W is for Wasted

I laughed. “Damn it. Now I’ll be ugly at the same time I’m feeling stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re adorable. You make lousy coffee, but I’ll try not to blame you for that.”

“Quit saying nice things.”

He swayed, holding me in his arms. It was like dancing in place; the first time he’d actually touched me since he’d been back. That first night, he’d declined to kiss my cheek. At that point, he was still half mad at me and I was still indignant that he’d accused me of recommending him to Pete. I could feel the whisper of sexuality rising up along my frame.

I stepped back. “Let’s don’t do this. It makes no sense.”

“Does everything have to make sense?”

“Yes, it does and I’ll tell you why. I’m the one being left behind. And I understand why and I wish you well, but I don’t see any reason to put my soul on the line.”

“You think my soul’s not on the line?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re mistaken about that.”

“Okay, fine. I stand corrected and let’s not turn this into an argument. I don’t want us to leave each other with bad feelings. If you come back, we can revisit the issue.”

“When I come back, not if.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He watched me for a moment and whatever he saw in my eyes must have been more eloquent than our brief exchange. “You want me to call?”

“Nope. I want you to go where the wind blows you. I want you to have an incredible adventure with your son. Anything else can wait and if I never see you again, I’ll somehow manage to survive, so don’t worry on my account.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Although it does sound harsh.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Better. I’ll get in touch when I can.”

And that’s where we left it. When the door closed behind him, I waited until I heard the low rumble of his Porsche come to life and then diminish as he drove away. I picked up the saucer and let the sour milk run down the kitchen drain. I emptied the coffeepot and washed it, washing the saucer at the same time, thus restoring order to this small life of mine. I checked Ed’s reaction. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

He sat politely and we shared a long look. He blinked at me lazily and I blinked back at half speed, an exchange I later learned was called a cat kiss. When the phone rang, I pointed at Ed. “Stay.”

I crossed to the desk and picked up the handset.

“Hey, Kinsey. This is Aaron Blumberg.”

“Hi, Aaron. How are you?” This was me being cordial in the midst of unacknowledged heartbreak. Really, I should have been weeping my baby eyes out, but I’m made of sterner stuff.

He said, “I’m fine, thanks. I called because we have the autopsy report and lab work on Dace and I thought you might want a rundown.”

“That was fast,” I said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“It’s been ten days,” he said. “About par for the course. Case wasn’t complicated. I’ll send you a copy of Dr. Palchek’s notes, but you might as well get the gist of it by phone.”

“Great.”

“I’ll give you the formal version first and then answer any questions you have. Cause of death was hepatic failure due to chronic alcoholism. Thus the jaundice. No big surprise there.”

“Right.”

“He was also suffering from alcoholic ketoacidosis syndrome. AKA for short. Essentially we’re talking about the buildup of ketones in the blood. Ketones are a type of acid that form when the body breaks down fat for energy. Patients typically have a recent history of binge drinking, little or no food intake, and persistent vomiting. This results in a delay and decrease in insulin secretion and excess glucagon secretion. A lot of hokum here that I’ll skip . . .

“Basically, all patients with severe AKA are dehydrated. Several mechanisms might be responsible, including decreased fluid intake and inhibition of antidiuretic hormone secretion by ethanol. Volume depletion is a stimulus to the sympathetic nervous system, which decreases the ability of the kidneys to excrete ketoacids and can culminate in circulatory collapse.

“My guess is if you go back and talk to his pals, they’ll confirm one or more of the following symptoms. You got a pencil and paper handy?”

I picked up a pen and pulled over a scratch pad, jotting down the list as he recited it.

“Abdominal pain, agitation, confusion, an altered level of alertness. Also, let’s see here . . . low blood pressure, fatigue, sometimes dizziness. Fruity breath is one key, so be sure you ask about that. Smells like acetone.”