“On purpose?” LouEllen asked, a crease of worry appearing between her eyes.
“No, no. Just accidentally. Tonight, I pulled into Judy’s, and he had Jared buckled in—correctly, I will say—and was holding a beer in his hand, looking at it like … well, honestly, like he used to look at me. Like salvation.”
“Had he been drinking?”
“No. He was sober.”
“But you don’t know if he’ll stay that way.”
“I wish he would,” Lucy said, taking a sip of her tea. “You know, everyone talks all kinds of shit about the Taylors, especially Jeptha, but when he’s sober, he’s the nicest guy I know. Even drunk, he’s not mean or violent. Just forgetful and drunk.”
“I never said he was a bad guy. And I’ve seen he loves you. There’s no question.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“It’s something. But is it enough? Especially since …” LouEllen’s voice trailed off.
“Since what?”
“Since it’s never been entirely clear to me that you feel the same way.”
Lucy took a sip of tea; she wished LouEllen couldn’t see the tears slipping down her cheeks. She knew her love for Jeptha wasn’t as strong as his was for her, but she did love him. Not in that soul-crushing way she loved Jared, but it was there. LouEllen waited.
“I want Jared to have a family. I want him to have what I didn’t.”
LouEllen put her hands over Lucy’s hands, still cupped around her tea. “I know, Lucy. I do. I just worry that if you keep going like this, you’re going to end up with no family at all.”
THE NEXT MORNING, after a full night’s sleep, Lucy got up and made coffee. She sat at the table in her place from last night and mulled her choices. Rested and relaxed, her pride had stolen back in a little. Plus, she knew she did love Jeptha still.
“You’re going?” LouEllen said from the doorway, watching as Lucy put a babbling, happy Jared into his car seat.
“Yeah, we’ve got to get home.”
Lucy could see the emotions warring on LouEllen’s face. She didn’t say anything as Lucy tightened the straps around Jared and picked up some extra diapers. Finally, everything was ready. Lucy settled the handle of the car seat in the crook of her elbow.
“He’s our family,” Lucy said. “He deserves one more chance.”
LouEllen nodded. “I know. But I want you to know that you are always welcome here. I’m your family too.”
21
JEPTHA DOUBTED THERE WAS a man alive who had wrestled as hard or as long as he had with that one beer. Here it was, the morning after Lucy had driven off with Jared, and Jeptha still had that same can next to him, hot from holding it close all night long. He hadn’t opened it, but neither could he put it down. His hand jittered so much that it was impossible to read anything beyond the large silver Bud Light on the side, and even that moved too much to make it easy reading. After Lucy had driven off, he’d sat on the hood of his car, desperate with longing—for Lucy to believe him, to have her back, to drink the beer in his hand, to be a better man, about whom there would never be a question of whether he was going to drink and drive with his baby in tow. He drove home and sat on the couch as darkness fell, holding the beer until he’d finally fallen into bed and pulled the covers over himself. He woke up early, feeling like the bottom of someone’s shoe—he hurt more after twenty-four hours sober than he ever had with a hangover. The pain was immense and all-consuming. He knew he could stop it in five minutes with that piss-warm beer in his hand, but if he did, he’d be living up to Lucy’s fears. He’d be the man she saw in the parking lot—and Jeptha still believed there was a chance, even if it was no larger than the ball of lint in his pocket, that he might not be.
He heard the trailer door open, and the sound of Jared’s voice came babbling down the hall. Jeptha threw the beer under the bed and ran to the door.
“You came home,” he said, helping her with her bag and the car seat.
“For now,” Lucy said, looking him up and down. He suddenly wished he had changed clothes. He must look something awful. Her eyes rested on his hands, tremoring as he held her bag.
“You been drinking?”
“Last one I had was the night before last.”
“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked. He thought he heard a glimmer of concern in her voice.
“Well, I’m not drunk.”
“You’re shaking.”
“For a couple days, probably. Got the DTs a little.”
