He felt it getting worse every day. And there was nothing he could do about it. He’d taken to going out with Johnny, Red, MacDonald, Franco, and the rest, sucking back drinks and coming in late. Sometimes the boys stayed the night in Danny’s little house, flopping on the living room floor, so when Audrey came out of the bedroom in the morning, she’d be surrounded by half a dozen stinking, hungover dockworkers. But she poured tea for them all, even made up some kind of meal, depending on if she’d had time to buy groceries that week. Sometimes when she did that, it reminded him of their first meeting. The way she’d welcomed the whole battalion to the farm and fed them breakfast, her eyes shining with innocence. And in those brief moments he almost wished he was back in France, smelling gunpowder and blood, just so the two of them could go back to those first intimate times together. She didn’t like what Danny was doing. That was no secret. Didn’t like the smell of old liquor, the unwelcome men in their house.
