Chapter Twelve
We have half a bottle of tequila, a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s, three beers, and whatever the hell is in this pint jar. If we open it, it’ll be like we’re inviting Ezra to the party.” Shiloh set it all in the middle of the kitchen table.
“Do we need to take a vote?” Bonnie asked.
“If Ezra wants to come to our party, I’ll even let him have his chair. I bet he won’t stay long when we all tell him exactly how we feel,” Abby said.
A deep-throated mooing sounded right outside the kitchen window.
“The bull has spoken. We will toast the three of us getting through this day with Ezra’s stump liquor. Women doing a tough job and drinking his liquor. I’d say he won’t even show his face,” Bonnie said.
Shiloh twisted the ring from the jar and set it beside the rest of their meager bar. “Maybe the bull was calling out to his heifers rather than expressing an opinion.”
It started as a chuckle, grew into a giggle, and exploded into laughter, with Abby wiping tears with the tail of her dark brown T-shirt.
“What the hell is so funny?” Shiloh frowned.
“Think about it. The rangy old bull calling out to his heifers. Ezra leaving half a pint of moonshine and naming his bitches after his ex-wives. Was he calling out to his women like that lonesome old bull?”
“I still don’t think it’s that funny, but then after what I found under my bed this afternoon, I’m not sure anything is funny,” Bonnie said.
“Three boxes with your initials on the ends?” Shiloh asked.
Bonnie nodded. “Kind of creepy, isn’t it? How’d you know about it?”
Abby felt their gazes turn to her. Suddenly, the moonshine and the lonesome old bull were not humorous. A chill that had nothing to do with the north wind whistling around outside on a moonless night chased down her spine.
“I found the same thing under my bed,” she said. “I suppose that’s why Rusty more or less assigned our rooms when we first got here.”
“Seems like a year ago, doesn’t it?” Bonnie whispered.
“How did going through those things make y’all feel?” Abby asked.
Shiloh poured whiskey into three glasses. “Angry, violated in a strange sense of the word, and empty at the same time.” She threw hers back like an old cowboy in a Western movie.
Bonnie picked up the whiskey and sipped it. “Just mad as hell. He knew what was happening to me and he didn’t give a shit. This drink is my one for the night. I’ve lived with it my whole life and seen what it can do to a woman. I’ll see to it you two make it from living room to your bedrooms, but I do not clean up if you get sick.”
Shiloh went to the refrigerator and brought out a two-liter bottle of Coke. She poured a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, added ice, and filled it with the Coke. “At first I was mad at Mama for sending him all those things. I called her and pitched a bitchin’ fit. She listened for a couple of minutes and when she finally figured out what I was sayin’, she was every bit as angry as I was.”
Abby didn’t mix good Jack Daniel’s with anything, not water, not Coke, and she didn’t throw it back. She sipped it, letting each tiny mouthful lie on her tongue for a few seconds before she swallowed. “Did you call your mama, Bonnie?”
She shook her head. “Mama is complicated. Sometimes I like her better drunk than sober. At least she’s not a mean drunk and she is a mean sober person. I lived with her right up until I left Kentucky—the bills had to be paid and someone had to put food on the table for her.”
“Who does that now?” Shiloh asked.
Bonnie shrugged and went to the refrigerator to pull out the sweet tea. “Like I said, it’s complicated, but everyone has to learn to take care of themselves at some time in their life.”
“Tough love,” Abby said.
“You should know all about that. Haven’t you been on your own since you were eighteen?” Shiloh asked.
“I have. I joined the army right out of high school and was in training school when I got the news Mama was gone. So I went home, took care of things just like she asked, leased out the doughnut shop for ten years, and rented a storage unit. I only missed a week of my schooling and the army let me make it up when I got back rather than making me start all over. I was nineteen a few weeks later. Couldn’t even buy a drink or rent a car legally and I was on my own.”
“Enough melancholy. I shoved the boxes back under my bed. I don’t know what I’ll do with them, but tonight we’re celebrating. We have run this ranch for one day all by ourselves and we did a damn fine job of it.” Shiloh raised her glass and the other two touched theirs to it, making a clinking sound in the quiet room.
“To the fastest learners in the state of Texas,” Abby said.
“To the Malloy daisies.” Bonnie smiled.
“Daisies?” Shiloh asked.
“Ezra must have thought about us as daisies or he wouldn’t have told Rusty to give them to us to put in his casket,” Bonnie said.
“I don’t want to be a daisy. I want to be a rose,” Shiloh said.
“Well, I want to be a bloomin’ cactus, like what blooms in the desert,” Bonnie said.
