“Becky, come on, stop. We can talk about this later. Come on. This isn’t the place.” Tucker was holding out his hand to her, but she shook her head. His eyes flashed her a familiar warning that she chose to ignore.
“Where is the right place, then? This is his fucking funeral, isn’t it? Isn’t this where we’re supposed to remember him? Or are we only supposed to remember him through rose-colored glasses? Mama, you didn’t want Robbie showing up today, but I’m telling you he knew Mark better than any of the rest of us ever did!” When Tucker’s hand dropped, and he took a step towards her, she moved fast, speaking over her shoulder as she walked, “No, I’m sorry! It’s true! And I’ve had it! I’m done.” She grabbed her purse and her mother’s car keys and ran for the door.
“Rebecca! Dammit, get back here!” Tucker’s voice called.
“Tucker, let her go!” Joyce advised.
The front door slamming behind her, was Becky’s only answer.
Chapter Nine
At least, Becky wasn’t crying. She may have caused a scene back at the burial, and especially at her mother’s house. And she might be angry, so angry that if her hands weren’t still gripping the steering wheel despite having the car in park, they would have been shaking. And she was scared, for sure, of what was going to happen with her and Tucker. She was confused, too – the way she was used to seeing her brother had a fresh tear in it, like a page in an old book, and now it was as if she didn’t recognize the material anymore; she didn’t know exactly what to do with her mixed-up emotions where Mark was concerned.
But, at least, she wasn’t crying.
Though, what exactly she was doing sitting in front of the Farmhouse Tavern and Bar, for the first time in her life, she didn’t know.
She’d been driving one minute, talking out loud to herself and thumping the steering wheel to emphasize the good points in the argument she was having with herself, and the next minute, she was in the parking lot of the bar she knew Mark had frequented most, of all others in town.
Oddly, it wasn’t a rough bar. It was a country-style place that served burgers and other casual fare along with a full drink menu. She only knew that about it from accounts from friends and Tucker; she had never set one foot inside.
Becky hadn’t had a single drink in her life. Not one. Ever.
She’d been teased mercilessly in college for it. But growing up in a house with someone else who was at the mercy of addictions to drugs and alcohol made her repulsed by the idea of drinking and drugs herself, even on a casual basis. Just the smell of alcohol on someone else’s breath made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Plus, in the back of her mind was always the idea of what if…? What if, deep down, she was just as easily enthralled by the temporary escape of the bottle or of drugs? What if she became her brother?
Now, for some reason that she didn’t understand, she found herself sitting there in front of that bar, staring at the front entrance, wanting to go inside.
Her hands shook when she finally took them from the wheel. She wrestled the keys from the ignition and opened the door, stepping from the front seat onto shaky legs. She closed the door behind her with more force than was necessary. Her legs felt as supportive as columns of water, as she walked what seemed like miles to the entrance of the Farmhouse.
The inside was spartan, like a farmhouse would have really been. Her eyes took in a lot of warm wood. Rock and Roll played from a jukebox over by a grouping of three pool tables. There was a smattering of tables and a couple of booths along one wall, and of course, the long bar itself was lined by bar stools where patrons could also sit. A couple of TVs, their sound on mute, showed different sports channels for those who were interested.
It was early afternoon and so far, not yet very busy inside. Unsure of herself, Becky hesitated inside the door, wondering whether to go to a table, booth, or the bar itself. After a moment, she gravitated to the bar, an inner voice telling her she wasn’t here to try out their spicy wings or nachos.
The bartender looked her over closely. He looked familiar to her. He knows who I am, she realized, as she slipped onto a stool. I wonder if he knows they just put my brother in the ground only two hours ago?
“What can I get for you, Miss?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked.
Becky frowned at this. She hadn’t considered until now what to order. Of course, she’d heard different drink names before… martinis, margaritas, wine, beer, shots… but what should she ask for?
The bartender was staring at her, obviously puzzled at how long it was taking her to decide.
“How about a Strawberry Daiquiri?” she ventured. She remembered her roommate in college always drinking those and thought maybe she might be able to handle the taste of it.
He grinned and thumped the bar in front of her. “Coming right up.”
* * * *
“I shouldn’t have let her go off like that on her own,” Tucker lamented, throwing a pile of used paper plates into the trash. “God, if she gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Shh, now, stop all that,” Joyce admonished. “She won’t get hurt. She’s a big girl. And smart. She knows enough to stop and call, if she needs help, or if she just needs time to collect herself before she comes home. She’ll be fine.”
Tucker sighed. She’ll be fine, all right, he thought. At least, until I get my hands on her little butt tonight…
“I’m sorry, Joyce,” he said, crossing the room and pulling the older woman away from her cleaning to give her a brief hug. “I’m really sorry. About Mark. And about all that happened today with Becky.”
Joyce made a dismissive sound and returned his embrace. “God has a plan for us all, honey. Now don’t get too worked up, huh?” She looked up into his face and patted his cheek. “Trust me, it’ll all work out in the end.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tucker returned to cleaning up, but his mind was still miles away, wondering where in the world Rebecca Atlee was at that very moment.
