The Achilles Heel (3 page)

“Goddamn you’re boring, Kess,” he said, poking me in the chest. “You need me to tuck
you into bed and read you a story, or are you gonna go out there and dance with my
hot ass wife?”

“Better be careful what you wish for, ‘cause I just might be going home with her tonight,”
I said.

Wade bantered back, “Only reason you’d be riding in her car on the way home is because
you live next door to us, and don’t
think
we’re taking you all the way to your front door either. You can walk from the end
of our driveway.” About that time Hope waved us over.

Wade offered up his glass of whiskey and said, “To an amazing tour and an even more
amazing break from it.”

Even though he had no idea how permanent of a break this was actually going to be,
I raised my glass and added, “To life-long happiness.”

ANNIE

T
he night seemed to drag on endlessly. Officers took turns talking, and Liz and I took
turns crying. Jamie showed no emotion whatsoever. Officer Grady, bless his heart,
had turned into a concierge making coffee and serving drinks; it’s the obvious sign
of a good man. Anyone who takes on the role of host without asking a bunch of, “Where
is this, where is that, what would you like,” type questions, and especially without
being asked to do so, is a person with a good heart. I could see the kindness in Officer
Grady and realized how lucky I was that he was the one on my doorstep.

Liz had already packed a suitcase with all my necessities, big enough to last me a
week.

“You’re staying at our house tonight, and I don’t want to hear another word about
it,” she said. Almost fighting her on it, my body and mind were too exhausted; I wanted
sleep and to send this day straight to hell.

I just nodded in agreement. “Where are the kids?” I asked.

“My mom came and picked them up. They’re going to stay with her for a few days so
we can sort some things out.”

Jamie and Elizabeth have two kids; Max is seven and Mia is almost five. My niece and
nephew are the closest thing to having my own children I will probably ever experience.
I love them madly and would walk through fire to protect them. Max is the spitting
image of Jamie when he was seven, but with the personality of his mama‌—‌sweet and
sensitive. Mia looks just like Elizabeth, but has her daddy’s quick temper and is
stubborn as a mule. These are terrible character traits for a five year old, but when
she gets older, she’s going to be the CEO of something. Ever since these kids were
born, Jack and I have been a constant in their lives. We were the first ones at the
hospital when each one of them was born, and the first ones at every birthday party
they’ve ever had. We have date night with them once a week taking them to get ice
cream or a movie, and they spend the night at our house at least once a month, not
because we feel obligated, but because we truly love spending time with them. Since
I don’t work anymore, when Liz needs a break or is in a bind, I’m always happy to
pick them up from school or head over to their house and make myself at home. This
is the only family I have known for some time now, and I don’t know how it’s supposed
to work without Jack in it.

The investigators had very little information at this point and spent most of their
time asking me the same questions over and over again. Jack’s Range Rover was found
on a secluded stretch of HWY 29, wrapped around a massive pine tree. They can only
speculate that the impact of the crash was what set the car on fire; the windows were
blown out and it was burned to the ground. The only way they identified him was because
the force of impact from his car hitting the tree shot his front bumper with the license
plate still intact through the woods; again speculation. The officers who arrived
first on the scene recovered only the license plate. Everything else was turned into
ash. My only prayer at this point was that Jack had been killed in the wreck, not
in the fire. I couldn’t let my mind take me to the latter scenario; it was just too
graphic, and strangely enough, physically painful to imagine.

One by one the officers left the house until it was just the three of us staring at
each other in silence.

“It’s two in the morning, let’s go,” Liz said.

“I’ll just put Janet and Tito in their kennel for the rest of the night. Can you drop
me off in the morning?” I asked Jamie.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get your bag, Annie,” Jamie said, and he held my hand as we walked
out the door.

As we slowly drove down the driveway, Jamie looked as though he had a slight smirk
on his face.
Is he smiling?
I squinched my eyes to get a better look at him through the rearview mirror, but when
our eyes made contact he instantly looked away. I couldn’t even register what I thought
I saw, but I haven’t ever lost a sibling. Never even having a sibling, I can’t imagine
what it feels like to lose one.
I shouldn’t judge.
The house grew smaller, fading into the darkness through the back windshield, and
my gut told me nothing about this house would ever feel the same. I dreaded walking
back into it.

