I hoped I had put something in his mind.
though. If he believed Destiny wanted him to cut
down, he might do it.
He continued to eat and watch television and
then suddenly stopped chewing and turned sharply to
me. I held my breath again.
"Don't you go counting my drinks and telling
her anything," he warned.
"I won't. She knows what she knows herself." I
said.
He considered my answer, nodded, and
returned to watching television.
My risky idea didn't have much of an effect on
him. however. If anything. I thought his drinking got
worse. I kept track by the number of bottles he drank
and bought and saw it was increasing. Then I noticed
something even more frightening.
First. I thought it was just some ketchup stain or
tomato sauce, but soon I realized he was spitting up
blood occasionally. I saw it on tissues. and I saw it on
his cloth handkerchief. He did his best to hide it from
me, even though I had taken on the responsibility of
doing our laundry. We had a small washing machine
in the motor home, but often we took the time to stop
at a Laundromat and do a larger washing.
The second thing I noticed that put alarm in me
was his trembling. I watched him practicing his
sleight-of-hand tricks one afternoon and saw that he
was dropping things, confusing things. His hands
were trembling. The only way he seemed to be able to