Whiskey Lullaby(30)

“Old Lady Jenkins was a slut.” Trevor laughed. “My grandad talked about her when he went senile, and I mean it was gross. Something about a magic eight ball and a liter of Sprite.”

“It wasn’t no Sprite!” We all jumped when Old Man slowly crept up from behind one of the chicken coops. “It was Meller Yeller. Old Lady Jenkins used to go by the name Creampuff down at the Foxtrot. That gentlemen’s club taught them girls how to do all sorts of tricks that’d make them donkey shows blush.”

“What the hell’s a donkey show?” Trevor grabbed the beanbag and threw it at the board.

“Don’t!” I shook my head. “Just don’t ask him. You don’t wanna know.”

“What’d you need? Spray paint?” Old Man asked.

“Yeah.”

“There’s some over there in my shed. Go on. Help yourself.”

Benji walked to the shed. When he opened the door, Marvin came hurdling out.

“What’cha doin’ in there, Marvin?” Old Man chuckled. “Come on and I’ll get you your Natty Lite.”

Trevor tossed another bean bag at the board, ringing the hole. “You can’t ever move away from here, that Old Man is golden.” He grinned. “Like the Hugh Hefner of Rockford.”

“Yeah.” I stared over at Old Man’s house. Half the siding hung off and the house was surrounded by shrubs with no leaves due to Marvin going on drunk goat binges. I thought: this cannot be my life forever. For the first time, I was actually, seriously motivated to get the fuck out of Rockford—and take Hannah with me.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. That same unknown number flashed on the screen when I pulled it out. “What the…” I lifted it to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Noah, this is Brice. Don’t hang up.”

“Look, man, this shit ain’t funny. I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but just leave me alone.” Click.

Trevor threw the bag again. “What? Some dick trying to sell you a security system?

“No, people just trying to be assholes.”

He shrugged, and Benji jumped back over the fence, Marvin chasing after him. He held up two cans of red spray paint before shaking them and walking over to one of the corn hole boards. A haze of red dust flew in the air. When he stepped back, he nodded and pointed at a large, swirly A. “Yep, roll motherfuckin’ tide!”



By the time the sun went down, Benji had passed out in a lawn chair and Trevor had invited Old Man over for a beer, saying he wanted to pick the bastard’s brain. I hoped that was the beer talking, not that I wouldn’t admire Trevor for finally gaining some ambition, but Old Man… come on.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, grabbed a beer from the cooler, and sat down on the cinder block I used for a bottom step to the porch. Hannah hadn’t texted me. I knew they’d taken her mom to Birmingham to start a new treatment, but I sucked at shit like that. I typed out: Hey, you! Hope you had a good day… Delete. What kind of shit is that? Of course she didn’t have a good day. Resting my elbow on my knee, I held my head in my hand and stared at the screen before simply typing out: I’m here for you. Always. Remember that.

I lifted the beer to my lips and stared out at the thin line of red sky sinking below the hills in the distance. The cicadas were already kicking up, buzzing loudly in the tall pines. Old Man cackled at something. I was too consumed with my thoughts, worried about what I’d do when her mom passed, how I could help her. Because even though I’d never had someone I loved die, I’d lost the love of both my parents. Dead or alive, I knew the hardest part of losing someone was letting them go.





28





Hannah





It’s okay, Momma.” I grabbed the washcloth from the side of the sink and pressed it over her forehead.

She shook her head before placing her elbow on the edge of the toilet seat and holding her head with her hand. Sweat dotted her forehead. Her eyes were bloodshot. “Why am I doing this?” Her voice was so hoarse.

I touched at the center of my chest before I sat on the edge of the tub and placed my hand on her back. My throat tightened and I somehow managed to swallow around the lump that seemed to be lodged there. What could I possibly say. That ten percent survival kept flashing through my mind. It seemed selfish—at that moment, with her leaned over the toilet, sicker than I’d ever seen her in my life, it seemed so endlessly pointless. Was this how she would spend the last bit of her life? Sick. Unable to enjoy a damn thing? Ten percent survival, Hannah. There’s ten percent she’ll make it. “Because you’re a fighter,” I whispered, choking back the tears. “And you’re my momma.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed. I fought back the strangled scream that threatened to leave my throat.

