I telephoned my wife and told her of the situation. She asked about the baby and I said Claire was fed and sleeping. I mentioned I planned to spend the night on Martha's sofa.
There was a pause before she responded. "I'm going to wake Molly and come over," she said abruptly and hung up.
The LeBlanc house was by far the largest of our group, with four bedrooms, one designed as the nursery. So when Betsy arrived ten minutes later, there was room for sleeping without utilizing the living room sofa. My wife came, attired in robe, pajamas and slippers, her arm around a half-asleep Molly bound up in a blanket like a butterfly's chrysalis.
Betsy kissed me on the lips and whispered, "I don't want to stay alone either." She added, "Carry Molly up to the nursery; there's a cot in there. We'll take the front bedroom." Unlike me, Betsy was very familiar with the house having spent much time with Martha and Claire. She turned and began climbing the stairs.
It was nearly midnight when the lights were extinguished and all was quiet. Martha, unaware she was hosting a full house, slept soundly. Ten minutes later I heard a telephone ringing downstairs. It rang a dozen or so times before I half-fell down the stairs and located it.
My sleepy greeting was met by a shout. "Ben? What in hell are you doing in my house?"
"Quinn? Why are you calling at midnight?"
"Midnight? Shit; I forgot the time difference. It's not even nine o'clock here. But why are you there? Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing that's not repairable. Martha wasn't doing well staying alone so she asked a bottle of Beefeater to keep her company. We're all here now . . . Betsy and Molly."
"How's Martha?" Quinn asked contrition in his voice.
"She drank herself blotto because her husband is a shithead." When he didn't respond, I added, "She'll have a hell of a headache but you guys both have some bridges in need of serious damage control. And you both ought to take the pledge."
"I hear you. I've been thinking on the way out here. I can't seem to function without a bottle and a full glass next to me."
"That's the first sensible thing you've said in a long time."
"Can you put her on?"
"No. Not unless you want to talk to yourself while I prop up a zombie who won't hear a word you're saying. Leave it until morning; late morning." I then asked, "How is it going out there?"
"I feel like a stowaway on someone's honeymoon. We're in adjoining rooms at a cheap motel that's not noted for its sound insulation. The only plus is it's near the hospital. Howie can't drive two blocks out here without getting lost. It took us two hours to come ten miles from the airport and Julie had to direct him the last mile and she just got here herself."