* * * *
“Give me another!” Becky crowed, thumping the wooden bar in front of her with the base of the glass she’d just drained. “Mmm-mmm, my friend. Yummy! Yummy!”
Dan, the barkeep, eyed the pretty redhead warily. This would be her fourth Strawberry Daiquiri in twenty minutes; she was draining them as if she was dehydrated and abandoned in the desert! And she was already pretty wasted; she couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life! Come to think of it, he’d never seen her in here before when she’d lived here, and he’d heard rumors that she didn’t drink. He hesitated to give her another one, especially knowing who she was and just how big her boyfriend was.
“All right, Miss. Give me two shakes.”
She made a gun of her forefinger and thumb, pointed it at him and “shot” him. “Ya got it.”
Grinning awkwardly, he moved to the other end of the long bar where he started to prepare her drink. He drew his cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, cupped it in the hand furthest from her line of sight, and called information, sending a furtive glance her way as he did so.
A few moments later, he was patched through to Joyce Atlee’s home phone line.
Becky’s big boyfriend, Tucker Rhodes, picked up on the second ring. Dan knew it was him because he didn’t say hello, but instead said, “Becky, is that you? Where are you?”
“She’s here at the Farmhouse Tavern, man,” Dan interrupted. “This is the bartender. This Tucker?”
There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, “Yeah.”
“Well, man, I think you better get down here, ‘cause she’s drinking way too much. She’s only drinking Daiquiris, but I’m making her fourth one right now, and she only walked in here like a half hour ago. She’s already slurring her words. I’m gonna make this one a virgin and try to get her keys from her, dude, but…”
“I’m on my way,” Tucker interrupted. “Do not let her leave. You hear me?”
“No, sir.”
The dial tone shouted in Dan’s ear, and
he turned with Becky’s finished drink in his hand. She was grinning at him, swinging her legs where they dangled from the stool, waiting for him with one arm reaching out for her drink.
* * * *
When Tucker raced inside the Farmhouse Tavern fifteen minutes later, Becky was still sitting at the bar, draining the last of her drink and bumping shoulders playfully with a nerdy businessman who sat beside her, looking uncomfortable and trapped.
Tucker took a moment and a silent breath of relief at finding her in one piece. He briefly met the eyes of the guy behind the bar, whom he recognized from various times he had been in here before, himself. He gave the man an approving nod, received one back, and centered his attention back on Becky.
“Have you tried these, Ned?” Becky was asking the nerd, indicating her now-empty glass, and slurring the ‘s’ in ‘these.’ “Strawberry Daiquiris?” She giggled. “Yummy.” She hiccupped and pointed at him crookedly. “You oughtta get one.”
“Rebecca.”
Becky glanced over her shoulder at him as if he’d been there all along instead of having just showed up. “Oh,” she turned back around and looked for Dan. “It’s you.”
“Yep, sugar, it’s me. And you’re coming home with me. You’ve obviously had enough.”
She shot him a dark glare. The nerd took one good look at Tucker and the heated exchange going on between him and Becky and quietly slipped away down the line of bar stools.
“Says who?” she wanted to know, and her tone suggested that she found the idea ludicrous.
“Says me - and the bartender. He called me.”
Becky’s eyes grew as round as saucers, as she turned an accusing glare to Dan. “Dan! I thought we were friends!”
“We are, Miss Becky,” he said, not missing a beat. “That’s why I didn’t want you doing something you’d regret in the morning.”
She pouted and turned her back to the barkeep. “Traitor.”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “Come on, Red. Enough’s enough. I’ve had all I’m about to put up with from you today. So get your purse, get your keys, and let’s go. I’ll drive you home. We’ll come back for my truck in the morning, after we deal with your behavior from today.”
Sullenly handing over her keys as Dan passed them over to her from behind the counter, Becky challenged, “I thought you said we were going to “deal” with that tonight.”
“You’re obviously not in any shape to remember what I have to say, or anything else. So, I’m not about to waste my energy tonight. It can wait until tomorrow morning when you have your wits about you again. I want your full, undivided attention.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then you can just come back here in another hour or so an’ pick me up then, cause I’m not ready to leave yet.” Becky banged her glass on the bar, oblivious to the curious looks they were receiving from others in the room. “Dan, bring me another one!”
“You’re not getting the picture here, sugar,” Tucker said through gritted teeth. “Either you come with me now, or I will carry you out of here. One way or the other. Your choice.”
Becky made an impolite sound of derision. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Whatever.”
“Don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll have to show you.”
A second later, she was upside down over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, her knee-length black skirt riding up her black panty-hosed legs, and Tucker was finally starting off towards the exit sign with her.
“Told you so,” he said under his breath.
“Oh boy, I don’t feel so good.”
“So help me, woman, don’t you dare puke down my back…”
“Ahh, why’d you have to go and mention puke…?”
A second later, she was unceremoniously dumped off his shoulder and back onto her unsteady feet, and she promptly ran to the bushes and threw up.