“You gonna be all right?” she asked.
“I’m trying.”
Lucy bit her lip and stared at him. He was flooded with love for her and threw up a prayer to God to help him keep her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to drink that beer yesterday. I promise.”
She sighed loudly, that one lone piece of hair that never stayed back in her bun puffing out with her breath, then nodded like she’d decided something. “I want us to be a family, Jeptha. To be there for each other and for Jared. But I can’t do that if you’re drunk. It’s got to stop. You’ve got to choose. Us or the alcohol. Otherwise, I will.”
“You. Jared. Us,” he rushed to say. “Always.”
“I mean it, Jeptha. This is it. Your last chance.”
“I know. I’m stopping. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Lucy said. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, fiddling with the edges of the seams. “I thought … I thought I might take Jared to the playground, if you want to come.”
He smiled then, his relief at her forgiveness overwhelming his headache for a moment.
EVERY TIME JEPTHA gave Jared a push in the baby swing, his son let out a gurgle of laughter that eased the pain Jeptha felt in every inch of his body. So he pushed him for thirty minutes while Lucy sat on the mulch nearby, laughing at Jared’s face and taking pictures.
“Does he usually swing this long?” Jeptha asked.
“I don’t get to bring him here much. Marla probably knows better,” she said. Jeptha saw her jaw tighten. He hated that Marla knew something about their baby that neither he nor Lucy did.
“We did all right yesterday,” Jeptha said. “You could leave him with me some.” He was forgetting for a moment how the day had ended. “Or not yet.”
The look Lucy gave him reminded him of the one from the hospital—weary, full of pity, lacking any hope at all. “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s see how it goes.”
He couldn’t blame her. Why would she trust him? He had one chance left to make this right, to get her back. Cody and Judy were right. He had to stop drinking—or else he was going to ruin not only his life, but Lucy’s too. He’d never expected much of one for himself, but he couldn’t abide being the cause of that for Lucy and Jared. In morning light that seemed harsher for not having seen it in months, he said to her, “I’m going to stop. I got to get through these next couple days, but I’m going to stop. Get myself together. Be there for y’all.”
Lucy was quiet for a minute, watching Jared laugh in his swing. Finally, she said, “I hope so, Jeptha.”
LUCY TOOK JARED back over to LouEllen’s when she left for Judy’s at 1:00, and Jeptha was on his own. He grabbed the beer under the bed and poured it out, resolute in his desire to do what he’d promised Lucy. He found a handle of whiskey in the cabinet and poured it down the sink. Then he sat on the couch, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself until it was time to show up at Judy’s for his gig at 8:00.
He went to the bathroom then sat back down on the couch. He opened the fridge, shut it, and wished for a drink. He turned on the TV and quickly turned it off. He found himself looking around for Crystal Gayle, even though he knew she was gone. He missed her every day but never more so than today. She had always been good company on detox days, rubbing up against him and barking at him when he started looking through cabinets for stray bottles of alcohol. There wasn’t any more in the house, but he knew he’d be scrambling for it in a few hours, unable to accept the truth. Jeptha stood up again a
nd almost fell over with a wave of nausea. The kitchen was closer than the bathroom, and he bolted toward it, heaving over the sink. He hadn’t had a drink in thirty-six hours, but he still vomited alcohol somehow, or at least something that tasted like it.
After he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked out over the farm. It was a raw day, the trees bare and the grass dulled to a wintry green brown from the frost every morning. The fields were bare too. They’d harvested the tobacco months back and, once again, Bobby was assuring him they’d get almost nothing for it. This year, though, even he could acknowledge he hadn’t done much to help. He’d shown up late and hungover to the point of almost drunk on workdays and needed a six-pack of beer to steady his hands enough to hold the knife. Bobby had outstripped him by a mile.
