LITMIR.BIZ

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it might never be found.

      He moved the pictures and file memos around, rearranging the pieces of the puzzle to make them fit. They stubbornly resisted interpretation. He reached for the bottle — empty. There was another in the kitchen, but when he tried to pour from it, it flew from his hands, smashing on the tiles. He picked up the larger pieces, cutting his fingers. Blood trailed across the floor. He cursed the perversity of inanimate objects and wiped his bloodied hand on a dishtowel.

      Did he really prefer being drunk? What a pathetic statement that made. More important, what to do about it? Why did despair always look so much better through the prism of a filled glass? Drink went into the body, through the mouth and down the throat, then on to the underbelly and, eventually, it left in a wash of fine yellow spray. And that was it for all that alcohol, pricey or not. Time to refill your glass and get on with your life. But the despair stayed, seeming to need no entry or exit, no replenishing, like mercury or some other poison that sickened without killing. Ingested by accident or by design, once in and never to leave. To rot your guts and muddle your mind till you were long past having a mind. What was it about the barrel’s bottom that looked so good from the inside? Because surely it was hell from the outside, judging by the looks others gave you when you were down there.

      The expression on Ked’s face was pure disgust. His son turned and went into the kitchen without a word. Dan glanced around. It was morning, but still early by the feel of it. He lay stretched on the living room floor like a schoolboy after pulling an all-nighter, the contents of Craig Killingworth’s missing person report strewn around him. He sat up. His eyelids felt as though they’d been peeled back with a can opener. His reading glasses lay on the floor beneath him, road-kill written all over them. He coughed and gasped at the pain searing his lungs. Obviously it hadn’t been an easy landing.

      Dan picked his way out to the kitchen where Ked had begun cleaning up. Glass glittered in the morning light. A bloodied tea towel lay in the middle of the floor. He might have believed the place had been broken into if he hadn’t recalled searching for the third bottle of Scotch in his upstairs office drawer.

      “I would’ve cleaned up. I wasn’t expecting you home till later,” Dan offered.

      “I live here too, you know.”

      It wasn’t a question so much as a flat statement asserting some sort of right which Dan was having trouble figuring out at the moment.

      “I know that. I’ve never questioned it.”

      Ked turned, his eyes hard. “You’re always telling me how to behave and not to fuck up my life. Now it’s my turn.” He was trembling. “I don’t want a drunk for a father.”

      Dan could see the fear in his son’s face. But he saw something else — something he recognized. He’d felt it himself enough times facing his own father in moments that had bordered on hatred. He saw determination hidden behind those disapproving eyes.

      “Is that what you think I am?” Dan said slowly.

      Ked nodded, taking quick breaths through his nose.

      “I know I drink a lot,” Dan said. “But I’m not a drunk.”

      “So you say.” Ked stood there staring at him. “So you say, Dad. But I’ve seen you passed out enough times to know you have a problem.”

      “I like to drink. I don’t think I have a problem,” Dan said, trying to smile despite the pain. For a moment, he wondered if he really did have a problem.

      “Then prove it.” Ked’s eyes challenged him. “I’m asking you not to have another drink for the next six months.”

      Dan scratched behind one ear. “That’s pretty drastic.”

      “Walk the talk, Dad. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? So walk the talk.”

      Dan looked around at the mess on the floor then up at this son of his, half-grown, but maybe knowing better than he had at that age. He studied the features of the boy’s face. Somehow what was awkward in Dan had come out strong in Ked. He was becoming a handsome young man.

      “Did something happen while you were away visiting Aunt Marge?”

      Dan nodded slowly, calling to mind the conversation with his aunt as she lay in bed pulling on her oxygen. He moistened his lips. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

      Ked wiped back a tear. “Is that what set you off drinking again?”

      Dan hated the disapproval on his son’s face. “I don’t really feel up to discussing it, Ked. Maybe later.”

      “Six months, Dad.”

      Dan started to motion with his hands, but Ked cut him off. “If you don’t agree, I’m going to move out of here and go live with Mom.”

      Dan paused to take stock of the situation. His son was a meltdown waiting to happen. “Is that what you want?” he said softly. “Do you want to live with your mother?”

      “No! I want to live here with you!” he said. “But if you can’t … can’t just....” The tears started flowing, cutting off the sentence.

      “All right,” Dan said quietly. “All right. I agree.”

      Ked looked up and sniffled. “You agree not to drink for six months — starting today?”

      “Yes. I agree not to drink for six months.”

      Ked’s stance relaxed a little. “Okay.”

      Dan wanted to say something to lighten the situation. “But your Uncle Donny’s going to kill me when I tell him I can’t even have a beer with him.…”

      “No, he’s not.” Ked shook his head. “I already talked to him. He agrees with me. You’ve got to stop.”

      Six months. Surely there would be any number of valid reasons not to keep the promise. Like right now, Dan thought. A drink would have gone a long way toward making his hangover just a little more bearable. How was he going to concentrate at work when it got really stressful? Sometimes things brooded on the horizon for hours waiting for a trigger, lying there inert then overtaking him all at once, unleashing their fury like a sudden storm. The searing, sizzling, electric dazzle of it. A desert rock, a splash of water, high noon. The pressure could build for hours, but all it took was one flashpoint to unleash his desire for a drink, and it all came crashing down. Leaving him exhausted, deflated, defeated. Disgusted with having lost control over himself once again.

      Obviously he was going to have plenty to do to redeem himself in Ked’s eyes. How had the father-son equation got so turned around?

      Dan went back out to the scramble of photographs and documents spread across his rug. He gathered up the pieces and left the file on the dining room table. He dialled Donny’s number. Better to confront the beast sooner than later. Donny picked up.

      “Et tu, Brute?” Dan said.

      “Then fall, Caesar.” Donny blew a well-considered breath across the line. “I’m sorry, but I agree with your son. Just be glad we spared you the video cameras and the weeping host and the public intervention on television. But if you’re thinking about not living up to your promise, I wouldn’t do it.”

      “No?”

      “You sure like to make ’em suffer, don’t you?”

      Dan said nothing.

      “Word of advice, Danny? Don’t disappoint your son. He’s very vulnerable right now. It’s bad enough you didn’t believe his stories about nicking junk at school, but this might do some permanent damage to your relationship if you’re not careful.”

      “You really think so?”

      “I know so. And that’s why I’m telling you myself.”

      “I hear you. Thanks.”

      Dan went upstairs to the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and stood in the shower under the cold

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