Page 25 of Whiskey Lullaby
And then he took off down the hill, the leaves crunching underneath hisboots.
“I’m never drinking this much again,” Bo grumbled, resting his head against myshoulder.
“Yeah, okay, buddy.” I patted his back trying not to inhale the stout smell of bourbon seeping fromhim.
A few minutes later, headlights from an approaching truck bobbled through the trees. The engine stuttered as it came to a stop. Noah hopped out, rounded the front of the truck, and grabbed Bo. “Come on,” he said, helping him to the door. Once he got him inside, he walked to the driver side and looked back at me. “You coming orwhat?”
I thumbed toward Daddy’s truck. “Iuh…”
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll get you out, but I thought getting him in a bed would be goodfirst.”
“Please…” Bo groaned from the passengerseat.
“Come on,” Noah grinned, “just gonna have to sit close to me.” Winking, he held open the driver’s side door and I climbed in with no choice but to straddle the gear shift.Great.
Bo’s head slammed against the window when Noah reversed the truck. “Ow.” Bo slowly looked over at me with crossed eyes. “There’s two of you,Nanner.”
Bless him.I patted his thigh. “Yep…”
“Alcohol’s thedevil.”
Noah chuckled. “A lot of things in life are thedevil.”
The truck bumped along the trail before coming to a clearing. At the far side of the field, I could just make out a tiny house with one lighton.
“How’s your grandma doing?” Iasked.
“Ah, she came in yesterday and had a shot of whiskey.” He shot a mischievous grin at me. “She’s finenow.”
“That’sgood.”
“Why are y’all shouting?” Bogroaned.
Noah nudged me with his elbow and laughed. “God, I remember being his age,” he whispered, the heat of his breath fanning over my neck. “I hated being ateenager.”
“For some reason, I don’t believethat.”
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you liked being ateenager?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “No responsibility wasnice.”
“Huh, I wouldn’t know. Let me guess,” he turned the wheel and the tires bumped onto the drive. “You were the popular girl, probably had boys climbing up the tree in front of your house knocking on yourwindow?”
“No,” I rolled my eyes. “I was the girl that studied instead ofpartying.”
“What, no boys climbing the trees? I find that hard tobelieve.”
“No boys in trees forme.”
A curious smirk danced over his lips before he parked the truck behind a powder blue Chrysler that looked older than me. The headlights shined over the hood, showing a thick, yellow layer ofpollen.
“You really should wash your grandma’s car,” I said with asmile.
“Well, one”—he cut the engine—“it was my grandpa’s. Two it doesn’t run, and three”—he opened the car door—“I washed it three days ago, even though it doesn’t run.” He smiled again, those dimples popping before he hopped out and rounded thehood.
He helped Bo out of the truck, and I followed them to the front porch. The door opened without a sound and we stepped in. The only noise was the soft tick, tick, tick of a clock somewhere in theroom.
“Imma lay you down in my old room, alright?” Noah turned on a table lamp. The living room was small with a recliner and a floral couch against the far wall with those little crocheted arm covers on each end. Behind the couch was a faded copy of “The LastSupper”.