Jeptha looked out across the road, to the farm that Cody had mentioned yesterday. His friend was right; the pot idea was stupid. Jeptha knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. The farm across the road was perfect, beautiful, river-bottom land—land where a man could plant a crop big enough and healthy enough to make a name for himself. Land so good he could rewrite his story, his reputation. Jeptha sighed. The chances of him being able to own it were nothing. He rubbed at his head, thinking if he could get rid of this headache, he might have a chance of making it through today. He didn’t have any business looking any further ahead than that.
When Jeptha looked up, he saw Bobby struggling over the fence across the road.
“What the hell?” Jeptha said out loud.
Then Deanna came up after him, her face creased with displeasure and her pinkies up in the air as she pushed down the barbwire, like she was the queen out inspecting Tennessee tobacco land. Jeptha had always heard DTs could cause hallucinations, but this was something else. He rubbed his eyes. No, there they were, both of them checking for cars before heading across the road.
He eased himself down the stairs, his stomach tumbling with the movement, and walked down the driveway to them.
“What are y’all doing over at the Gibsons’ place?” he asked. He was fighting against a rising tide of anger on top of the urge to throw up again. He’d been suspecting it for years, but now he knew. These two, who were supposed to be his family, were screwing him.
They looked up nervously. Deanna was the first to recover. She’d always been the better liar. “Just checking it out—hear it’s gonna sell soon.”
“Oh yeah, who’d you hear that from?” Jeptha asked.
“Just people talking,” she said, taking him in from head to toe. “Damn, Jeptha, what happened to you? You look like hell, purely wrung out.”
“It’s none of your concern. Bobby, what’s going on?”
His brother had never mastered Deanna’s ease with lying, and he was staring at the ground, his hands rooting around in his pockets. Bobby glanced up at Jeptha briefly and then back down. “Just looking,” he said.
“Looking my ass,” Jeptha said. The anger flooding through his body was like a miracle cure—his headache disappeared, and his stomach tightened up into a ball of hate that he was sure would never go away. “What. Are. You. Doing. Over. There?”
He saw Bobby’s eyes widen briefly, and even Deanna’s posture faltered for a moment. She started to talk, but Jeptha was focused on Bobby, whose lips were moving with sound so quiet Jeptha had to walk right up to him before he heard it. “It ain’t the Gibsons’. We bought it.”
“You what!” Jeptha yelled. He pushed Bobby before he even thought about it. Bobby shuffled back two feet and held his hands up.
“Hey now. Don’t do that,” he said.
“Don’t do what? Don’t be pissed y’all went behind my back again, bought land I ought to be a part of again? Don’t be pissed y’all are trying to take away this farm from me? Take away everything I’ve ever had?” Jeptha yelled.
“Please, Jeptha,” Deanna sneered. “It ain’t like you ever had this. Like you could of done anything even if we’d told you.”
Jeptha’s fist tightened—he hadn’t hit his sister since he was ten, but God, he’d never wanted to more. He spoke through lips so tight his voice hissed.
“Deanna, you better stop talking right now. Nothing would give me more pleasure than knocking your teeth in, so I’d shut up if I was you.”
She took a step back.
“I can’t believe you did this, Bobby. Her, I’d believe it of, but you—again?” Jeptha shook his head and spit on the ground. “You’re no brother of mine.”
He strode back to his trailer. There was nothing left to say. He slammed up the steps, grabbed his hunting gear out of the Tupperware bin where he stored it, and rooted in the closet through a mass of coats until his hands closed on the vinyl of his rifle case. He threw it all in the car and slammed on the gas, leaving Bobby and Deanna in a cloud of gravel dust.
HE WAS AT the store in ten minutes flat. He sat in the car, breathing like a bull in a fight, thinking of his brother and sister. He couldn’t believe they’d done this, not even talked to him about it beforehand or even seen if he might be able to go in with them. He thought of the bank balance he’d seen earlier in the week: $113. He could barely buy food with that. How could they afford to buy that land? They worked the same job he did, split the same money.
