mud. Imanaged to get my phone out and narrate about the swamp creature I'ddiscovered as I filmed it trying to emerge. Fiona stepped back, watching with that cool and appraising gaze. It's not just Jen waiting for a response, he realized, as the blonde began to shake in his arms."Hey, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here," trying to soothe her, and feeling desperately clumsy about the attempt. Not a trifling argument this, something that could be gotten over with apologies all around and makeup sex."I'm s-sorry, s-so sorry," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I m-m-must have f'gotten to t-take them some, ah, some, ah sometime." The pills, right. Maybe it had been in the excitement over Florida, going or coming, or the preparation for the camping trip. Heaven knew that he and Jen rutted like bunnies; it was a testament to the quality of the stuff she'd been taking that they hadn't had a ... accident before now. Grimacing inside at the poor choice of word, he thought, is that what this is to me? An accident?Occasionally his fantasies had run in the direction of having children with the two sisters, perhaps a boy.
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