Page 165 - In Five Years

Chapter Thirty

An hour later, I’m at the bar upstairs at the hotel. I should sleep, but I can’t.
Every time I try I think about Bella, about what a terrible friend I am to be this
far away, and my eyes shoot back open. I’m leaning over my second dirty

martini when Aldridge comes in. I squint. I’m too drunk for this.
“Dannie,” he says. “May I?” He doesn’t wait for my response but takes the
seat next to me.

“Tonight was good,” I say, trying for steady. I think I’m slurring my words.
“You were very engaged,” he says. “Must have felt good.”
“Sure,” I deadpan. “Wonderful.”

Aldridge’s eyes flit down to my martini glass and back to me. “Danielle,” he
says. “Are you alright?”
I’m suddenly aware that if I speak I will cry, and I have never cried in front of

a boss, not once, not even at the DA’s office where morale was so bad that we
had a designated room for hysterical outbursts. I pick up my water glass. I sip. I

set it back down.
“No,” I say.
He gestures to the waiter. “I’ll have a Ketel on the rocks, two lemons,” he
says. The waiter turns, but Aldridge calls him back. “No, actually, I’ll have a

scotch. Neat.”
He takes off his suit jacket, drapes it over the empty stool next to him, and

then goes about rolling back his sleeves. Neither of us speaks during this
interval, and by the time the ritual is complete, his drink is in front of him and I
no longer feel as if I’m going to cry.
“So,” he says. “You can begin or I can do my ankle cuffs next.”