Whiskey Lullaby

by Stevie J. Cole

  When I came downstairs, Daddy was in the kitchen, shoving his wallet in his back pocket.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Church,” he said.

  God, it was Sunday night, wasn’t it?

  “Oh…” I couldn’t leave Momma.

  Daddy glanced at me. “You got plans, baby girl?”

  “I was just going to dinner.”

  “Good, it’s good for you to get out.” He smiled and grabbed his keys from the counter.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “You are not staying here on my account!” Momma’s voice came from the front room, and Daddy arched his brow before kissing my forehead and making his way down the hall.

  I heard him tell Momma goodbye before the front door opened and closed. “You better go do whatever it was you were gonna do,” Momma said before I heard the beginning notes of “Für Elise”. I walked down the hall, holding onto the doorframe as I peeked around the corner into the formal living room. Momma sat proudly at the piano, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys. She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  I went and sat next to her like I used to do as a little girl.

  “Hannah…” The music stopped, and she dropped her hands to her lap. “I feel fine. Please don’t make me feel guilty.”

  Guilty? How could I make her feel guilty? “I just want to make sure someone’s here if you need them.”

  “Your brother’s in his room.”

  “With his headphones in or asleep.”

  “I’m alright today.” She squeezed my hand. “I know you love me, and I love you too, which is why I want you to live your life. Okay?”

  I inhaled just as the doorbell rang. Momma’s brow wrinkled. “Since when has Meg rang the doorbell?”

  “It’s not Meg.”

  “Oh, really?” Momma smiled before straightening the scarf on her head. “Is it that boy?”

  My cheeks warmed a little. “Yes.”

  “I figured. Your momma can always tell.” She patted my leg. “He’s a sweet boy. Go enjoy yourself.”

  ______

  “Shit,” Noah said.

  “What?”

  He snatched the keys from the ignition, hopped out, and hurried to my side to open my door. “It’s six thirty-five.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Grandma’s a stickler for being on time. And we’re five minutes late.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little as I followed him to the front of the house and through the door. The smell of fried chicken filled the air along with the sizzling and popping of the grease in the kitchen.

  “God,” he sighed as he closed the door. “I love that smell… Grandma, we’re—”

  “Late!” She popped around the corner, shaking a pair of tongs at him before glancing at me and smiling. “Nice to see you, dear.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Ms. Greyson.”

  “Doris. Call me Doris.”

  I nodded, and she disappeared back into the kitchen. Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go see if I can help her.” He arched a brow, a devious smirk playing on his lips.

  “Alright…”

  Smiling, I waltzed right into the kitchen. Doris had a hand mixer going full force, bits of potatoes flying out left and right. The motor quieted and she tossed the mixer on the counter before grabbing a dishtowel.

  “He’s always late. Always,” she muttered before spinning around to face me. “I raised him better than that. And he better be treatin’ you like a lady, opening doors and whatnot.”

  “He is.”

  She grinned. “He likes you.” She shuffled past me and set the bowl of steaming potatoes on the counter before grabbing a boiling pot of green beans. “But mind you, Noah ain’t never been in a committed relationship. Boy struggles with commitment. I blame his parents for that one.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just reached for the stack of plates on the end of the kitchen island. Thwap! She swatted me with the dishtowel. “Get on, now. You’re a guest, ain’t having none of my visitors setting out plates.”

  Noah laughed from the dining room.

  “Now, you’re a different story.” She arched an eyebrow before shooing me through the doorway. “Noah, you can get your tail on in here and help me.”

  A smug smile spread over his lips. “You come around a few more times, she’ll have you helping out, don’t worry.” He squeezed my shoulder as he passed behind me and stepped into the kitchen.

  I sat at the table, staring at the curio cabinet in the corner filled with figurines of clowns while Noah and his grandmother bustled around in the kitchen. There must have been fifty clowns in there, and the longer I stared, the painted-on smiles seemed to grow more sinister. I never understood why people thought those things were cute. They are horrifying.

  “Creepy as hell, huh?”

  I jumped in surprise at the sudden sound of Noah’s voice.

  “Stop that swearing, boy!” his grandma shouted.

  He placed the mashed potatoes on the table. “Sweet tea?”

  “Water’s fine.”

  “Shit…” he said, walking back into the kitchen.

  “Boy!” There was a whack, I assumed from his grandma smacking him with the dishtowel.

  “Well, Grandma, she just said no to sweet tea. That’s a serious offense.”

  She stepped into the dining room, setting a basket of greasy fried chicken next to an old Pyrex filled with green beans and snap peas. “I didn’t pray for him as a child, I guess that’s my fault.” She pulled out a chair and flopped down with a loud exhale. “Wooh, it ain’t getting no easier.”

  Noah set the plates out along with a pile of fresh cornbread before he took a seat next to me.