“Split the same money,” he whispered to himself. Unless they weren’t splitting it at all—unless those no-good, lowlife siblings of his were keeping his hard-earned money for themselves. That would explain how little he’d been getting these years and how Bobby could afford to buy more land. That would explain Deanna’s new car. That would explain why his life was so goddamn shitty. In that moment, Jeptha knew it to be true. They’d been stealing from him all this time, and he’d been too dumb, or drunk, or both, to notice. But not anymore. He’d show them. They had it coming, and Jeptha aimed to give it to them.
Jeptha tightened his grip—one hand on his gun, the other turning the steering wheel back toward his farm. He pressed down on the gas, reveling in the throaty, murderous sound of the engine, and drove back out to the entrance of the parking lot of the store. Whatever happened to Deanna and Bobby, they deserved every bit of it. You don’t steal money from a man, and you certainly don’t steal land from a man. They had messed with the wrong Taylor this time.
Jeptha waited for a break in the cars to come, his anger growing with each passing vehicle. Finally, too impatient to wait, he edged out, but a harried-looking mom driving a minivan stood on her brakes, french fries flying through the air from the back seat, before coming to a stop two inches from his car. He saw the faces of two of her kids—quiet and terrified at the near-miss accident.
Lucy, Jeptha thought. Jared.
He edged his car backward and closed his eyes. He pictured Jared on the swings and Lucy smiling up at him. He took his hands off his gun and placed them in his lap. He couldn’t go home now—mad as he was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he was within a half mile of his brother and sister. It was too dangerous a risk.
Anger coursed through him, so vivid his hands shook, although Jeptha couldn’t tell if his shakes were due to that or not having anything to drink. What he wanted, next to making his brother and sister hurt like they’d been hurting him all his life, was a drink. He pictured Lucy’s face again, telling him that he had to choose between her and Jared or alcohol. But he’d already made his tough choice for the day—and it wasn’t between her and alcohol, but between her and going to jail for trying to kill his siblings. This kind of anger—the murdering kind—could only be quieted by alcohol. One last drink to get him through today, and then he’d quit for good. Lucy would understand, he told himself as he walked into the store, when she knew what Bobby and Deanna had done—how they’d taken all his and Lucy’s money and their land, depriving them of the opportunity to raise their son in the way they wanted. Lucy would get it. She wouldn’t kick him out for that. She’d be mad, sure, but she’d give him another chance.
Three minutes later, he was
back, a case of cold beer beside him, the end of the box open before he left the parking lot. He drank two on his way to Delnor’s, almost causing a wreck in the middle of the first one when he looked up at the sky in praise of how delicious alcoholic salvation tasted.
He hadn’t asked Delnor for permission to hunt today, but he really didn’t give a shit. Besides, Delnor didn’t care none. He called Cody and said, “I’m hunting. Come over.” He pulled on his bibs and orange vest, snugged a hat around his head, and tucked the case of beer under one arm and the gun under the other.
It was good to be walking, out in the sunshine, the air cool on his face. The two beers had set him back to rights, and all he had to focus on was his anger. Every once in a while Lucy’s face would swim up, and he’d think of the promise he’d made to her earlier, but then he’d push it away and walk faster into the woods. The tree where he and Cody had built their stand stood on the edge of an oak grove in the middle of a hill. It gave them a clear view up or down a line of wild grass that mounded up high against the tree line, giving the deer some ground cover as they poked around for acorns. It had been a prime spot for years. He hauled his beer up the 2x4s nailed into the tree trunk like a ladder and then came back down for his gun and gloves. He settled himself on a milk crate, quickly knocked back two more beers, and took up his rifle.
An hour later, he heard a sound and brought his gun to his shoulder, his scope sighted on the bottom of the hill before realizing it was Cody, huffing a gun and a cooler up with him.
“Thought you was gonna shoot me,” Cody said, his breath straining as he pulled himself up the ladder.
“Sorry.”
“You look pissed. Could see it all the way down the hill,” Cody said, looking down at the beer cans at Jeptha’s feet. “Good day, huh?”
“Don’t you start.”
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