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Intoxicated
Charlie slowly shook his head. “I can’t imagine. Are you certain?”
“I’m sad to say I certainly know how to tell when someone is intoxicated—and the smell of whisky cloaked with mint will be ingrained in my brain until the day they bury me.”
“I suppose I’ve been so preoccupied with my own problems that I hadn’t even noticed.”
“I know, and no one can blame you for that.”
“Possibly. But what sort of a friend am I if I didn’t even notice that he was suffering?” He ran his hand through his hair, and Meg wished she hadn’t said anything at all.
And yet, she found herself pressing on into dangerous territory. “Charlie, I think there might be other aspects of Jonathan’s life you’re not quite seeing.”
He tilted his head to the side and looked deeply into her eyes as if he were trying to read what she was getting at. “No,
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