Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (29 page)

“Why didn’t the Lord up above choose for us to breathe water instead of air? It would have changed the entire course of who we are and how we’re built. Why? Why did he choose for us to have air in our lungs? Who knows, but we have to have it. That’s what her love is to me, boys. It’s the air that I breathe.”

“Why didn’t you ask her, Hank?” Dylan’s voice became loud, as though he was trying to talk over the invisible, metaphorical wall that Hank spoke of.

“Have you ever had a burning question that you wanted the answer to more than anything else in the world, but on the other side of the coin, you were terrified of knowing because once you asked, and the person answered truthfully, there was no turning back? I was afraid. I was terrified of turning back.”

“No, I can’t say I have.” Dylan said.

“Then you just can’t understand,” Hank answered, feeling a hundred years older.

Jesse took a sip of his cola, his eyes staring off in the same direction as Hank’s, and then he belched loudly, blowing it toward Dylan. “I think I understand. I’ve always wanted to ask Tommy why he kept Beanie Barb Beeswaxes. I never asked, because honestly, I want to know, but then again I don’t.”

Dylan and Hank looked at each for a split second before Dylan exploded with laughter. Hank just smiled; it was his first genuine smile since she disappeared on him. Or it was intended to be. It resembled a painful wince.

“You never know, Hank. It still could be her,” Dylan said.

“How can it be?”
How can it be!
his brain shouted, but he shushed it with a merging of the
Flintstone’s
theme song and a lyric from Patsy.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dylan became thoughtful. “But miracles happen every day. Take Dottie Sue Diddley, for instance. Have you seen her lately? From orthodontic headgear to double Ds and an award-winning smile. Miracles, Hank.”

“I’ve been thinking real serious about your predicament, Toots,” Jesse said. “I saw this show once, on the television, about twins. What if she’s a twin? Supposedly, they are connected through telepathic wavelengths from sharing the womb at the same time. What if Pistollette is the bad twin? Delilah is the good twin? Cray is working them against each other?

“You fall in love with Pistollette and she dumps you on the side of the road like trash. Delilah knows her movements and picks you up, because she feels sorry for you. Then when you get in the car, she feels that love for you because her sister does. And you, because you’ve been known to fall in love with two at once, fall in love with her. Bringing you to the very precarious quagmire you’re currently in now.” The note of finality in Jesse’s voice made Hank’s skin crawl.

“God Almighty!” Hank shot up.

“Don’t listen to him, Hank. He ate one too many sugar pills and he’s all hyped up.” Then Dylan quickly changed the subject. “I talked to Curly earlier. He said Pistol Fanny’s was having some local radio station out tonight. They’re doing a live show.”

“Can we listen?” Jesse put down his drink, looking around the room.

“I do have satellite radio.” Dylan hit Hank’s leg and Hank shook his head.

Although Hank’s heart felt as though it was melting, he gave in to the feeling, torturing himself. Because that’s what people do when they’re in love and have lost, don’t they? Give in to the all-consuming, heart-draining feelings that hit them every breath of the day. How can you not? The energy is not there to stop it all, so it’s easier to give in, let it consume you.

It felt right, so he went with it, holding the flame to the wick.

The guys listened in the living room, next to the couch. The show was airing live, and they were doing a segment on crying, loving, and leaving. The station was taking calls, and they encouraged callers with feelings in each category to call and share their stories. Then they could dedicate a song.

Hank turned it up when he heard her sweet voice through the radio. She was promoting Pistol Fanny’s and the Dix-Hens, who were going on the road soon. Hank felt a part of him disappear when she faded from the speakers. It was the first time he’d heard her voice since his last trip to Nashville.

Hank stood up and balled his hands into fists. “I’ll be damned if I crawl!”

Dylan and Jesse looked at each other, following him into the other room with quick steps. Hank called Curly and had him pull strings to get him through to the radio station. Once through, the DJ asked him if he was crying, loving, or leaving.

“I’m all three,” Hank said with more bravado than necessary.

Dylan tried to pull the receiver away from him, but Hank yanked it back, his eyes blazing. “Hank, you’re going to be sorry for doing this. Nothing good comes out of drunk dialing. Never. Trust me.”

