âElma, Iâm sorry to wake you, but could you get dressed and come downstairs to help me bring Lyndon inside?â Tilda asked, knowing she couldnât manage it alone.
âItâs okay.
Iâll be right out,â Elma replied, hanging up quickly.
She dressed herself up and hurried out of the house.
âTilda,â she called.
Tilda wrapped herself tightly in her coat, got out of the car, and opened the back door.
âHeâs drunk.
I canât manage him alone.
â
Elma leaned into the car and smelled the strong odor of alcohol.
âHow much did you drink? Lyndon, wake up.
Can you hear me?â
Lyndon stirred and slowly opened his eyes, but his gaze was unfocused.
He was still drunk and disoriented.
âLyndon, itâs me, Elma.
Youâre home.
Let me help you out of the car,â
Elma said, reaching out to pull him.
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Lyndon frowned and waved her away, clearly not in full control of his actions.
âCan you get out by yourself?â Elma asked.
Lyndon didnât respond, but he began to move his legs.
Elma quickly moved aside and held the door open for him, ensuring he didnât hit his head.
Tilda stood nearby, wrapped tightly in her coat, waiting.
Lyndon stretched his legs and slowly got out of the car.
He was so unstable that he stumbled and almost lost his balance.
Tilda instinctively took a step back.
Fortunately, Lyndon managed to catch himself by grabbing the car handle.
Elma shot Tilda a confused look.
âTilda, why did you take a step back? Lyndon is drunk.
Help him up.
â
Tildaâs eyes twinkled with hesitation.
She sighed, pushed aside her discomfort, and obediently stepped forward to grab his sleeve.
âCan you walk by yourself? Go inside if you can.
â