Rank

by D. R. Graham

  “Shut up.”

  I smiled and slid her a vodka cooler on the house. “You’re always so mean to me. Remind me why that is.”

  “Grade nine. We had to do a presentation on our hobbies. You did yours on bull riding. Dean Kline asked if you were ever scared. You said no, because whenever you got nervous about falling off you would imagine landing on two giant soft pillows like Rochelle’s.”

  I chuckled as I remembered. “That was funny. Get over it.”

  “It wasn’t funny, you jackass. It was humiliating.”

  “Why? It was a compliment.”

  “I was fourteen. Having boys only pay attention to me because of the size of my chest was embarrassing. It made me self-conscious.”

  “For your information, the teacher gave me a zero on that presentation and,” I pointed at her impressive cleavage overflowing her low cut top, “You’re obviously not self-conscious anymore.”

  “Shut up. I’m not here to discuss my emotional scars. I’m here because someone wanted me to deliver a message to you.”

  I poured a mixed drink for the guy who was standing beside her. I took his money then turned to look at her. “Who’s that someone?”

  She slid an envelope across the bar. It had my name written across it in curly writing. I handed two beers to a guy and took his money, then flipped the envelope over and opened it. Rochelle scrutinized my face as I read the note.

  Billy, Here is your cut from my first win on Stella. She’s doing great. Thanks again for letting me ride her. I guess you’ve been too busy to call, but I just wanted to let you know that I can’t stop thinking about you, or our night in Coleman. I’d really love to see you again, Tawnie.

  Rochelle was still watching me to see how I was going to react, so I tried to not show any expression. I put the note in my back pocket and served a few more customers. Her second drink was done before I was able to get back to her.

  “Do you have a message you’d like me to pass on to her?” she asked.

  “No. Thanks.”

  Her eyebrows angled. “Why haven’t you called her? Were you just using her?”

  “No offence, Rochelle, but it’s not really any of your business.”

  “Well, it kind of is when she calls me crying every night upset because you haven’t called her.”

  A guy was shouting an order at me, but I ignored him. “What’s she crying about?”

  “She likes you, obviously. Girls don’t do what she did with you in a truck unless they really like a guy. You know that, right?”

  I rolled my eyes, not surprised that even the women weren’t clear with what meant what, and I shook my head because obviously there was no such thing as privacy on the circuit. “I can’t believe she told you that.”

  Rochelle made her eyebrows dance up and down. “Apparently you’re quite something.”

  “Shit.” I turned around and pulled two cases of beer from the cupboard to restock the bar. When I turned back around, an older guy who was already pretty gunned was leaning with his arm over Rochelle’s shoulder and talking too close to her face.

  I couldn’t hear what he was mumbling, but she said, “No thanks,” and pushed his arm away.

  He went in for another sloppy hug and was trying to cop a feel, so I reached over the bar and shoved him. “Why don’t you go sit down, buddy?”

  He stumbled back a little and frowned at me. “What’s your problem?”

  “She said no. You need to go sit down.”

  He stared me down for a few seconds, but must have realized he couldn’t take me. He flipped me the bird and staggered away.

  Rochelle took a sip of her vodka cooler. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  She checked the time on her phone. “I need to get going.” She closed her purse. “Just so you know, Tawnie is really sweet and she’s coming off a bad break-up. I realize you’re not really the boyfriend type, but it would be good if you could at least be nice to her. I don’t want her to end up feeling like a worthless piece of shit.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  “Good man. I’ll see you around.” She stood and started to walk away.

  “Hey, Rochelle.”

  She paused and looked over her shoulder.

  “I’m trying to be a better person, so I would like to apologize for hurting your feelings when we were in junior high.”

  She turned to face me, tilted her head to the side, and closed one eye as if she was contemplating something. After a while, she said, “All right. I forgive you.”

  “Thank you.” I winked. “But you do have to admit you have the nicest rack in town.”

  She shook her head in disappointment. “Geez Billy. Why did you have to go and ruin a perfectly good truce?”

  I shrugged in mock innocence. “It would feel weird if you didn’t treat me like I was an asshole.”

  “Yeah, that would feel weird.” She chuckled, then left.

  The bar closed at two and I didn’t get out of there until closer to two-thirty. I drove back to my mom’s house and sat in my truck looking at my phone. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Finally, I took a deep breath and scrolled through my contacts to find Tawnie’s number. Before I had a chance to call her, my phone rang. The call display showed, Shae-Lynn’s name, so I answered. She was crying.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She had to inhale a couple times before she was able to speak through her crying, “My mom and dad were in an accident.”

  “Are they all right?”

  “My mom’s in the hospital with a concussion and a broken arm. My dad just has cuts and bruises. They’re fine, but the trailer rolled and they had to put two of the horses down.” She started sobbing heavier.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there listening to her cry.

  Eventually, she calmed down a little and sniffled. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I really needed someone to talk to. You’re the only person I thought might still be awake. I’m sorry if you were sleeping.”

