All the King's Horses

by Lauren Gallagher

  Shame stirred in my stomach. I’d never spoken of this except to my sister, and deep down, I was sure this qualified as speaking ill of the dead and made me a terrible person. A terrible widow.

  But I went on. “Sam had a drinking problem. A bad one. He was a good man when he was sober, but when he was drunk, like really drunk, my God, he was like a completely different person. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, down to the damned letter. He was a mean drunk too. Sometimes downright cruel. I knew it had to stop, and I didn’t know how to stop it. So I threw out all the booze in the house one night. All of it. Every drop. And when he went to have a drink, and there wasn’t any left, he was furious.” I put my hand to my lips as the memory threatened to break me down all over again. “We didn’t usually fight like that when he wasn’t drunk, but we did that night, and it was the one and only time he ever hit me sober.”

  “He…” Dustin said. “He hit you?”

  I nodded and sniffed sharply. “It happened on occasion. Rare occasion.” My throat ached, and I gave myself a moment to compose myself. “At least when he was getting violent with me, he wasn’t out being mean to the horses or something, but…either way, he was an asshole when he drank. And that one night, he wasn’t even drunk.”

  “Jesus…”

  “He was mortified,” I said. “Like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. And I was angry. I was so, so angry. I screamed at him to get out, but by then, he was already gone, and I heard his motorcycle going down the driveway. Any other night, I’d have been scared out of my mind of him riding that thing in that kind of weather, but I just listened to him leave and prayed to God he never came back.” I wiped my eyes and looked at Dustin. “And he never did.”

  Dustin pulled in a breath, but I released mine and whispered, “God, I can’t even tell you how good it feels to finally do this.”

  “It…it does?”

  “Yeah.” I gestured at my wet face. “This hurts like hell, but it feels good too, because it’s something. I needed to feel something again that isn’t just cold, empty, nothing.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Really?”

  “Ooh, yeah,” he said. “Sometimes the only thing worse than being in pain is not feeling anything at all.”

  I nodded. “God, yes.”

  We glanced at each other, and even as I returned my attention to the road, something in his eyes settled something in me. Like I was not only relieved he didn’t think I was a melodramatic idiot, but maybe I wasn’t crazy for feeling this way in the wake of my husband’s death. Dustin may not have been through the same thing or known exactly what I was going through, but his lack of confusion over my barrage of emotions gave me some hope that I hadn’t gone as far off the deep end as I thought I had.

  My voice was steadier when I spoke again. “I hated Mr. Hyde so badly I wanted him gone, and I wanted him dead. But I loved Dr. Jekyll. I really did. And I was so caught up in not knowing how to feel about Mr. Hyde finally being gone, it took until last night for me to realize how much it hurt to lose Dr. Jekyll.”

  “I can imagine,” Dustin said softly.

  “That’s not to say we didn’t have problems even without the alcohol being involved.” I paused to swallow when my voice tried to crack again. “And we probably would have gotten divorced eventually if I could have worked up the courage to initiate it.” I met Dustin’s eyes, blinking away tears. “But he was still, for the most part, a better man than just a drunk wife-beater.”

  “Most people are mostly good people,” he said. “Even if they can really fuck up at times.”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  He shifted a little, resting his arm across the back of the seats as he faced me. “Out of curiosity, when you came out here, what exactly were you running away from?”

  I shook my head slowly. “I’m not even sure. I just needed to regroup and figure a few things out, and I couldn’t do that there. I mean, he built our farm into what it was, and that meant everything there—every horse, every saddle, every nail in every board in every wall—had his name on it. It had all kind of been closing in on me for a long time. I resented him for everything, but I felt so ungrateful because I wouldn’t have any of it if not for him. And so when he died…”

  “You didn’t have the chance to settle everything with him.”

  “Exactly.” I wiped my eyes again. “My family’s pissed at me. I mean, my sister understands, I guess. As much as anyone can. But everyone else, they don’t know exactly where I am, only that I took off the day of the funeral—”

  “You left right after the funeral?”

  I forced myself to look him in the eye for a second before I shifted my gaze back to the road. “I left before the funeral.”

  Dustin’s breath caught. “You didn’t go? At all?”

  “No.” I laughed bitterly. “I know, what kind of wife blows off her husband’s funeral?”

  “One who’s been badly hurt,” Dustin said. “If you were in enough pain to make you want to take off like that, I can see why going to the funeral would just be salt in an open wound.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. And listening to people talk about how wonderful he was, and how amazing he was, and what a tragedy this was…” I cleared my throat. “How was I supposed to get through that when I still had to put concealer on my face from the last time the man ever touched me?”

  “Jesus, Amy…”

  “Anyway,” I whispered. “I guess I’ve just been holding all of that in ever since he died. Since even before.”

  “Until last night.”

  “Until last night.” I rested my elbow under the window and rubbed my forehead. “It was the rain that did it, to be honest.”

  “The rain?”

