No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Lars watched like a shadow.
Ashley licked his lips. “Let’s … uh, let’s hear it, then.”
“Okay.” Ed took an uncomfortable breath. “So … here’s
some hard-earned wisdom for you kids. You want to know the
secret to ruining your life? It’s never one big black-and-white
decision. It’s dozens of little ones, that you make every single
day. It’s excuses, mostly, in my case. Excuses are poison.
When I was a veterinarian, I had all sorts of good ones, like:
This is me-time. I earned this. Or: No one can judge me for
this drink; I just operated on a golden retriever who ran into a
barbed wire fence, with her eyeball hanging out on a little
string today. See? Horrific. That’s how you trick yourself. And
then one day I was at Jan’s — I mean, my wife’s sister’s place
— a few years back for my goddaughter’s big wedding
reception. Wine, homebrews. I brought champagne. But I also
brought a bottle of Rich and Rare for myself, and I stashed it
in their bathroom, inside their toilet tank.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to see how much I was
drinking.”
Silence.
Darby realized his drumbeat on the table had stopped.
Ashley nodded sympathetically. “My mom struggled with
that, too.”
“But …” Ed prodded Sandi’s shoulder. “Well, thank God
for my cousin Sandi, here, because she called me up at two
o’clock yesterday and told me she was going to drive my ass
up to Denver for family Christmas. No excuses.”
Sandi sniffled. “We missed you, Eddie.”
“So, yeah.” He straightened. “To answer the circle-time
question, my biggest fear is this Christmas in Aurora. I’m
afraid my wife and sons will be there at Jack’s tomorrow
night. And I’m even more afraid they won’t.”
For a long moment, no one spoke.