Unstable (40 page)

“Sorry.” I pull it together, wiping my eyes. “Merrick was furious that night, about your coat. Didn’t even drive me home, I rode with Hadley. And I didn’t hear from him all weekend. But come Monday, at school, where
you
would see us, things were just fine. Better than ever in fact, like it never happened. I’ve been wondering why Merrick dated me if all he did was cheat on me, didn’t come after me when I left, and then stole from me. I get it now.”

“Get what? That he’s a narcissistic asshole who didn’t appreciate you and thought he could get rich off your pain and distraction?”

“Yes and no. But really, it was never about
me
. Well, maybe the stealing was, he had to keep Krista in nice things and didn’t figure I’d ever catch on, but the rest? The rest was all about
you,
Keaton. He hated you, and I mean
hated
you. The best at rodeo, football, girls, you name it, he couldn’t beat you at anything. Except me. I was the
one
thing he knew you wanted that you couldn’t have, so he appeased me just enough to keep me. Not because he actually wanted me, but so that you wouldn’t have the slightest chance at having me. I was the only thing he could beat you at.”

“Makes sense,” he shakes his head, “stupid fucker. I’d have given every trophy, award, uniform, anything for you. Wasn’t in the cards though. Fate didn’t present me with that option. Neither did he, not that I would’ve even considered it. Wanted you to want me on your own.”

“Keaton,” I reach for his hand, “don’t you see? You didn’t have to give up any of those accomplishments, and you
did
end up with me, forever. While Merrick had to spend years pretending and now, his life is in the shithole. And I got you, finally. We win, Keaton. Fate may have taken its time, karma wouldn’t wake her ass up, but destiny showed up and gave ‘em both a kick in the ass and they got one thing right in my life. We win.”

“We sure the fuck do.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. “I love you, Henny. I love you so damn much.”

“I love you too, Keaton. Maybe I always have. And hey,” I grin and wait for him to glance over, “thanks for letting me use you coat. Warmed me right up.”

“I saw you sniff it, ya know. Twice,” he grins.

“How? You were on the field playing!” I wince, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment, realizing I got caught in his trap this time, bluntly admitting I did, in fact, smell his jacket.

I couldn’t help myself! From the moment I put it on, I was assailed by the intoxicating aroma of leather and cologne. So yeah, I may have sucked in a sample to keep for my memory bank.

I was but a normal teenage girl, after all.

He laughs and gives my hand a squeeze. “Always had one eye on you, Henny. Always.”

WHEN WE GET BACK
to the house, that will only be mine for a few more days, the ball of worry I’d temporarily forgotten with all the memories and talk of the past returns immediately.

I’m not saying I’m psychic, but I knew bone deep that night I should’ve checked Whiskey’s saddle one more time before Hadley rode out. I dreamt my sister told me where to find a diary…that just happened to be hidden right where she said. And my mom’s advice, also delivered in my dreams, has been pretty spot-on.

So I tend not to doubt my gut. And with one step in the door, it’s telling me stronger than ever, that the “something’s wrong” I’ve been waiting for is upon me.

“What’re you doing? Baby, talk to me.” Keaton comes up behind me where I stand frozen in the doorway, afraid to walk inside. “Did you hear something?” He picks me right up off my feet and sets me down behind him, placing himself in the line of whatever fire is waiting.

“Stay right here, I’ll go check it out,” he demands in a stern voice.

I catch his arm, stopping him. “I didn’t hear anything. There’s no burglar. But
something’s
wrong.”

“What?” He bends at the knees to meet my eyes straight on, gripping both my shoulders. “Henny, you’re worrying me. What the hell is going on?”

“I…I don’t know yet. Come on, let’s go in. Only way to find out.”

We slowly walk together through the whole house, nothing popping out at me. Until the fact that nothing’s popping out at me…pops out at me. “Where’s Bourbon?”

“I put him out before we left,” he answers. “Why?”

“He wasn’t waiting when we got here. Didn’t come up when he heard the truck, either.”

“You know he’s slowed down. Probably taking his time getting back from wherever he was sniffing around. I’ll go find him.”

“I’m coming with you.” I actually beat him out the door. “You take your truck, check all the barns. I’ll go on the Gator,” I yell, already climbing on, hand ready to turn the key.

He nods, so I fire it up and take off, knowing exactly where I’m headed first.

Again, I wouldn’t say I believe in
anyone
, let alone me, being psychic, but I drive straight to where I know I should, and find exactly what I knew I’d find.

My sweet, loyal Bourbon, already gone, having taken his last nap under “our” tree. The one I’d climb while he waited at the bottom. The one I got stuck in and he never left, standing guard until I was rescued. The one under which I will bury him.

The enormity of yet another loss hits me all at once and my whole body starts to shake, wracked by sudden, violent sobbing. I cry for another goodbye I didn’t get to say. I wail up at the sky for another loved one leaving while I wasn’t around to hold them, be by their side as they transitioned to somewhere bigger than this Earthly existence.

