In a half hour, he was supposed to be at a team meeting to pick up his time slot for tonight. Then he was to go immediately to the slope for the second of three events. By the end of tonight, he’d know the outcome of where he placed. “She’s waking up,” Crista whispered. Juan rushed to the couch. Dana yawned, looking around the room. No matter how many times he’d ordered everyone to leave, his friends and family had set up camp, determined to help. He wanted no one’s help. He wanted his wife to believe him, and look at him as if he could do no wrong. Earlier in Bruce’s room, he’d relayed the story of the woman in the bed until he couldn’t think of another thing to say and when he was done, Dana was conked out on the couch oblivious to what really happened. Damn Bruce for thinking a drink would fix Dana’s problem. Like vodka would straighten out his life, and get his wife back.