“That is why I’m doing it, Hannah. I don’t want to leave you and Bo. Not yet…”



An hour later, Bo and Daddy had her situated in the bed. Daddy kissed her forehead and whispered: I love you, then me and Bo left the room. I grabbed his hand when the door closed behind us. “Hey,” I said. “Come here.”

Sighing, he followed me down to my room and I closed the door. “What?” he said, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

“I just…” My mind jumbled with thoughts. Dark circles sat below his eyes. He looked so worn out.

“Hannah, I’m not stupid. I know what the doctor said. I know this is nothing but a last-ditch effort.” He shrugged. “Nothing you’re gonna say to me will change that.” The muscles in his jaw clenched. Just like that, he shut me out. A small surge of anger welled in my chest. My nostrils flared. Part of me wanted to shout at him, shove him. I wanted a reaction, I wanted someone to act the way we all felt, but none of us would, so I swallowed my anger and grief back and shook my head.

“There’s still hope,” I whispered. The tremor in my voice told us both that I didn’t believe my own lie.

Bo pushed away from the wall and yanked my door open. A few seconds later the door to his room slammed shut. Staring down the hall, I sighed. I felt lost, no, trapped—trapped was a better word. I’d moved home at a time when I thought I’d be starting my life. I was losing the person I thought would always be there, the woman I expected to help me plan a wedding, give me advice on raising children. Outside of our house, everyone’s life went on as normal. Sure, Meg was sympathetic, but when it came down to it, it didn’t affect her. And the people it did affect wouldn’t even acknowledge it. Not really. It was like a huge gaping wound everyone simply ignored.

I grabbed my phone and texted Noah: Are you busy?

Ten percent survival. There was nothing I could do to change that. Not one thing. As much as we want to pretend we’re in control of our lives, we aren’t. Control is a pretty façade we dance behind to make it through each day, because when you really accept that you aren’t in charge of your own fate, it makes you feel trapped.

Ten percent survival. I laid down on the bed and stared at the glow in the dark stars, thinking about the night Meg and I stuck them to my ceiling. It was the summer after sixth grade, and she had gotten her first kiss the night before at the bowling alley in Alex City. Memories. And then I thought, at least I’ll have memories when Momma is gone… I closed my eyes and laid there, trying to remember things, trying to burn in the happy thoughts of Christmas and fireworks, family picnics, trips to the beach. I was terrified that somehow I’d lose those too. Trapped. I sat up, dragging my hands down my face. I didn’t want to be trapped. I wanted to feel safe.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked over at the window, and there was Noah, straddling the tree limb. A sympathetic smile turned one corner of his lip up when I walked over and raised the window.

“Come on.” He held out his hand and I placed my foot on the ledge, quickly climbing through the window. He scooted back against the trunk and pulled me against his chest, nuzzling his face into my neck. “You okay?” His arm came to rest across my chest, and I grabbed onto his forearm. I felt grounded. Safe. No longer trapped.

“No,” I breathed.

He kissed the top of my head and I leaned against his shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Just hold me.”

There was something freeing about sitting in the dark with his arms wrapped tightly around me. After a few moments of silence, he swept my hair to the side. “I still haven’t sung your song to you.”

I smiled. “Well, by all means…”

He inhaled before humming a note against my ear. The summer heat swirled around us. “My eyes are on her and that knee length dress. The devil said she’s too good for me, he’s doin’ his best.” I closed my eyes and dropped one leg over the branch as I melted into him as he sang. The melody was slow and soft, and when he got to the chorus tears clouded my eyes. “Pretty girl, oh my pretty girl, what promise would it take? To keep your smile, your kiss, your touch? Pretty girl, oh my pretty girl, don’t let me let you down.” My chest grew so tight I could barely breathe. I turned around on the limb as much as I could, and I kissed him. I believed, in that moment, that music was his way of saying things he couldn’t. I believed he loved me. As crazy as it sounded, I knew I loved him. I loved him because I didn’t worry about what I said or what I did, I didn’t have to pretend with him. So many people promised to be there, and he was the only one who really was.