  “Alright,” she huffed, dotting her forehead with a napkin. “Let us pray.” She bowed her head and immediately glared up at Noah. “And close your eyes to make good for the preacher’s child, would you?” We closed our eyes. “Dear Graciously Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day, for the food which you’ve prepared before us. We thank you for Noah and Hannah, may she lead him to your glorious salvation because we all know he’s a little troubled. We give thanks for Ms. Thompson, even if she’s nosier than a two-headed woodpecker. And thank you for that new stray cat, Mr. Jiggles, he’s really helped with all the field mice that like to get in my pantry and eat my Little Debbie Cakes. May we continue to be a blessing unto you and do you right proud. And please, when my time comes, let me go in my sleep. Don’t make me suffer. Amen.” We went to open our eyes. “Oh, and thank you for Alabama football and bless Mr. Coach Saban, would you kindly? Amen. Again.”

  Noah leaned over. “She always prays for Nick Saban, even when she forgets to pray for me.”

  “I take my football very seriously,” she said, reaching for the cornbread. “So, let’s just get this outta the way, Miss Hannah. Roll Tide or War Eagle?”

  “Don’t say you don’t care,” Noah whispered. “That’s worse than saying you’re for Auburn.”

  “Uh, Roll Tide…”

  She lifted her hands in the air and clapped. “This is gonna work out just fine then.”

  After dinner, Noah cleared the table and we played a few rounds of poker, Doris winning every single hand. By the time we left, Noah owed her two days of Sunday school and a steak dinner.

  Doris held the door open, the humid air creeping in and sticking to my skin like a fine mist. “It was mighty fine of you to humor an old lady and have dinner with her.”

  “Well, thank you so much for the invitation. Hands down, the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.”

  She patted my back.

  “Love you, Grandma,” Noah said, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll come by and see you tomorrow.”

  “Alright then.” And with that, she shut the door.

  We climbed into Noah’s truck and he cranked the engine before adjusting the mirrors and glancing over at me. He patted the middle seat. “Don’t stay al
l the way over there.”

  There went that flittery-fluttery feeling in my chest. Something so simple shouldn’t have had the effect it did. I unfastened my seatbelt and scooted across next to him. Smiling, he brushed his fingers over my cheek and gave me a soft kiss before putting the car in reverse. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Please. Just for tonight, don’t leave me.”

  There seemed to be so much more to that request, something desperate and utterly innocent.

  “I just want to sleep next to you and hold you.”

  “Okay,” I breathed.

  How can you tell the bad boy who’s not really bad no? You can’t. You really, really can’t.

  25

  Noah

  I rummaged through my drawer and pulled out an Imagine Dragon’s t-shirt, tossing it to her. “You can sleep in that if you want.” She timidly picked it up. God, she looked so out of place standing beside my bed, like she was second-guessing what she was doing. “Oh, shit.” I went back to the drawer and grabbed a pair of basketball shorts. “And these. I mean, they may fall right off you but…”

  She looked away from me, rubbing her lips together. There was a moment where I expected her to tell me to take her home, but then she stepped in front of me and took the shorts. “It’s fine.” She dropped them onto the dresser. “I trust you.” Her eyes locked on my lips while her hand rubbed across my chest.

  “Mmm.” I inched toward her mouth. “Don’t know that anyone’s ever said that before.”

  “And I don’t want to know if they have.”

  God, she drove me crazy. I fisted her hair and slammed my lips over hers. The subtle hint of cherry transferred from her mouth to my tongue, just a reminder of how innocent she really was. Literally. It was like a mixture of apprehension and fear, timid lust. If Hannah had been any other girl, I would have gladly tainted her in ten seconds flat. But she wasn’t any other girl. She was the girl that made me believe I could be a better person. Kissing her, I imagined, was an experience akin to when an atheist saw God for the first time.

  Spiritual.

  Something you know you’ll never forget. She almost made me forgive myself for all the stupid things I’d done in my life, for all the hate I’d held on to for so long. I could see where loving her could make me let that all go, because it would seem so inconsequential. Isn’t there a saying love saves all? Well, if there’s not. There should be. It’s what we live our entire lives in search of, even the shittiest person wants someone to love them. And while it wouldn’t take much for a guy like me to feel loved, a girl like her—someone who grew up with a storybook family, picture perfect home—hell, how could a guy like me ever be capable of loving her enough?

  Slowly, I backed her toward the bed, my lips never leaving hers until she fell down onto the mattress. The way her dark hair splayed out over the white sheets seemed like art, and it caused me to bite my lip on a groan. “You don’t know what you do to me,” I mumbled as I carefully lowered myself on top of her.

  “Likewise,” she whispered against my lips.

  We kissed, simply kissed, for what felt like hours. Until my lips were raw and swollen. Until, for the first time, I appreciated what it felt like to want someone. Not that superficial bullshit want, but really, honest to God want someone. There was this heavy pull, like being caught in a riptide. Something that stirred a bit of panic in my chest because I knew I was in over my head, but at the same time, it was almost freeing because I knew I was no longer in control of any of it.

  When I pulled away, she stared up at me, studying me while lazily threading her fingers through my hair. “Do you think everyone we meet has a purpose?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, maybe fate. Just, do you think there’s a reason we meet everyone we meet?”

  I rolled onto my back, dragging her with me and brushing my fingers through her long hair. “Meet or just run into.”

  “Meet, I guess.”

