Читать книгу The Girl in the Water - - Страница 22

There is no other choice. Not now. With what Amber said as we went to sleep, the way forward has become painfully, but perfectly, clear.

It might be politically correct to wish there were another way, but there isn’t, and I’ve learned not to waste my time with those kinds of emotions. We’re perilously close to falling off the only path that keeps us alive. Course correction is required, and a man shouldn’t lament what is simply necessary.

The solution – the only solution – doesn’t lie in anything new. The path we’re on is the right one. What needs to be adjusted isn’t the act, it’s the art of the dosage. I’d thought it had been high enough. Obviously I was wrong.

The particular concoction I’ve settled on acts deeply, almost at the core of the psyche, but that doesn’t mean more won’t sometimes be required.

One of its perks is that its interior impact lasts, even while its more physical effects – the grogginess, the confusion, the loss of control – wear off swiftly. An ideal pairing.

So this morning I did what I always do, adding it to what I know she’ll drink, this time with a few additional drops. It’s always been the easiest way to get it into her system. Some here, some there. Prep everything just right, make it a kind of invitation. She never resists.

I mixed the smoothie, trusting that the sound of the blender was so familiar now that it wouldn’t rouse her. There are other ways to get the job done – when we’re on a trip, or camping, or otherwise out and about. But when we’re home, when it’s the routine, this has become the standard.

The drink’s contents just filled a glass, and I left it on the counter.

Then the coffee. Always, always the coffee. An essential part of it.

A drop here, a drop there.

It will all have its effect. It will just take a day, maybe two – and everything will be made right.