The chill of the December night air hits my face when I leave Scarlet’s. “Another woman,” I mumble as I swing the truck door open. I get in, slam it shut, and pull out of the driveway.
I smack my hands against the steering wheel, trying to figure out where things went wrong. “Fuck!” I hit the steering wheel one more time.
I play everything that happened today back in my mind.
We moved cattle.
We found a dead heifer.
Casey and I dug a hole.
We buried the heifer.
Scarlet texted me about dinner.
I responded.
You lost it before Casey walked up to help you with the heifer. You didn’t hear him calling your name. You couldn’t stop the pain or the memories from the night Conroy was killed. You lost your way.
I pull into the driveway at home just as Calder is walking from the barn to the house.
“You did a decent job on the Lost Hill barn.”
I don’t answer as I make my way toward the house, still fuming.
“Hey, Cash. What the hell? You all right?”
“Leave it alone, Cal.” I make it inside before he has time to reach me.
I walk straight to the liquor cabinet, grab the Jack Daniel’s, and pour myself a shot.
I drink it down as Cal walks in behind me.
I pour another and take it down.
Cal watches me. “You want to talk about it?”
Between my shots, I say, “Nope.”
I take three more before I start to feel the ease and comfort that settle in my head, my chest. The memories play like a flip show—slow. I take a big, deep breath in, and finally, I relax.
But this is where everything starts.
I get relief from the alcohol.
I do things and say things that are hurtful.
And the vicious cycle begins all over again.
I drink the Jack Daniel’s until everything grows eerily silent and dark.