KESSLER

A
s daylight broke free from the murk of night, our jet made a smooth landing at the
Nashville International Airport at dawn the next morning. The three of us looked like
hammered shit. We drank everything that wasn’t nailed down, and I think Wade won the
wrestling match we started on the dance floor, but couldn’t be sure because that’s
when I blacked out. Thank God Hope’s mother, Mama D, was waiting for us with the car
when we arrived. As we rolled our bags towards our ride home, her face changed from
happiness to disbelief, with her hands planted firmly on her wide-set hips.

“Good God almighty,” she said, slapping her leg. “You three look useless as tits on
a boar!”

“Pipe down, woman!” said Wade, rather annoyed. “Just drive the damn car until I tell
you to pull over so I can puke.”

“Well, well. Looks like Mr. High Cotton can’t hold his liquor in his old age,” cackled
Mama D. “And you, young lady, I taught you better than this. You look like you got
mowed down by the John Deere.”

“Well, maybe I did. I don’t remember a damn thing from last night, and might still
be drunk. Please stop yellin’, mama,” Hope whispered.

“Oh, my baby, Kessler!” Mama D cried, as she grabbed me and squeezed my waist so hard
I almost shit my pants. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked, while feeling my forehead
for a temperature. “Now, you come on over, and I’ll fix you a big breakfast and a
little hair of the dog to get you feelin’ right side up again.”

“Thanks, Mama D. I sure do appreciate that, and you know how much I love your cooking,
especially those cheesy grits, but the only thing I can think about right now is sleep,”
I apologized.

“I’ll take breakfast,” whined Wade.

“Only thing you’re gonna take is a shower, Wade Rutledge, ‘cause you smell bad enough
to knock a dog off a gut wagon,” preached Mama D.

There was a moment of silence and then we all busted up laughing.

Alice Deanna Kroy, (aka Mama D) spent all her life growing up in Lynchburg, TN‌—‌a
southern Tennessee town with a ton of southern Tennessee sayings, about five thousand
people and one traffic light. Over the years, some notable celebrities have called
Lynchburg home: Davy Crockett, Little Richard and the great Johnny Majors (head coach
of the Tennessee Volunteers 1977-1992) but no one more famous than Mr. Jack Daniel.
The Jack Daniel’s Distillery has called Lynchburg home since 1956. Even though it
resides in a dry county and the residents can’t purchase this Tennessee whiskey in
restaurants or stores, the distillery does sell commemorative bottles to enjoy at
home, and I had more than my share last night.

Although I don’t always understand Mama D’s Tennessee sayings, I do know that anything
she does for someone comes from love. She’s a short, round woman; looks like an apple
on a stick, with curly gray hair styled like a football helmet. She has her own rules
of how she thinks life should run, and isn’t afraid to put her two cents worth of
advice in your piggy bank. Her heart is pure as gold, and she has mothered me from
our first meeting over twenty years ago. I don’t always take her advice, which I should,
but she never holds it against me or steers me in the wrong direction. After Hope’s
daddy passed and right before their youngest son Kroy was born, Mama D moved in with
Wade and Hope to help with the kids and the house since Wade is on tour six months
out of the year. She’s always cooking up something delicious, which is why I’m always
eating at their house, and she usually makes enough food for twice the amount of people
that are eating. She’s the quintessential Southern Mama.

We headed down I-65 South to Franklin, a suburb of Nashville, with the windows rolled
down in a vain attempt to dry ourselves out and to also keep Wade from puking in Mama
D’s new Cadillac. The blustering air charging through the windows restricted any amount
of talking between the four of us and gave me some thinking time to reflect on the
last few months. I needed to concoct possible ideas regarding my retirement and eventual
vanishing act. Usually there’s a progression of rules one follows when retiring, but
having never been one for following rules, I’m just not ready to drop this bomb yet.
I’ve been planning the escape to my house in St. Croix in the U.S Virgin Islands for
some time now, and apparently, that’s as far as I’ve gotten. For the first time in
a decade, I have no plan. I’m hung-over, about to really piss some people off, leaving
the states indefinitely, and haven’t packed a single thing, but damn, it felt good!

