Whiskey Lullaby(31)

We stayed in the tree until the night sky lightened to a dark blue then to the light pink and orange of sunrise. A swallow landed on one of the branches, singing, and Noah shifted behind me. “How many people do you think take the time to watch a sunrise?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a shame, you know. We only have so many chances to watch the sun come up.”

“You’re smarter than you let on.”

“Nah, it’s just that my mind isn’t cluttered up with a bunch of useless shit.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I like watching the sunrise with you.”

“Me too.”

“Alright, pretty girl, I better go on and get to work.” He kissed my cheek before scooting out from behind me, grabbing the branch, and lowering himself to the ground. “I’ll see you later.” He winked. I watched him walk across the front yard, straight to my daddy’s shop before I climbed back through my window and crawled into bed.

The sun was already up. I wasn’t afraid to fall asleep.

_





It was three by the time I woke up in a panic. Something must have startled me because I sat straight up, gasping for air and clutching at my racing heart. Once I got dressed, I checked on Momma. She was sleeping, so I went downstairs to the kitchen.

The fresh scent of lemon Pledge swirled in the air, and I caught Daddy wiping down the kitchen table. “You feel alright?” he asked as I made my across the kitchen.

“Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep last night.” I grabbed a bottle of water and a yogurt from the fridge.

“I understand.” He pulled the chair out and took a seat, drumming his fingers on the table. “I didn’t sleep too well myself.” There was a hint of tension in his tone, but I thought nothing of it, just grabbed a spoon from the drawer and went to sit across from him and eat my yogurt. After I took the first bite, my gaze strayed to the window behind the table. I could see Noah and Bo working the fields.

“Noah’s a good kid.” Daddy sighed. “But please tell me you aren’t seeing him.”

“I’m, I mean…” I dropped the spoon into the yogurt cup. “We’re just...” What are we? “Just friends.”

“Mmm.” His lips pressed together in a hard line, and he drummed his fingers on the table again. “Your mother thinks differently.” His gaze set hard on me and he did the slow, disapproving nod he used to do when he caught me in a lie.

There was a second where I felt like a small child again, where I feared I’d let him down.

“Hannah, he’s not good enough for you.”

And then that care vanished. My stomach knotted. I scowled at him. “You’re kidding, right?” His eyes widened in a moment of shock. “I’m not a child. I’m not a teenager. I’m capable of deciding who’s good enough for me.”

“Hannah—”

“And you’re a preacher, Daddy. A preacher!”

“I may be a preacher, but I’m also a father, and I have every right to be concerned about my little girl.”

“I’m an adult, Daddy.”

“The things I’ve heard around town about him.” He shook his head, the wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent. “I’m all for giving someone chances, but I never expected my doing so to come around on you.”

“What are you talking about? Coming around on me?”

“People in town are talking about you hanging out with him.” His nostrils flared. “Staying at his house, Hannah. Sleeping at his house.”

“It’s no one’s business—”

“Hannah, it’s a small town! That I’m the preacher of, and some people have nothing better to do than watch who comes and goes from people’s houses.”

I pushed up from the table, my cheeks hot, my heart racing. “I don’t need your approval to see someone.”

“So you are seeing him?” His jaw clenched.

“I didn’t say that, I said I don’t need you to like him!”

“You’re still in my house, Hannah!” His voice grew stern and I noticed him straighten in his seat a little.

“I came back to help you!” My voice suddenly seemed to echo around the room. “I came back because she’s dying,” I whispered before turning and storming from the kitchen. I grabbed my purse and keys from the foyer table.

“Where are you going, Hannah.”

I groaned and yanked the door open. I didn’t have to tell him where I was going, and to be honest, I didn’t really know myself. Meg was at work. Noah was still in the fields. I just wanted to be alone. Someplace serene…

Thirty minutes later I pulled up to Lake Mitchell, parking beneath the oak tree with the tire swing. A nervous excitement coursed through me when my feet hit the wooden pier. A speedboat flew by, and the little dingy tied to the end of the dock rocked on the wake, enticing me to be free and careless. To let everything go.

So I did. I hopped into the boat and untied the frayed rope holding it in place. I pulled the cord on the old motor and it spit and sputtered before taking off. The wind whipped through my hair, the damp smell of the bank and spray of lake water flew over my face, and when I got to the middle of the lake, I cut the engine.

The sun glistened over the water. The sound of children splashing echoed from somewhere across the bank. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the warm sun wash over my skin. Noah was right. This was serenity. Calm and quiet. I could think out there, and I had a lot to think about.





29





Noah





Hannah peeled out of the drive. I looked over at Bo and he shrugged before I lifted the hoe over my head and slammed it against the earth.

“She likes you, you know?”

I wiped the sweat from my brow with my forearm. “Yeah?”

His ho pounded the dirt. He pretended to be focused on what he was doing, but I caught the way his jaw clenched, how his lips twitched. He didn’t like it. “Don’t hurt her,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“Better not.”

The screen door banged closed and I glanced up, squinting against the sun blazing over the roof of the house.

“Bo,” John said, stepping off the back porch. “I’m goin’ to Walmart to pick up your momma’s prescription before the pharmacy closes. Can you keep an ear out in case your momma needs something?” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “She ain’t been feeling too well today.”

“Sure, Pops.”

“Your check is on the counter, Noah.”

“Thanks, John.”

He gave me a fleeting glance, then made his way to his truck.

“Guess we’re done,” Bo said.

The engine to John’s old truck fired up and we grabbed the tools. John pulled off, Sampson chasing down the driveway after him. We propped the tools against the shed, then headed inside.

It was always so quiet in their house. Clean and put together. I grabbed the check from the kitchen table.

The floor behind me creaked and Bo glanced up. “Momma, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

I spun around and Claire was standing in the doorway, holding onto the frame. Her skin had a yellowish tint to it. And even though purple rings surrounded her eyes, I could see Hannah. The petite nose. The cupid’s bow of her lip. Her deep brown eyes. God, it hurt because that was Hannah’s heart right there.

“Hi, Mrs. Blake,” I said.

“Hello, Noah.” She smiled before letting go of the doorframe. Bo hurried across the kitchen, grabbing her elbow. “I’m fine,” she said and headed down the hall.

“Momma…”

“I’m fine. I just want to play my piano.”

Bo started after her. “Do you feel like—”

“Please… please!” Her voice shook. “If I’m going to die, I want to at least pretend I’m not.”

Bo’s shoulders fell.

“Noah, I hope you don’t mind, but I have a favor to ask you.”

“Sure…” I didn’t know what she could want from me, but I’d have done anything she asked.

I followed her to the living room where she took a seat at the piano and immediately began flipping through sheet music. “This was one of Hannah’s favorites to play for me,” she said when she placed the open book on the music rack. She placed her fingers over the ivory keys and a tragically beautiful melody followed. “Do you know this song, Noah?”

With closed eyes, I listened. I knew the song. It was one I’d played many times before. “Breathe” by Will Champlain. “I do.”

“Hannah told me you had the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard,” she said. “I’d love for you to sing this for me.” She patted the spot on the bench next to her and I moved beside her, carefully taking a seat.

I was nervous for some reason. Terrified I’d fuck up and sing the wrong line. I never gave a shit if I messed up when I played at Tipsy’s. When I sang the second line, everything inside of me tensed. I was singing a song about dying to a dying woman. There was a slight shake to my voice and she placed one hand on my knee before going back to the keys. Halfway through, she stopped playing.

“I just want to hear you sing.”

So I sang the rest with my eyes closed. When I finished and opened my eyes, her hand was clutched to her chest. She slowly pushed up from the piano bench. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You have a gift.”