Darla declared, telling Josie something she didn’t need to hear. They were at the hotel in Portland, Maine now, Darla and her guys in the room next door. The entire Ohio family was here, sprinkled throughout the hotel—her mother tranquilized by a mix of pills she carried in an old allergy-meds bottle in a giant, fake-leather bag imprinted with pink, white and black leopard patterns. The physician in Alex shuddered at the bottle’s appearance. Once Marlene started snoring and Alex could feel the strong, steady pulse, he was grateful. Asleep, Josie’s mom was harmless. Awake, she was a walking disaster. “Dare I ask?” Josie said with a sigh, giving Alex an arched eyebrow. He could tell she only had one nerve left, and Darla was twanging it like a guitar string in the hands of an unruly four-year-old. Darla was digging through a two-pound bag of warehouse club-size potato chips like she was Indiana Jones looking for the Holy Grail. “You don’t know what Florida Man is?” Darla marveled, her mouth crammed with food.
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