When the woodsy landscape became familiar, I knew we were close. The final stretch
of a tour can significantly age all the parts of your body. The last tour for me was
no exception, but once I inhaled the sweet smell of cherry trees, I relaxed. Finally,
I was home.

Positioned at the head of the cul-de-sac in a classically charming neighborhood, with
massive maple trees lining the street, is where my early 1900’s Tutor sits. From the
very first walk through, I knew I’d grow old in this house. Last winter I started
renovations in the garage, and those turned out so well, I just kept going across
the backyard with a new outdoor patio. Throwing a good party is my business, and the
amount of work and people that seven acres of yard takes to keep up is daunting. The
contractors laid a huge concrete patio which was stained and stamped to look like
a hardwood floor. A new infinity pool was put in the middle of the entertaining space,
with a stone retaining wall towering above, and the mist of a constant waterfall sprinkles
the deck reminding me of my second home‌—‌the ocean. When finalizing plans for the
backyard, I was blown away to see how many options I had just on the concrete. I realized
I was in way over my head, and spent a week on the internet looking at different yards,
trying to find a style I liked best. I printed myself out a picture and then hired
someone to landscape it for me. Growing up on farmland in the bayou taught me hard
work, not design aesthetics, but I did help in every bit of the construction, and
my daddy would have been proud.

My home in Nashville, like the rest of my life, has become a three-ring spectacle;
all by my own doing, but done just the same. Maids, gardeners, chefs, and assistants
are in a constant rotation through my kitchen, down my hallways, in my yard, and consistently
around every next corner. I realize this is a first world problem, and one I certainly
never thought would infuriate me as much as it does, but it’s the reason I’m leaving.
I want to open my curtains to the silence and spectacular of an ocean sunrise, sit
by a pool, strum my guitar, or just disappear into the tides without explaining why
I’m going, and when I’ll be back. This breakneck pace has finally worn me out. I’m
ready to take my foot off the accelerator. It’s time to just cruise.

Mama D pulled into the driveway, up to the garage and said, “Okay baby, home sweet
home.”

Wade was snoring in the backseat next to me, and I couldn’t resist. I licked my finger,
softly stuck it inside his ear, and swirled it around a bit. When his eyelids flickered
with consciousness, I leaned in and whispered, “Mornin’ sunshine.”

“Get away from me,” he grumbled.

“Looks like I went home with your wife,
and
made it all the way to my front door!” I teased him.

Wade opened one eye and looked around, then he punched me in the arm and smiled, pleased
he inflicted some kind of pain on me.

I grabbed my bags from the trunk, kissed Mama D and thanked her again for picking
us up and bringing me home.

“Come on by for supper tonight after you get some sleep. I’ll make you some grits,”
she offered.

As they turned the car around, I heard Wade through the open windows ask Mama D, “How
come you’re never that nice to me?”

“Oh honey, Kessler doesn’t have anybody, and you get to live with me,” she boasted.

I stood in my garage and watched the doors close all the way to the ground, thinking
how right she was. After I managed to shed the weight of my ex-wife, I successfully
filled that void with things unreal, and in the process sealed myself shut. I’m surrounded
by expensive things paid for in cash, but what I really long for the most can’t be
bought. Maybe it was time to get in the business of someday having a family.

ANNIE

T
he next afternoon, I awoke gagging to the smell of stale puke. The pitch-black room
disoriented my location and time of day. I turned on the bedside lamp and caught a
glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Well, that explains the smell
.

Apparently, vomit acts as a bonding agent when mixed with human hair. Blond strands
were clumped together in hard, jumbled and mashed sections, sticking straight out
in every direction. The overall appearance resembled a poor attempt at homemade dreadlocks
with little knowledge of the hairstyle to begin with. The rancid smell of undigested
groceries decomposing on my scalp overwhelmed the picture perfect, Pottery barn guestroom
and probably contaminated the entire second story of my brother-in-law’s house. I
obviously had not taken a shower after getting back to Jamie’s and was disgusting
and pathetic, inside and out. Liz must have put pajamas on me, but I was sleeping
on top of the bed, not under the covers‌—‌probably too heavy for her petite frame
to lift up and work underneath the sheets. After desecrating every probable square
foot of this lovely area with my fragrant stench, I envisioned Liz burning the whole
damn room down.