I spin around frantically, looking for something, anything, to kick, hit, or destroy. And just as I’m about to ram my fist into the tree trunk, I stop myself cold

I can’t punch “our tree.” It means too much—a blameless, beautiful piece of nature that holds so many memories I refuse to desecrate.

Bourbon would
not
like that.

And just as quickly as boiling anger raged up inside me, it burns out, leaving nothing but ashes of complete sorrow.

I suck up my tears, wipe my face and take several deep breaths. Feeling somewhat in control of my emotions, I sit down beside the body of my dog and slowly stroke his fur, letting the words leave my mouth with no concern on whether or not they even make sense.

“They say it always happens in threes. Well, I’ve now lost all three of you,” I croak out, letting more, now gentle, tears fall without shame. “But I know you’ll be okay, because I don’t believe the crap about separate Heavens for humans and animals. I mean, God made both and put them together for a reason. Why keep them apart for eternity? Wouldn’t make sense. No,” I wipe my nose on my sleeve, ‘cause I don’t have a Kleenex or a fuck to give at the moment, “I know you’re in the right Heaven, with them, Hadley and Mom. Go find ‘em
boy
, sniff ‘em out.”

And oddly, I feel a hint of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, picturing that reunion.

“Probably wouldn’t have been fair to keep you all to myself I guess. It’s been a lot longer since Hadley’s seen you. She’ll be so happy. And now, you can all three look down together, laughing at me and cringing for me as I fumble my way through life down here, ‘til it’s my turn.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.” Keaton sits beside me and wraps his arms around me. I’d heard him pull up but didn’t look, no need, he found his way over just fine.

“Yeah, me too.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’ll miss him so much. What a great dog he was.”

“The best,” he agrees.

We sit in silence for a long time, his arms staying tight around me—all I need from him. He doesn’t rush me or move an inch, even though I know the ground has to be getting uncomfortable.

After a while, Bourbon’s body starts to get stiff as I continue to pet him, and I know it’s time.

“Goodbye, Bourbon. I love you very much and will miss you every day. You were the best dog a girl could ask for, and I’ll never forget you. I’ll see you again one day, buddy.” I kiss my still trembling hand and place it on his head, then stand, taking one final moment to gather myself.

Keaton stands too and says his farewell to the dog he knew almost as well as I did, then turns to me. “What do you want me to do, baby? I could…” he pauses, “build him a nice box. Or we could take him to the vet and…”

“No, none of that. If you will, could you just bury him here, under the tree? Right in the ground, no box. I don’t want him caged in, want him one with the Earth. This land. I’ll make him a cross or something…” a sob catches in my throat, “to mark it. And let Bri and Mike know so they can handle it should Brooke stumble upon it. Also, tell them I’ll be coming to visit. Often.”

“Anything you want, I’ll take care of it.” He kisses my forehead.

“I’m gonna ride back home while you…uh…finish up here. Thank you.”

“Henny, are you gonna be okay? I could come with you and do this later, after you’re asleep or before you get around tomorrow. Don’t really want ya alone right now, baby.”

“I’ll be fine.” I muster up a weak smile. “It’d mean a lot if you’d do it now. Want him put to rest.”

“Hen…”

“I said, I’m fine,” I cut him off. “I’m all grown up now and knew it was coming,” I soften my voice. “I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Yeah,” he compromises in a concerned tone. “I’ll be right up. If you need anything though, call my cell. I mean it. And I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye, Bourbon,” I say one last time and turn to head home.

I’M NOT REALLY FINE
. I’m sad as hell. But I’m taking it better than I thought I would.

It might be because it’s a dog versus a person, or the fact that I’m older and sadly, accustomed to loss. Whatever the reason, I feel like I’ve made huge leaps and bounds.

I mean sure, I might be sitting out on the roof like I’m fifteen again and can’t handle shit with my feet on the ground, but I’m not drinking, there’s not currently a thunderstorm and I have no desire to pack my stuff and run, so it’s progress in my book.

And peaceful.

At least for now.

I can hear Keaton in the house yelling my name, more frantically each time, but he’ll figure it out soon. And when he does, I’ll be a new kind of “not fine.” Of the “in trouble” variety, thus ending the peace I’m out here trying to find in the first place.

So I stare up at the stars, taking long inhales and slower exhales, sending my final wishes and thoughts into the atmosphere with the little time I have left.

Here he comes. You could hear his big, booted feet thumping up the stairs a mile away, while wearing earplugs.

The window slides up… and we have detonation. As expected.

“Henley Gene Calvert,” he barks. “I know you’re upset, but what’d I say about the roof, woman? I seem to recall offering to stay with you to avoid situations just like this.”

“You said no roof while there’s a storm or a bottle of wine involved. Neither of those things are in effect,” I bark right back. “And may I remind you, I spent many nights on this roof when I was younger, without your interference, and managed just fine.”

“You know I’m coming out after you, right? Don’t move,” he grumbles and I watch, amused, as he pulls off his boots then once again, barely squeezes himself through the window. He’s no small man by any means and the window is, so his successful struggle is both comical and impressive.