  “I was awake. Where’s Lee-Anne?”

  “She got on a plane to meet them down in Texas. I had to stay here to take care of the animals. It’s really quiet in the house when nobody else is here.”

  “You mean scary?” I chuckled. “Do you want me to come over to keep you company?”

  “Yeah, would you?” She sounded as if a smile had crossed her lips. “It’s only a seven-and-a-half hour drive.”

  “Okay.”

  She paused as if she was worried I would really do it. “I was joking.”

  “I know. How about I just talk to you on the phone until you either feel better or fall asleep?”

  “Really? You don’t mind?”

  “Sleep is overrated.”

  She hesitated again as if she was reluctant to impose. “Do you have an unlimited long distance plan?”

  “Yeah, we can talk all night if we need to.”

  “Are you working, or on a date or something? I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

  “I just got home from a shift at the bar.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to sleep?”

  “I can’t fall asleep right after I get home anyway. You’re doing me a favour to keep me company.”

  “Okay. Um.” She inhaled and thought for a few seconds to come up with a conversation starter. “Are you going with Cole to Luxton?”

  “No, he’s on his own. Are you still going?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed, reminded of why she called in the first place. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens with my mom. She might not feel well enough to come with us.”

  “A concussion won’t stop her.”

  “Oh? You’re a concussion expert?”

  I chuckled. “Actually, yes.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot all the —” She stopped abruptly and made a squeaking sound. “Oh, my God.”

  “What?”

  “I heard a noise,” she whispered with pan
ic in her voice.

  “I knew you’d called because you were scared, not sad.”

  “I’m both, Billy. I freely admit that. If you were here and heard what I just heard, you’d be terrified.”

  “It was probably nothing. You should turn the TV on so the house won’t seem so quiet.”

  “I’d have to get out of bed and walk to the living room to do that. What if there is already someone hiding in one of the closets?”

  I laughed because she sounded dead serious. “Why would someone be hiding in your closets? Either they’d be busy burglarizing the house or attacking you, not hiding.”

  “Thanks. That helps a lot. Remind me not to call you the next time I’m holed up in my room, scared to death.”

  “How are you ever going to move out of your parents’ house and live on your own if you’re too scared to stay by yourself?”

  She gasped as if she couldn’t believe I had the nerve to mock her. “Look who’s talking. You live at your mom’s house, tough guy.”

  She had me there, but I didn’t live at home because I wanted to. “I had my own place before my dad died. I only moved back to take care of my mom.”

  “Yeah.” She dragged the word out, unimpressed. “I heard about ‘Billy Ray’s Hideaway’. I wouldn’t exactly say you were living there all by yourself. Rumour has it you took a different girl home every night.”

  Jesus, rodeo gossip was worse than ever. “I don’t know who you’ve been getting your information from. I occasionally entertained a lady friend I met at work. It wasn’t every night.”

  “Just admit that you don’t like being home all alone either.”

  There was some truth to that, but not because I was scared to be alone. “Having another person around has its benefits, but we’re probably not talking about the same benefits.”

  “Okay. That’s enough. Spare me the details of your sordid love life.”

  “You want to explain how a girl who can get on a horse and chase a raging bull around an arena is scared to stay in a house by herself?”

  There was a pause as she thought about it. “I do better if I don’t have any time to think about the danger.”

  I smiled, knowing that well. “Cole’s like that too.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s all right.”

  She was quiet for a while before she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever go back to riding?”

  “Nope,” I said without hesitation.

  “But you were so good at it.”

  “Yeah, that was then.” A tense sigh released along with the words.

  “Before your dad’s accident?” She paused, waiting for me to respond. I didn’t, so she asked, “Have you talked to anybody about it yet?”

  I rubbed my palm over my face trying to erase the memory. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “You can talk about how it made you feel to watch it happen; or you can talk about how you feel now that you have to take care of your mom and your brother; or you can talk about how it scared you so bad that you can’t ride anymore.”

  The air in my lungs leaked out in a long and slow exhale. The same way I always breathed right before I got in the chute. “I’m not scared and I don’t want to talk about the rest of it.”

  She fortunately surrendered the quest to fix Billy and changed the subject. “How’s Stella?”

  “Good, I guess. I haven’t talked to Tawnie.”

  “Oh.” She seemed surprised and paused before she changed the subject again by asking me a question about the ferry to Luxton. I plugged the recharger for my phone in and turned the truck engine on long enough to top the battery up.

  We talked for the next two and a half hours about pretty much everything. When the sky started to lighten, she yawned.

  “You ready to go to sleep now that it’s morning?”

  She laughed. “Yes, but now I have to get out of bed and go feed the animals.”

  “Yeah, I should go inside and get ready for my day job.”

  “Sorry to keep you up all night.”

  “It’s all right.” I watched the sun peek up over the horizon, surprised that I didn’t feel tired at all.