  I nodded. “Sounded just like it did the night he wrecked his bike. It brought it all back and was driving me insane, so I took a play right out of Sam’s book and drank myself senseless.” I gave a cough of bitter laughter. “I drank because I was afraid I was going out of my mind, and then…” I glanced at Dustin again. “I swear to God, I never drink like that. Especially after living with Sam, I don’t—”

  “I’m not judging,” he said. “I think I need a drink just hearing about it.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean realizing what you’ve been through…” Trailing off, he shook his head. “Shit, if you’d told me this last night, I probably would have poured the booze for you.”

  I said nothing. He was quiet too, for a while, before he eventually spoke again.

  “You know,” he said, “you might think breaking down last night makes you weak, or that I might think less of you because of it. But you should know it doesn’t. And I don’t.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He cleared his throat. “Listening to you now, I’d say you’re a lot stronger than you probably give yourself credit for.”

  I glanced at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You can see both sides of him,” he said. “You’re letting yourself see that Sam did a lot of things wrong—heinously and unforgivably wrong—but still did some things right too. Neither side negated the other, and nothing excuses the way he treated you, and it takes a strong woman to be able to look at both of those sides at the same time. To be objective. Which probably makes it hurt that much more, seeing both sides of that coin.”

  “It does.” Bitterness seeped into my tone as I said, “My sister thinks I’m making excuses for him. Trying to downplay the fact that he drank and sometimes hit me.”

  Dustin shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like that at all. It sounds to me like you’re acknowledging he did good and bad things, but he wasn’t defined by just the good things or just the bad things.” He paused. “Shit, from what you said, I’d probably shake his hand for his business savvy right before I cold-cocked him for ever laying a hand on you.”

  I laughed, wiping my eyes. “Thanks for letting me unload this. And…for
last night.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Grief needs an outlet.”

  “It does.” And who would have known this man of all people would be the one who’d listen? Hell, the one I’d be willing to talk to? I’d only meant to try to explain why I’d broken down last night, and now…now this? Breaking open the flood gates and baring my soul to him like I expected him to care? And he did care. He did. That, or he was really good at faking it, but it was like my confession pulled all the air out of him at the same time it let me figure out how to breathe again. Like he understood and gave a shit.

  I ran my hand up and down the side of the steering wheel, just to release some nervous energy. “And this is the weirdest grief I’ve ever felt too.”

  “How so?”

  “Like I feel relieved, and I feel guilty. I’m sad that he’s gone, but at the same time I am so glad it’s over.” I tapped my thumbs rapidly on the steering wheel. “And at the risk of sounding completely calloused and cold, I am so, so ready to move on from that goddamned marriage.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Dustin said. “I don’t blame you at all.”

  We both fell silent. Up ahead, stoplights and streetlights brightened the darkening late afternoon.

  “So.” I bit my lip. As uncomfortable as this conversation had been in the beginning, I caught myself feeling a little disappointed that the car ride was nearly over. “Now that you’ve listened to me ramble on, I did promise you dinner and a drink.”

  Dustin laughed quietly. “Well, as long as we’re all the way out here…”

  I glanced at him and managed a smile. “Where do you want to go? You know this town better than I do.”

  “Did you like the place we went last time? The country bar?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty good.”

  He pointed up ahead. “Hang a left at the light. It’s two blocks down.” He paused. “If that sounds good?”

  “It sounds fine.” I glanced at him as I put on my left blinker. “Works for you?”

  “Works for me.” Dustin smiled, and it was all I could do not to just throw my arms around him and thank him because he hadn’t told me I was crazy or melodramatic. And maybe a little because I hadn’t forgotten what it was like dancing with him last time we were here, and now more than ever, I wanted to feel like that again.

  But I stayed in the driver’s seat and, when the light turned green, I turned down the road and headed toward Ace’s.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dustin

  Amy parked in front of Ace’s.

  I was off-balance when I got out of the truck. I’d been reeling since she began her explanation of everything that had happened, and now I had to fight the urge to lean on the truck for a minute until I found my equilibrium. Or, even more tempting, put my arms around her and promise her, as if I had the authority and the foreknowledge to do so, that everything would be all right.

  Somehow, I kept some semblance of dignity and composure, though. As we walked inside, I said, “Do want to sit in the bar, or—”

  One of the dozen or so television screens caught my eye, and my stomach lurched at the sight of a cowboy swinging his arm around as a bull bucked and flailed and tried to throw his idiot ass.

  I coughed into my fist. “Actually, why don’t we sit in the restaurant, if that’s all right with you?”

  Amy shrugged. She glanced up at the TVs, and scowled. “Not a fan of rodeos either?”

  “Not particularly, no,” I muttered. To the hostess, I said, “Two, please.”

  She smiled and picked up two menus. “Right this way.”

  We followed her into the dining area. It was a weeknight, so there weren’t so many people here tonight. Just a few occupied booths and tables, plus a couple rows of people on the dance floor going through the motions in time with some upbeat country music that wasn’t as loud as it was on Fridays and Saturdays.

