She checked in on him from time to time, to make sure his breathing and pulse were stable... or stable-ish anyway. Occasionally, she'd leave a cold compress on his forehead to ease any feverish symptoms, but she didn't intervene further.

Eventually, she'd sleep, but she was up pretty early in the morning, and by the time he would awake, there was he smell of eggs and bacon cooking and a pungeant coffee odor. If he looked, the bottle of Irish Cream was out and ready to be added. She'd given up on trying to play at being the peak of sobriety. She was an alcoholic and this town wouldn't let it be easy to be otherwise.