Bette had not come back from Kit’s office yet, so I excused myself from the group to check on her. As I walked to the back, I discovered that my legs were a bit unsteady, a tell tale sign that my alcohol intake had accomplished its goal for the evening.

I found her sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. Easing the door shut, I stepped in to take a seat next to her.

“I’m sorry, Bette.”

“For what, Tina?” she didn’t lift her head.

“I thought you had told her about him. About them.”

The deep breath I heard her take told me she didn’t know it was me who had let the cat out of the bag.

“I was hoping to avoid causing my sister the same pain and heartache I caused you.”

I didn’t respond to that statement. We were never going to see eye to eye on the issue, but Kit deserved to know the truth, no matter how much pain she suffered.

“I think she’s drinking again.” She said solemnly.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Do me a favor and check the drawer over there.”  She pointed to just behind Kit’s desk.

I stood and lightly treaded over and pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, there was a half bottle of vodka tossed on top of a few files. I gently shut the drawer, looking up at Bette, who was now sitting all the way against the couch, her arms draped on the back, with a knowing smirk.

“Vodka?” She asked me. I could only nod weakly.

She nodded too. And closed her eyes as she slowly shook her head.

“I think everyone is getting out of here. You gonna be okay?”  I asked. I was concerned that Bette would likely beat herself up for this.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She opened her eyes, they were kind of watering. “What about you? Do you need a ride?”

I was taken aback by the question.

“What? Why?”

“T, you’ve been drinking. How many did you have, four? Five?”

The truth was, I didn’t know.

“I’m fine, Bette, really.”

“Are you staying at Henry’s tonight?”

The question caught me off guard a bit. I hadn’t planned on it, but I wondered why she wanted to know.

“No. Actually, he’s watching Angie at my house.” I left out the part where I didn’t want him to stay the night.

“Why don’t you let me drive you home, T?”

Any other night, I probably would have put up a fight and insisted on driving myself home despite Bette’s opinion. But I knew she was right, I had definitely had too much to drink for driving to be a wise decision at the moment. And in all honesty, I now looked forward to being a passenger in a car Bette Porter was driving once again. My Bette Porter.