“Cheers, darling,” I said. Carolyn touched her glass to mine and we drank. Then I shook my head.

“What?” Carolyn asked.

“I’m really high on Xanax.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I was. Now I’m high.”

“I wish you wouldn’t worry about me,” she said. Her face was blank, but I could tell something was bothering her by the way she stared straight ahead at the mirror behind the bar.

“That’s how you know you’ve lost, you know?” I said, echoing what Gene had said to me the night we had come here.

“What do you mean?”

“When you stare in the mirror like that, that’s when you know you’ve lost.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Stratton.”

I shrugged. It had made perfect sense when Gene had said it, but without him, I was at a loss for how to explain it. I took a long drink of the Grand Marnier, well aware that no good would come from pouring liquor on top of the pill. I could feel myself teetering on the barstool.

“Carolyn, sweetheart, you have about three minutes before I become a worthless puddle. I suggest you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours before that happens. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

I sighed, dropped my head on the bar, then lifted it back up and could feel the dizziness sink in even further.

“We’ve been living together for almost a month now. I promise, I know when something is troubling you.”

“I just want you to trust me, Stratton. I had to stay a few extra hours at work, and you took a Xanax because you thought I was off doing something else.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“I told you, my phone was dead.”

I sighed. “Fine. You’re right, I shouldn’t have worried myself. But it wasn’t just because of you. How about we make a deal: You memorize my phone number and call me when you’re going to be late, and I’ll do my best not to worry about where you are anymore and promise not to take any more Xanax.”

“I’ll memorize your number, but how about you just trust me?”

“I’m working on it, okay? I’ll get there. Trust isn’t an easy thing, you know.”

I lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. She turned and faced me.

“You really do promise, no more Xanax?”

“No more, at least in regards to your whereabouts,” I said, and I was genuine in agreeing to it, but I knew myself, and I wasn’t very confident it was a promise I’d keep.

“Good,” she said. “It’s a deal.” We sealed it by toasting one another.