Arthur proved that he could follow directions and sat in the pub drinking beer by the pitcher, waiting for a call from his grandmother. The longer he waited in adult time out, the more opportunity he had to reflect on how rude he had been. He did not know why; he just knew that whenever he was around her alone he felt inclined to verbally attack her.
“Come on, Grandma, call,” he said to himself after an hour of waiting and more pitchers of beer than he could remember. He was getting anxious and very concerned.
Several hours later and after his progression from beer to whiskey then to gin, his grandmother told him that he could come back, but Rachel did not want to talk to him or her, for that matter.
“I don’t think you realize how deeply you hurt her. She’s up there in her room probably wondering if she’ll stay or go.”
“Go?”