  “So not the random guy with the squinty eyes that always makes my sub at Subway?”

  She laughed. “No.”

  “Okay, just had to be sure. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m sure you could make a reason if you wanted to.”

  She traced over the indention in the middle of my chest. “I like to think there is.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, especially with you.”

  I smiled even though she couldn’t see me, but just as quickly as that comment made me feel good, it made me feel like crap. There were so many ways I could fuck up, so many ways I could ruin her. Just as easily as I thought she could love me, I knew she could hate me. That line between love and hate is fucking fragile. And as much as I wanted her to love me, I’m a firm believer that you’ll never hate anyone you didn’t love. I swallowed. Hannah was not a girl I ever wanted to hate me.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “I don’t know.” I stared up at the ceiling. “How right this feels.”

  She snuggled against my chest and kissed my throat. “It really does.” There was a moment of silence, a moment where she stilled, and I thought she’d drifted off to sleep. “This is the first time in a long time I haven’t been afraid to fall asleep,” she said.

  My brow wrinkled. “What?”

  “I’m always afraid if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone.”

  Damn. My pulse beat a little faster. I didn’t know how to respond to that, but it damn near broke my heart for her.

  “That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “I know it could happen anytime. I’ve held patient’s hands at ten in the morning while they took they’re last breath, but…” She exhaled, and I held her more tightly, kissing the top of her head. “I think that’s it. I think it’s the thought of her dying alone in her sleep that bothers me so much. I just want to be there for her, and maybe that way neither of us will be as scared.”

  I closed my eyes. There was so much sorrow in her voice, so much guilt. All I wanted to do was protect her, but how do you begin to protect someone from life? “You know you’re safe here, right? Cry if you need to.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine when I’m with you.”

  “I’ll always be here for you, Hannah. I promise, we’ll get through thi.”

  “I believe you.”

  After a few minutes, her breathing grew heavy. I laid there, holding her and staring up at the ceiling. I’d never let a girl get close enough to fall asleep on me. I fucked them and left them. Every single time. Not Hannah. There was something so intimate about holding her like that, something so vulnerable in the way she trusted me enough to fall asleep on my chest. I loved that I was safe to her. Moments like that were what life was about. I knew that more than anyone, because I’d missed out on so many of those moments. Sometimes you just want somebody to hold you.

  Sometimes that’s all you need.

  She was all I needed…

  26

  Hannah

  It had been a week since I’d stayed at Noah’s for the first time, and I’d stayed there nearly every night since. The only time I felt okay was when I was with him. It didn’t mean that I forgot that Momma was sick, or that I accepted the fact that I would lose her, but when I was with him I didn’t have to pretend to be as strong, and I could fall asleep because I wasn’t alone.

  I was finishing up my shift at the hospital, gushing at the picture of us he’d sent along with the text:

  Miss you so much I had to write a song for you.

  “What is that smile about?” Meg asked, rounding the corner and placing a lab kit on the counter.

  “Nothing.” I closed out of my messages and dropped my phone in the front pocket of my scrubs.

  “Again, I’m offended that you think you can just lie to me like that. Some preacher’s daughter you are.” She sighed. “Come on. What’d loverboy do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look, if you want him to win over my cold black heart
, you better start spilling. I mean the two of you aren’t bumping uglies, so I’m not sure what the hell you’re doing!”

  “We just… talk.”

  “Yep, no idea what that’s like.”

  “Dear God.”

  “I’m just saying, something’s messed up here. He has a bad reputation and yet… you’re still one with your hymen.”

  I laughed. “You are so eloquent.”

  “I know. It’s a gift.” She walked behind me, playing with my hair. “Come on, humor me.”

  “Fine, he said he wrote me a song.”

  “Oh, now that”—she pointed at me with a wide grin—“that’s brownie points! Sappy as shit, but absolutely swoon-worthy.”

  I smiled. “Right?”

  She batted her lashes and sighed. “Imagine if he sang it to you at the bar, broken hearts would be left shattered all over the floor, and there you’d stand, the Virgin Hannah at the feet of Noah Greyson, former manwhore of the year.”

  “Wow. You didn’t snowball that or anything.”

  Dr. Robbins stepped behind the nurses’ station and leaned over one of the computers. Meg tilted her head, and I watched her gaze land on his butt.

  “Alright, well, I’m out. I’m taking Momma to Judy’s.”

  She glanced at me. “Gonna catch up on Rockford’s gossip?”

  “Is there a choice when you’re there?” I walked to the time clock on the far wall and swiped my badge.

  “You guys are going to Birmingham tomorrow for her appointment, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  A slight frown fell over her face. “Call me and let me know how things go, okay? I don’t want to bother you if, well… I just don’t want to bother you until you’re back and everything.”

  “Okay.” I forced a smile before heading down the hall.

  ______

  The smell of nail polish remover and spa bubbles stirred up a headache. I’d been staring at the brightly colored bottles of polish for five minutes, going between my go tos: Pink Margarita and Be My Valentine, while trying to ignore the glares I kept getting from Daisy Benson who was sitting underneath the hair dryer.