When she re-emerged, hugging herself around the waist, shivering in the cold without her coat, and not meeting Tucker’s eyes, she said, “I’m ready to leave now.”
Tucker sighed, looking her over with sad eyes. “Yeah, I bet you are.” He ushered her into the passenger side of her mother’s car and closed the door. He paused outside in the chilly air to place a fast call to Joyce, letting her know that Becky was okay and that he was taking her back to his place. He left out the details of just how drunk she was; he didn’t want her mother to worry, and he didn’t think tonight’s little bender would be repeated; not if he had anything to do about it.
“Just don’t…” Becky warned him right off the bat, once he had joined her inside the car. He glanced at her questioningly, one eyebrow raised when she paused. “Just don’t lecture me, okay?” She said the word ‘lecture’ like it was a dirty word. “I’m a big girl. I can have a drink, if I want one.”
“One drink probably wouldn’t have been a problem,” he commented dryly. “Now, ten, that’s another story…”
Becky pointed at him accusingly. “See! That right there! That’s what I mean! You’re lecturing!”
He glared at her sideways, as he pulled the car out of its parking space. “You haven’t heard anything yet.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Go on an’ get it over with.”
“Nope. Not ‘till tomorrow when you’re good and sober. I want your complete attention for my lecture and for the spankings I have planned for you.”
“Oh, yeah, so you said.” Now he knew just how drunk Becky really was. Normally, she would have gone ballistic when she realized she was in store for more than one spanking – but she hadn’t even noticed that was what he had just said to her. “Well, that is jus’ fine with me, jus’ take me home, then.”
Tucker shook his head, as she stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed disdainfully. His hand itched. Soon, he cautioned himself. Very soon, he would deal with her…
* * * *
Not five minutes after getting inside the house, Becky was in the bathroom with her head in the toilet.
Silently, Tucker found a scrunchie in her toiletry bag and pulled her hair back from her face. He wet a washcloth and placed it over the sink nearest to where she sat, hunched over the throne, dry heaving.
“Go away,” she demanded, casting him an angry look.
“I’m just trying to help you.”
“I don’t want you here.” A fresh spell of heaves began, and Becky clutched her stomach and her head at the same time. She moaned. “Just leave me alone.”
Tucker watched her for a few more moments, unsure about what he should do. He didn’t want to leave her by herself when she was sick, but she plainly didn’t want him here. He wondered if part of the reason for that was because she was embarrassed at the results her bad behavior had wrought upon her, and if that was the case, he was glad because it served her right. If his being here was embarrassing her, then he was damn tempted to stay.
“Get out, Tucker!”
With a reluctant sigh, Tucker held up his hands in defeat and backed out of his bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stayed there, right behind the door on the other side, though, just in case she needed him. She could tell him she wanted him to go all she wanted; he didn’t have to listen. She’d done it before, and he’d been dumb enough to do what she wanted; this time would be different.
Minutes passed. Eventually, the retching stopped. It was quiet for a while inside the bathroom. He heard her shifting, running the water, brushing her teeth. Then a sob broke the silence and stabbed his heart in half.
As that one sob opened a floodgate of tears, Tucker swallowed back on the lump in his throat and resisted the urge to fling the door open and pull Becky into his arms. She’d told him to get out. She didn’t want him to see her falling apart like this.
Maybe this was what she needed: To get all these emotions out without his help. Maybe this would be healing for her.
He hoped so. It was agonizing for him to stand there and listen to her and not offer her any comfort.
He refused to go in to her when she’d so fervently told him to leave. But, he also refused to leave her completely alone upstairs.
So, he sat down on the floor across from the bathroom door, and he waited. When he heard her start to open the door, much later, he jumped to his feet and pretended to be coming down the hall just then to check on her.
“Have you been out here this whole time?” Becky asked suspiciously, as she opened the door and found him standing there.
“No.” He gestured back towards his bedroom. “I was on the phone with your mom.”
“Oh.” Becky nodded. “I guess I’d better call her, too.”
“It can wait ‘till the morning.”
“Okay. Good. Cause I’d kind of like to go to sleep now.”
“Good idea.”
She didn’t snap at him to get lost when he followed her into the bedroom. She even let him help her get into her pajamas. Then she lay down on the bed in a tight little ball, and he drew the covers up over her.
“You’re not kicking me out of my own bed, Red,” he told her, shucking out of his funeral clothes. “My bathroom, maybe, but not my own bed, too.”
She didn’t argue, or pull away, when he came into bed with her. He cuddled her from behind, and Spirit, aware as all animals are of human emotions, wandered in and joined them, settling on the rug under the bed.
“When is the room going to stop spinning?” Becky wondered out loud.
Tucker chuckled, and the sound had a fragile quality to it, like he might start weeping instead at any moment. He was just so relieved to hear her say something lighthearted again after hearing her sob for so long like that. He stroked her red hair in the moonlight and said, “Don’t worry, Red. It will. I promise. Now, try to sleep, baby. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
You Can Go Home Again Page 11