Hank stared at Dylan for a moment and put the receiver back to his ear. He was going to show his nuisance of a friend just what defiance looked like. “Yes, I’m all three. I love that woman that was just on the line. Ms. Delilah Mae Turner. She loves me too. She left me, and her memory keeps on leavin’ me. Every day of my life, she’s all I see walking away from me. She played Patsy Cline and she left me—”

“So much for not crawling,” Jesse whispered to Dylan.

“I love her, and I’m crying, and she’s probably sleeping every night like none of this even matters to her. She’s probably moved on, not even thinking twice about me. She’s probably already pulled her hair back, in that beautiful way, in that hat, and she’s burning those highways, leaving my memory behind like she does all those miles. She’s going way too fast!

“She’s trying to out-run love. Out-run me. I’m burning up. I’m caught in a wild fire that I just can’t put out. If you can hear me, darlin’, I need you. I love you, and I meant every word that I said. I love your pancakes, and your pickles, and even Pepsi’s syrup. I love your chipped plates and your wild hair on Sundays. I just love you, Delilah.”

The man on the other line asked Hank what song he’d like to dedicate to her.

“Elvis,” Hank said. “I love her too much to play Patsy! Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean I refuse to share my umbrella with—”

Dylan finally got a hold of the receiver and shook his head, hanging up.

Things went from bad to worse after that. Hank had a hangover the next day the size of Texas, and he was planning on making another pleading trip to Nashville, once the pounding and nausea had subsided. He scratched his dirty head and started moving sloth-like to the bathroom. He heard voices, Curly and Tommy, along with Dylan and Jesse.

He shuffled into the kitchen, the bright bay windows blinding him. They had coffee and donuts on the table, and they were hovering over a large map. They were pointing and talking loudly.

“What’s all this?” Hank pointed.

“And the monster has emerged.” Dylan lifted a hand to him.

“All hail the king of the couch potatoes,” Jesse wheezed.

“Don’t come near me, Toots. You’ve been bit by that damn love bug and it’s contagious!” Curly razzed.

“This is your life, H-Hank Rivers. Welcome to it-it. If we can’t bring the hor-horse to wa-wa-water, we’ll move the ri-ri-river to the horse. You’re going to-to find Pistollette,” Tommy stuttered out, his eyes sharp and his demeanor that of a natural-born leader.

Hank stood there, rolling back and forth from the weight of his hangover. He scratched at his twelve o’clock shadow and took a gander at the map.

“If you want to save your relationship with Delilah, which, let me just be honest, at this point is looking slim to none, you’re going to have to act. If Pistollette is tripping you up and you’re not afraid, you’re going to have to do some work. You find her, find out what is driving you so insane about her, and then you can decide what to do. You’re going to have to go into these banks and wait.

“Hopefully, if we figure something out, this’ll work. Cray only has a few banks left, Hank. If she’s going to finish the job, she’s going to do it soon. She works slow, but steady. Let’s just cross our fingers, and our legs, and pray that we pick the right one.”

“What do you mean my chances are slim to none?” Hank said, his tongue sticking to the dry roof of his mouth.

“The thing is, Hank, you hurt her real bad.” Curly moved to his side. He went to put a hand on Hank’s shoulder but withdrew before he did. He waved the almost offered hand instead. “I don’t even think her sisters know what to do with her. I don’t think they’ve ever experienced heartbreak like this before. Our guess, they never let any man get that close. It’s always been on their terms. She’s falling to pieces, Hank. She truly is. Even though she’s hot-damn good at hiding it. I talked to her, and she said she never wanted to see you again. She was real sorry about that, but it was the way things had to be.”

“Why didn’t you fight for her, Hank?” Jesse said.

All the guys looked at Hank. He shrugged. “I thought I was.”

“Even the most independent ones, Hank, want to be fought for. Even men want that sometimes,” Tommy said.

“Last night after I heard her crying, I went to the toilet. When I came back out a big handsome fella went into her office. He was tall, broad shouldered, with black, slicked-back hair. He smelled like gold too. Next thing I know, I hear huffing and moaning and he was crying, ‘Call me daddy!’ I think they were playing house, Hank,” Curly said with an edge to his voice, taking a step away from him.

“Maybe she was trying to get over you,” Jesse threw in.