  The hostess seated us at a booth under a stuffed mule deer head and a black-and-white framed photo of an old steam engine. When the waitress came, we both ordered beers, and she left us to peruse the laminated single-page menus. Our beers arrived, but we weren’t yet ready to order, so she left us to make our decisions.

  Cheering broke out in the bar, and Amy and I both glanced toward it before shaking our heads and returning our attention to the menus.

  “I’ve always hated rodeos,” she said. “The way they treat the animals makes me crazy.”

  I threw another glare toward the televisions. “Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want to watch it any more than I do.”

  “Not your thing either?”

  “No.” The word came out more sharply than I intended, so I added, “Always hated them, but”—I gestured dismissively toward the bar—“I have even less use for the damned things now than I did a few years ago.”

  Over the top of her menu, she raised her eyebrows. “Is that right?”

  “Long story.” I picked up my own menu.

  “I just told you a long and crazy one,” she said with a shrug.

  “Probably don’t want to hear mine on top of it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She laid her menu down. “Misery loves company sometimes, you know?”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “True, it does.”

  “You don’t have to, though.” She absently ran a hand through that gorgeous dark hair. “I’m just curious.”

  I shifted a little in my seat. “Long story short,” I said, “one of the top bull riders on the circuit is married to my ex-wife.”

  Amy grimaced. “Oh. Ouch.”

  “Tell me about it.” I laughed bitterly. “God, that sounds like a damned country song. My wife left me for a damned bull rider. I guess I’m just a cowboy cliché.”

  She smirked. “Sounds like we’re both country songs waiting to happen.”

  I laughed dryly. “Maybe we should cut an album.”

  Bringing her beer bottle up to her lips, Amy said, “Oh, honey, you haven’t heard me sing. I wouldn’t even need the depressing lyrics to make anybody cry.” She laughed, and though it was halfhearted, it was good to see her smile. Really good.

  “That bad, huh?” I asked as I picked up my own beer.

  She nodded, and the mischievous smile was a relief—a spine-tingling relief—even though her eyes didn’t reflect it with much enthusiasm. “Let’s just say no one ever twists my arm to go do karaoke.”

  “Well, I won’t twist your arm for it either,” I said. “I hate karaoke.”

  “Me too.” She put her beer down and eyed me like she had a thought she wasn’t sure about speaking.

  “Something on your mind?” I asked before taking a long, cold swallow of beer.

  “Just curious about something.” She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands beneath her chin. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  “How long?” I looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, let’s see. Their daughter will be four next month, so…” I looked at Amy. “About four and a half years.”

  Amy’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Extra ouch.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I exhaled hard. “Man, I can’t believe it’s been that long. Four and a half years.” I whistled. “Time flies.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Amy folded her hands on top of the placemat. “So, when you were married, were you happy? Before things fell apart?”

  I tapped my fingers on my beer bottle and looked at the table between us. It had been ages since I’d thought back to my marriage with anything other than bitterness, and now Amy’s question gave me pause. For the first time in a long time, I let the film reel of memories play back while I watched with an objective eye, and then I finally spoke.

  “I think we were, for a while. The first couple of years, anyway. Then we just sort of drifted apart.” I absently ran my finger through the condensation on the side of the bottle. “And it took me a long time to realiz
e that had happened.” I sighed. “It was only later I found out that by the time I’d figured it out and tried to do something about it, she’d already been seeing him for a good six months.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Yeah. We tried to bury the hatchet, but…” I trailed off and took a swallow of beer to rinse the bitterness out of my mouth.

  “Sometimes there’s too much damage,” Amy said. “Better to just leave it buried.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Five years,” I said. “Damn. I’ve been divorced almost as long as I was married.”

  The waitress’s timing was amazing, because after that incredibly uplifting discussion, I was no closer to figuring out what I wanted to eat, but I damn sure needed another beer, and that was when she showed up. Apparently, Amy needed one too.

  Once we were alone again, Amy worked at the label on her mostly empty bottle. “So have you dated much since then?” She paused, color rushing into her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pry. Just…trying to get the hang of the idea of not being attached anymore. It’s kind of weird.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. And to answer your question, not really.” I laughed humorlessly. “This town isn’t exactly teeming with single women. And…I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to take some time to catch my breath, regroup and go from there. So I focused on the horses.” I paused, looking at—more like through—the menu in front of me. “Then I woke up one morning and realized it’s been four and a half years.”

  “I can relate.”

  I met her eyes. “How so?”

  “I knew I needed to get out of my marriage.” She watched her thumb curl the edge of her paper placemat. “But I kept telling myself to hang in there a little longer until I got all my ducks in a row.” Slowly tearing off the edge of the placemat, she sighed. “Until I woke up one morning and realized over a decade had passed and I was no closer to lining up any ducks than I was back then.”

  “I guess time flies when you’re having miserable doubts,” I muttered.

  “Yes. Yes, it fucking does.”

  Our fresh beers arrived, and we both dove in. Well, in between finally giving the waitress our orders for dinner. Not that I was particularly hungry, but if this was going to be a multi-beer night, I needed to eat something, so we both ordered steaks.