Whiskey Lullaby

by Stevie J. Cole

  “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 sh
e’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.

  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 e
yes. 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.”