“The sisters never talk about each other, but men talk. One of them had some intimate details about Delilah. You see, from what he says, she doesn’t do love, brother. She’s into it, and then it’s over. He fell in love with her, and she never gave him a second glance. She loves you, Hank. But she doesn’t do the relationship thing. I’m sure sorry I had to tell you that.” Curly took two more steps away, like Hank was a bomb that had been detonated.

Hank felt the blood rush to his face. He felt like he was a limping, rabid dog who was just kicked and was crippled. He looked around the room, looking for anything. All that anger bubbled to the surface and he couldn’t stop its overflow.

“Get him!” Dylan shouted, and they all tackled him.

Hank was exploding, trying to hit anything in his way. Finally, after some soothing words and tough love, Hank cooled down. But his eyes were hard, his heart hardening by the minute.

“I’m going to Nashville,” Hank said with the finality of a martyr committing himself to a lost cause, but one he believed in nonetheless.

And that was that. They all packed up and took Curly’s beater van to Nashville. It mattered none if Hank was on a winged prayer or not, his mind was set on her. When they arrived, they found an entire bar down with the flu. Hank blew through the doors, straight to Delilah’s office. She wasn’t there.

“She’s out in the lot. Fixin’ to leave. Tock, tock, tock…” Hennessey clicked his tongue, using his pretend hammer to nail some imaginary object as he continued to cowboy shuffle by.

Hank rushed outside to find her standing by her car, a man standing beside her. He had black, slicked-back hair. She was blocking the sun from her face, looking up at him. Hank stood against the wall, watching. His heart went cold and his stomach turned. They spoke for a few minutes before the man laid his hand on her forehead, and then he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. He got into his car and left.

Delilah waited by her car for a few moments before she finally asked Hank what he wanted. He walked toward her, slow enough that he hardly felt like he was moving.

“Why do you keep doing this, Hank?”

“What are you doing with him, Delilah?”

“Let me be, Hank. Just let me be.” Hank took her by the arm and she flung it out of his hold. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t tell me not to touch you. Don’t tell me not to see you. Don’t tell me not to love you, darlin’!”

“Darlin’, darlin’, darlin’! Are you going to call her darlin’, too, Hank? Are you going to tell her that you love me too? Are you going to follow her around until she cain’t take it anymore! Dammit, Hank! What do you want from me? Do you want my blood? You’re bleeding me dry. Every time you come ’round here, every time you call for me, you’re bleeding me dry. You’ve made your bed, Hank. Cover up.”

“I don’t know what to say. Yes, I love her. I don’t even know why! I hate myself for that. I do. God Almighty, do I. I hate you for sleeping with that bastard! I can’t stand the thought of it. I hate the thought of him hearing you breathe. I hate the thought of him having his son of a bitchin’ hands on you. You’re breaking me like those damn plates at your place! I hate you for all of that!”

“How come you never ask me questions? How come you never asked me if I was her!” She closed her fists, about to pound on Hank’s chest, but instead, right before she did, she pulled away. She was pounding air. “How come you can’t say she doesn’t matter? You want me! You want her! You have no idea who you want. You’re a selfish pig is what you are! I hate you for loving her more than me!”

Hank grabbed her then and crushed his lips against hers. She continued to fight, while he continued to move. When she stopped fighting and her body seemed to go slack, before Hank could grab her, she pulled away. She doubled over and vomited on the cement, going to her knees. Hank followed. She held a trembling hand up.

“Please, just let me be. I can’t breathe.”

Hank heard the crack in her voice and his heart shattered. Her voice had been cracking more and more ever since the night in her kitchen—when he watched the sunrise and he knew he couldn’t breathe without her.

“You’ve tied this noose around my heart.” She grabbed at her chest and searched, like a mad woman, trying to find something precious that had been stolen by a thief. She was almost hyperventilating.

She looked up at the sky. “I just can’t breathe. Dear God, I don’t know what is going on in my life. I just don’t. You’ve turned me inside out and now I’m bleeding and suffocating. You’ve broken me beyond repair. Dear God! Dear God! Let me go, let me breathe, stop the bleeding! Set me free, set me free! Sweet Jesus, help me.”

Then Delilah passed out cold from the flu, all that sickness going straight to her head.