Foley Sullivan sat at the bar, oblivious to everything, like a man submerged in a deprivation tank. He and his whiskey had been separated for three decades. Now, like old lovers, they’d been reunited, and he was busy reestablishing their relationship, leaving no room for anyone or anything else. He sat ramrod straight. His face was still gaunt, but his deep-set eyes were now bright with relief. His was the kind of drunkenness that had him two sips away from a blind, flailing rage.

Daisy approached, making sure he saw who she was before she laid a hand on his back. She leaned in close in order to make herself heard. “Hey, Dad. How’re you doing? I heard you were here.”

He didn’t bother to look at her, but he did raise his voice. “I see you whipped right over to look after me. Well, I’m fine, girl. No need. I can handle myself. Appreciate your concern, but I believe it’s misplaced.”

“What prompted this?”

“I guess I was born with a taste for brimstone. You ought to have one yourself. Whiskey will melt the sorrow right out of your soul.”

The man on the stool next to Foley’s had caught their exchange. I wasn’t sure whether he knew Daisy and her father or simply understood that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to hear. He vacated his place and Daisy slid onto the stool.

Foley had gone back to his contemplation, staring into his glass as though into the dark heart of mankind. When Daisy touched his arm, he seemed surprised that she was still there. The smile he gave her was sweet. “Hello, Sweet Pea.”

“Hello, Dad. Could we go outside and talk? I need some fresh air, don’t you?”

“Nothing to talk about. That car was the final tie.” He made a slicing motion with his hand. “Severed. Just like that. She knew it’d cut me to the core if it ever came to light.”

“If what came to light?”

“The car. She buried it before she left. I paid and I paid because I loved her and thought she’d be back. Dear god, I wanted her to know she didn’t owe me anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

He focused on her face. “They found her Bel Air. I thought you knew.”

“Of course, I knew. The sheriff’s office called me this afternoon.”

“Well then, fair enough. We have to accept the fact. Your mother laid it in the ground and then she went off. We have to make our peace with her abandonment.”

“She didn’t bury it. You can’t believe that. How could she manage?”

“Obviously, she had help. Fella she ran off with must have helped dig the hole.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If she was running off, why wouldn’t she take the car with her? If she had no use for it, she could have sold it.”

“It was her way of taunting me. The car was my final gift to her and she rejected it.”

“Dad, please stop. You know what’s going on. There’s a good possibility she’s buried down there. That’s why they’re taking their time, so they won’t destroy evidence.”

He shook his head, his mouth pulled down as though he regretted having to deliver the news. He wasn’t slurring his words, but his brain was operating at half speed and his concentration was, of necessity, intense. He thumped his chest. “She’s not dead. I’d feel it here if she were.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. Can we just get out of here?”

“Sweet Pea, you’re not responsible for the state I’m in. I’m doing this in deference to your mother with whom I drank for many years. This is my farewell. I’m giving up all claim. Violet Sullivan is free.” He gestured with his whiskey, toasting his wife before he drank it down.

I wasn’t sure where his grandiosity was coming from and I couldn’t judge his mood. He seemed dangerous-testy and unpredictable despite the formality of his speech. Daisy shot me a look. Our unspoken pact was to sweet-talk him out of there before he blew. I put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close.

When he realized who I was, he rared back slightly. “So she’s got you here, too.”

“We’re both concerned. It’s late and we thought you might like to finish your drinking at home.”

His gaze was out of focus, giving him a cross-eyed look. “I don’t have whiskey at home. Pastor would disapprove. I live in a church cell that’s fit for a monk.”

“Why don’t we go to Daisy’s? We can take you out for breakfast and then we’ll stop by her place or we’ll drop you at home.”

“You’ve never attended an Al-Anon meeting, have you?”