Paul didn’t hold it against Terri that she’d given up on his brother; she’d just been too young and inexperienced to deal with an alcoholic husband and a young child at the same time. She’d made the best choice she could for herself and Eric. The familiar guilt washed over him; he might have been able to help all three of them if he’d been around.
“I’d do anything for Eric,” his brother said.
Except stay sober. Paul scrabbled in his drawer for Tylenol. He knew alcoholism was a disease and his brother was trying to fight it, but right now his sympathy was in short supply. The headache was tightening its grip on his skull.
“Anyway, I wanted to tell you Saturday night won’t happen again. I’m going to all my AA meetings from now on. I won’t miss a one.”
“That’s good to hear.” Paul meant it.
“Shit, my boss is coming,” Jimmy muttered. “Anyway, I called to say I’m sorry. About Saturday. About the job. I gotta go.”
The connection went dead.
Paul put the phone down and shifted some papers to get at the pill bottle. As he did, he spotted a drawing Eric had given him last week, a skunk holding a bag of chips. It reminded him of the stencils on Eric’s bedroom walls, and he pulled it out and centered it on the desk in front of him.
Jimmy had surprised him twice now. First with the stencils. Now with the phone call. Usually his brother would wait a few days before he cracked a joke about falling off the wagon, and that would be the extent of his acknowledgment of the incident. His apology was something new.
After swallowing two Tylenol, he dialed Adam Bosch’s number. Maybe Jimmy’s AA sponsor could shed some light on this.
Paul steered the Corvette past the soaring glass entrance to the Aerie and onto the private driveway leading to Adam Bosch’s well-hidden home. It was strange to see the restaurant’s normally packed parking lot empty, although it allowed him to admire the elegant simplicity of the building Adam had designed and built.
The sound of the ’Vette’s big engine was muffled by the dense rhododendron thickets and tall pines lining the curving drive. As he rounded the last turn, the trees seemed to draw back to reveal a modern house reflecting the same sensibility as the restaurant. It was the first time he’d seen it, since Adam guarded his privacy vigilantly. Paul felt a certain sympathy. Running a famous restaurant was similar to being mayor of a small town: people felt they had the right to your attention 24-7. He had been surprised the man would take on sponsoring Jimmy at AA on top of his business demands.
He parked the car on the sweep of river-stone paving and jogged up the wide front steps. The door opened as soon as he reached it, and Adam Bosch held out his hand. “Nice to see you, Paul. Come in.”
“Appreciate your taking the time to see me on your day off,” Paul said, shaking hands and noting the chef was dressed entirely in black, as always.
Adam waved him inside. “I always have time for Jimmy’s family.”
Following Adam out of the foyer and into a high-ceilinged living room, Paul got the impression of clean-lined modern furniture melded with antique art and richly colored rugs. One whole wall was glass and offered a view as spectacular as the one at Claire and Tim’s house. Adam led the way to a couple of leather armchairs ranged on either side of a low table. A tray of cheese and fruit, a basket of steaming bread, a pitcher of water, and two glasses waited for them there. “Have a seat. Help yourself,” Adam said, as he sat. “It’s an occupational hazard, wanting to feed people.” Adam filled the two glasses and handed one to Paul. “From the spring behind my house.”
Paul took a sip. The water was icy and pure. “Delicious.” He drank deeply before setting the glass down.
The chef nodded and waited, his dark eyes unreadable.
“Tell me if I’m asking something you can’t answer,” Paul said, leaning forward. “I’ll understand if there are issues of confidentiality.”
“As Jimmy’s AA sponsor, I have a certain amount of leeway when sharing information with his family, so I’ll give you as much as I can.”
Paul locked his fingers together between his knees. “I know Jimmy had a setback on Saturday, because I picked him up at the bar.”
Adam’s brows drew together. “He didn’t call me.”
“He used the excuse about Saturday being your busiest night, but he wouldn’t have called you anyway. The message was for me.”
“What message?”
“That I shouldn’t consider accepting an out-of-town job.”
The other man cut a chunk of cheese and laid it on a slice of apple. “Try this. The cheese is an Époisses.”