Katrina was in the waiting room, sleeping on her binder and drooling on the breakdown script for the next day.
I sat by her head and put my hand on her shoulder. I felt guilty for calling her while she was in production, and I felt lonely for needing her so badly. “Come on, Directrix. I’m driving.”
“Five minutes, Mom,” she whispered.
By the time Katrina dropped me at Frontage, my little BMW was the only car in the lot, and condensation left a polka dot pattern on my windshield. It was a 1967 GT Cabrio with chrome detailing that wasn’t happy about water drying on it. I shouldn’t have bought it. The car was a death trap. But Daniel had gone to the automotive museum’s auction to show his face, and I’d walked out with what he called LBT, the Little Blue Tink. He’d been annoyed, but I’d fallen in love.
I wasn’t ready to end the night. Though the rising sun would end it for me, I wasn’t ready to process it. It was almost six in the morning, and my brother never slept, so I called him.
“Hey, Jon,” I said. “I saw your singer last night.”
“I heard.”
I could tell by his sotto voice and cryptic words that he wasn’t alone. “You want the good news or the bad news?”
“Bad.”
“Everything’s fine, before you panic.”
“Okay, I’m not panicked.”
“Deirdre again.”
“Ah,” he said.
“And I didn’t just pour her into bed. She had to be hospitalized. Nothing a few B vitamins couldn’t fix, but honestly, I think she has a real problem. I saw her have two drinks, but she had a flask and she went to the bathroom, I don’t know, fourteen times.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not by much. So I’m coming with you tonight.”
“Fine.”
“Can I be honest?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “I think your perpetual availability isn’t helping draw Jessica back.”
“Very mature, Theresa. Very mature.”
“Take a real woman, Jon. Stop being a patsy.”
I never spoke like that to my brother or anyone. I rarely gave advice or told anyone to change, but I was tired, physically and emotionally. I hung up without saying good-bye. I had to get Katrina home and get ready for work.