He’s been so worried over the past six months, it’s so nice to see him smiling and letting go.
Grabbing onto my thighs, he hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist while he carries me over to the bar. He carefully sets me on the bar, waving the bartender over.
“We’re gonna need the darkest bottle of tequila you have,” he tells the guy.
It doesn’t take more than two minutes for a fresh bottle of añejo to be set down on the bar next to me. I turn toward him, gripping the edge of my hat, and I dip my head to him, throwing a thick accent into my voice. “Thank ya, barkeep. Mighty kind o’ ya.” Eric roars out a laugh so deep that it makes his body fold in half, his hand braced on my knee. “You gave me too much power,” I laugh. “I’m drunk on the hat.”
Eric presses his nose to mine, lifting the hat from my head. “You’re somethin’, Sugar,” he tells me just before pressing a bruising kiss to my lips.
Picking up the bottle of tequila, he cracks the lid open and pulls a sip of it into his mouth before pouring a shot into mine.
So far, this is shaping up to be an excellent trip.
FORTY
Davis
Waking up in my old room feels weird; it’s still set up in here like eighteen-year-old Davis lives in this room, minus the stock of condoms and skin mags. All of my posters are still up on the walls, a few of my old roper boots are still in the dark wood armoire at the corner of the room, and the huge stereo I blew the speakers out of still sits on the floor next to it.
Place is a twenty-year-old time capsule.
I walk down the creaky stairs that Bill won’t let me have fixed, scratching at my bare chest while I listen to Sophia giggle in the kitchen. When I round the corner, I see her sitting at the table with Martina, the stack of coloring books and boxes of crayons from Sophia’s birthday present laid out in front of them while Bill works at the stove.
When I told her Martina had gotten worse, she did more research on it thanIdid. She pulled up article after article about what to say, how to act, activities to do with her to keep her grounded. When I came to visit six months ago, Martina was still lucid most of the time and knew who we were and what year it was. She could move on her own, use her hands better and was able to see more than five feet in front of her; but it’s already a lot worse than it was then. So much of her mind has been eaten away by disease at this point,and her body is barely hanging on. I regret not bringing Sophia with me sooner. I think I’ll probably regret that for the rest of my life.
“Do I smell what I think I smell?”
“If ya think ya smell Bisquick and bird,” Bill answers.
Sophia’s eyes snap over to us, questioning. “What is that?”
“Fried chicken and waffles,” I tell her. “Breakfast of the gods.”
Within half an hour, the three of us have plates stacked high with delicious fucking food. We sit together at the kitchen table that isn’t really meant for four adults to use, and I watch Sophia blend fucking perfectly into my family. Bill dishes out attitude and she dishes it right back to him, catching him off guard, which is pretty damn hard to do. She checks in on Martina every now and again, making sure she’s as included in the conversation as she wants to be or can be. She even makes Martinalaugha few times.
I’m fucking in awe of her.
•
We spend most of the day with Martina, watching her live in a timeline that either happened a long time ago or never existed, only brought into reality for her via hallucination. This is the woman who once chased a guy down the front porch, swinging a shovel at his head because he wouldn’t stop harassing her about buying her damn house. This is the woman who, at fifty-seven years old with a bum knee and a sweet tea in one hand, beat paramedics to her kid’s wreck and pulled him out of a mangled car without any help.
Seeing her lose her strength, her voice, her memories...it makes my damn stomach hurt. I have all the money in the fucking world and all the power that comes with it, and I can’t do anything but sit here and watch her die.
And I’m too damn chicken to stick around for that part.
I give Martina a kiss on the head and pull her blanket back up over her lap before heading out to Bill’s truck with Sophia. It’s a clunky old thing he’s had since long before I got here, and he refuses to trade it in or let me at least get him a backup in case this one goes belly up. I tried once, and he damn near flew out just to yell at me.
‘I’ve had that truck longer than you’ve been alive, boy!’He’d shouted at me through the phone.‘You leave it the hell alone!’
The inside of the truck is full of all things Bill: a couple extra tins of dip, a police scanner he knows damn well he’s not supposed to have, a spare holster and one of those tree-shaped air fresheners that hang from the rearview mirror. It’s about as worn as his favorite hat, so I don’t think it’s giving off any smell anymore. The leather on the steering wheel and the seats looks like it’s been kept up well, not missing or worn in any patches.
“We rode the bull last night, so are we shooting tonight?” Sophia asks while she fidgets with the radio dials. “Knock out all of the exciting nightlife activities before we go?”
“Iwasgonna show you where all the cool kids go to make out,” I tell her. “But we can shoot.”
“How many girls have you taken to this mystery spot?”
I flick my gaze to her while I adjust the gear shift. “You really want me to answer that?”