  “Thanks, Billy.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I hung up then went inside. There were six beer bottles on the kitchen table, and since my mom wasn’t a drinker, I knew it was Cole. I checked his room, but it looked as if his bed hadn’t been slept in. He wasn’t on the couch either. I knocked on the bathroom door. “Cole?” There was no answer, so I tried the doorknob. It was locked. “Cole. Open up,” I shouted through the door.

  Mom opened her bedroom door and tied the belt to her housecoat. “What’s going on?”

  “Didn’t the doctor say you should start using your chair in the house?”

  She raised her eyebrow in her notorious scolding expression. “I can still get around in my own home, thank you. I’m not an invalid. What’s going on?”

  “Did Cole stay here last night?”

  “He was here when I went to bed.” Her irritation at me transitioned into concern.

  I rattled the bathroom doorknob and knocked again. Mom disappeared into her room and returned with a hairpin. She wiggled it in the hole of the doorknob. Eventually the lock clicked and she pushed the door open. It only opened about four inches then stopped as if it hit something. She poked her head in.

  “Oh, Jesus. He’s passed out on the floor.” She stepped back and let me push the door with my shoulder. I was able to open it wide enough for her to slip through. She crouched down and moved his legs so I could open the door all the way. “Oh, Billy, he doesn’t look right. You better call the ambulance.”

  Chapter 6

  At the hospital, I wheeled my mom’s chair up to a table, then sat down across from a psychiatrist, two doctors, and a social worker. The social worker folded her hands on the table and smiled at us in a pleasant way that made me uncomfortable. The bald doctor helped himself to a cookie from the plate on the table. The other doctor watched Cole come into the room with a nurse and sit beside me. Cole looked like shit. His hair was messy, his face was pale, and the smell of beer was still noticeable on his breath. The psychiatrist was reviewing the file and tapping her pen on a pad of paper as she read. Eventually, she looked up and smiled at us. “So, Cole. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “You gave your mom and brother quite a scare.”

  He looked down at the table and licked his lips.

  “According to them, you were doing well until this incident occurred.”

  “This wasn’t an incident. I just had a couple drinks.”

  “Yes, but you know that the medication you’re on can not be taken with alcohol.”

  “So, give me a different medication.” He sat back and crossed his arms in defiance. “All my friends and my brother drink, and I can’t. It’s affecting my quality of life.”

  “I’ll quit,” I mumbled so only he could hear me.

  “Why?” He turned towards me. “So we both can’t have any fun?” He looked back at the professionals across the table. “Just give me a different medication.”

  “But this one has been working so well,” Mom said.

  “Not really. I still feel like shit half the time. Billy has to drag me out of bed most days because I can’t sleep at night. My stomach is always upset, and I get headaches that I never used to.”

  “Have you had any suicidal ideation? Intrusive thoughts? Unusual worries or obsessions?”

  “Yeah.”

  They all looked up, intrigued more than concerned. “Which ones?”

  “All of them,” he said to mess with them.

  “Can you be a little more specific, please?” the psychiatrist asked.

  “Well.” He stretched his legs out under the table and crossed his ankles as if he was getting comfortable, but his arms were still crossed. “I worry that I left the stove on even if I haven’t used it, or sometimes I think I left the bath running even though I h
ad a shower.” He sat forward abruptly and rested his elbows on the table. “Is wanting to stab someone in the eyeball an intrusive thought? I get that sometimes. Oh, and I have to dress in exactly the same order every time or I think that something bad is going to happen to my mom.”

  “Did you dress in a particular order before your dad was killed?”

  He smiled, amused by how gullible they were. “No. I put my left sock on first instead of the right. Damn. Do you think that’s why he died? I never thought about that until you mentioned it. Way to go. Now I’m going to obsess about that until I get around to acting on the suicidal ideation.”

  I shook my head, tired of his antics, and Mom wrung her hands together.

  The psychiatrist smiled at Cole in an unimpressed way once she figured out he was bullshitting. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, we won’t be able to help you effectively. Do you want our help or not?”

  “Not.”

  She wrote something on her pad of paper.

  “Stop dicking around,” I mumbled.

  “Oh,” he continued, enjoying it too much to stop. “I do have one real obsessive thought.”

  They all looked at him again. So gullible.

  “I have sexual fantasies about my psychiatrist.” He winked at her. “The images are very graphic. She’s not wearing anything except little diamond nipple rings and black stilettos. She dances around for me and puts little blue pills on my tongue before straddling my lap. The images pop in and out, and in and out, of my mind. I actually don’t mind though.”

  Fed up, Mom rolled her wheelchair back from the table and headed towards the exit. The nurse who had escorted Cole in opened the door.

  Cole watched it close behind her. Then he glared at the psychiatrist and his joking tone changed. “Listen, I’ll take medication to balance out my moods, but don’t try to label me with more issues that I don’t have. I’m not OCD, I’m not suicidal, and I’m not homicidal. I want to be able to drink, I don’t want to get man boobs, I don’t want my ability to perform sexually to be affected, and I don’t want to have to take more pills to deal with side effects. If you don’t have a medication that can do all that, I won’t be taking anything.”