She appears in the doorway, a wash of lamplight catching the soft folds of her faded dressing gown. The once-pink robe, now somewhere between blush and beige, tied unevenly at her waist. Her hair’s piled up in a messy knot that’s probably been slept on already tonight. She squints past the television’s glow, taking in the shattered glass glinting on the floor, the streak of bourbon dripping slowly down the wall, and finally me.
“Well…” Her voice is scratchy with sleep but full of that familiar, unimpressed affection. “That’s one way to redecorate.”
I huff out something that wants to be a laugh and isn’t.
“Sorry, Grandma,” I mumble, dragging my hands down my face, leaving the skin there hot and tight.
She shuffles further into the room and lowers herself onto the couch beside me with a little grunt, joints protesting. She smooths her robe over her knees, then tips her head, studying me like she’s reading a book she’s already memorized but still loves.
“Tell you what.” Her eyes drift to the broken bottle, “that wall’s seen more drama than a daytime soap. Your daddy once threw a horseshoe clean through it durin’ lambing season. Didn’t like what the vet had to say about one of the ewes. Men do get real creative with their temper when they’re tired and hurt and too proud to admit it.”
I shake my head, lips tugging up despite everything.
“Did I wake you?” The guilt leaks into my voice before I can stop it.
“Baby, at my age, I sleep like a cat.” She pats my knee. “Little bits here and there. Besides, I heard the crash and figured either you killed a raccoon in the kitchen or you were havin’ feelings again.”
That earns a real, if small, huff from my chest. “Guess it’s the latter.” My eyes drag back to the TV where animage of Noah and Bradley appears in the corner of the screen, some announcer calling them country’s golden couple.
Grandma follows my gaze, her eyes narrowing just a touch.
“You been watchin’ her show.” It’s not really a question.
“Accidentally,” I lie.
Her lips twitch. “Mm-hmm. Thought so.”
For a while, we just sit there, the sound of the awards show buzzing in the background, neither of us saying anything. My head throbs. My heart still pounds. The shards on the floor glitter like they’re mocking me.
“You’re unravelin’, Rhett,” Grandma Jo states, not unkindly. “It’s startin’ to show ’round the edges.”
I swallow, throat rough. “Feels like it,” I admit, my voice low, the words made of splinters.
She leans back, fingers laced loosely over her stomach, eyes fixed on the television. Noah flashes across the screen again in a replay of her performance, eyes bright, cheeks damp.
“Your grandpap used to get a similar look.” After a long moment, she sighs. “Right before everything in his life changed.”
I glance at her, brow furrowing. “What look?”
She turns her head, studies me with those sharp, clear eyes of hers. “Like a man who’s standin’ on the edge of achoice he’s been puttin’ off for too long.” Her hand rests on my thigh. “Like he finally realized nobody was comin’ to make it for him.”
Something unsettles deep inside my chest, like loose gravel shifting under a boot. “What happened?” I quiz, even though part of me isn’t sure I want to know.
Her mouth crooks at one corner, a sad sort of smile. “You ever hear the real story of how I met your pap?”
I blink at her. “You told me you met at church.”
She snorts, the sound rough and fond. “Oh, honey. I said therewasa church.”
That pulls my attention all the way from the screen. I turn toward her, curiosity cutting through the fog in my head.
“I was eighteen,” she begins, eyes drifting somewhere beyond the room, beyond the television, beyond the present. “Too naive to know better and too stubborn to admit I was scared. My daddy—God rest his miserable soul—was a weak man. Weak men make dangerous choices when bills pile up and liquor runs low.” She draws in a breath, shoulders rising and falling under the thin robe. “He owed money to the wrong people.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue. “Cards, dice, bottles… you name it. And when the debt came due, he didn’t have the guts to pay it himself. So he offered somethin’ he still had.” Her eyes flick briefly to mine.
“He offered you?”
She nods, no hesitation, no flinch. “Sold his only daughter to a man twice her age with a pocket full of cash and a temper that soured milk.” Her brow raises with a matter-of-fact arch. “Said marryin’ me off would wipe his slate clean. Called it my duty. Said I was ‘savin’ the family.’”
My hands curl into fists against my knees.