They looked at Abby.
One shoulder raised in a semishrug. “I like daisies. They’re my favorite flower—but not the kind we pitched in the casket. I like the wild ones. They are hardy and free spirits.”
Bonnie said, “I’ll be a daisy, even if I do prefer those pretty, bright-colored blooms on cactus plants.”
“I was a wild and free daisy today out there in the rain, chasing cows and mud wrestling with Abby,” Shiloh said.
Abby laughed. “I’ve finished my drink so hand me that moonshine and we’ll see how free my spirit can get tonight.”
Shiloh slid the pint jar across the table to Abby. “Sowing wild oats on Saturday night means you have to go to church tomorrow morning.”
She picked it up and carried it to the living room. “Sowing wild oats does not have anything to do with whiskey, tequila, or moonshine.”
“Why?” Bonnie followed Abby.
“Why what? That it doesn’t have to do with liquor or why don’t I have to go to church?”
Bonnie sat down on the end of the sofa and set her glass on the coffee table. “Both, and where are the dogs?”
“I put them outside in their pens and I’m sure they are disappointed that they have to be in their doghouses rather than by the fire, but they won’t leave that damned bull alone even from inside the house,” Shiloh answered.
“What’s wrong with the liquor?” Abby poured two fingers into her empty glass. “I’m just drinking, not sowing wild oats. Sowing means seed . . . think, Bonnie.”
“Oh! If that’s the reason, then I don’t expect none of us need to go to church, because we haven’t had time to sow wild oats this week,” Bonnie said.
“Abby did.” Shiloh joined them with another Jack and Coke in her glass.
“When?” Bonnie asked.
“I do not kiss and tell.” Abby immediately wished she could cram the words back into her mouth. God Almighty, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t be drunk on that little bit of liquor.
“Aha!” Shiloh pointed. “Was it good?”
“Curled my toes.” Abby turned up the moonshine. Sweet Jesus, that shit had some kick and a hell of a lot of fire. It burned all the way from throat to gut and hopefully scalded her vocal cords so she couldn’t talk.
“Tell us more,” Bonnie said. “We want details.”
“I won’t tell any more than that. This is some potent shit, girls. You’ve got to at least taste it. It’s got kick like vodka and for moonshine, it don’t taste bad. I think I got a hint of peaches.”
Bonnie headed back to the kitchen and returned with a red plastic cup. “I’m the ’shine expert. Let me have a taste.”
Abby could hold her liquor. Hell, she’d put lots of big strong soldiers under the table, but that ’shine put a fuzzy halo around everything. The little diamond stuck on Bonnie’s nose was twice as big as normal.
“And it sparkles like what floats around my head when Cooper kisses me,” she muttered.
“What was that about kisses?” Shiloh asked. “One more drink and you’ll be giving us a play-by-play of what happened when you fell into bed with Cooper.”
“We’re not talkin’ about men tonight and it wasn’t in a bed,” Abby answered. “I’ve never done drugs, but I swear this must be the way they make you feel.”
Shiloh tossed back what she had in her glass and gasped. “Dammit! That stuff really is pure fire.” She fanned her mouth with her hand.
Bonnie sipped it slowly. “Not bad. My peach has more body, a hint of cinnamon and brown sugar, and less grit, but this would knock you on your ass just the same if you had very much of it. Here, Abby, you can have the rest of mine.”
Abby’s hand reached for it as if she had no control. That time it didn’t burn as badly as the first but she had to concentrate to keep her wits about her. “Shit! That’s some good stuff.”
“This is at least a hundred and ninety proof and eight ounces will knock a seasoned drinker on their ass. You’d best not have any more or we’ll be throwin’ daisies on your casket in the mornin’,” Bonnie said.
“Then get me a little bit of whiskey to cool down my throat,” Abby said. “And why would this be worse than whiskey or too much wine?”
“A direct result of the floor coming up to meet your head when you stand up too fast. You’ve both had enough ’shine,” Bonnie said.
“Bring the jar to me. I can drink as much as Abby any day of the week,” Shiloh said.
“You’ll be sorry, but if you want it, you can have it. Remember what I told you about cleaning up after yourselves,” Bonnie said. “And if I’m bartending, you’ve both got to tell me a story.”
“About what?” Abby tried to focus on the fireplace, but the flames wouldn’t be still. They moved out of the fireplace and danced across the floor. Damn, but they were scorching when they reached her feet. She tossed the throw from her legs onto the floor and looked around for her dog. Why wasn’t Martha in the house? Shiloh had put her in the pen. She didn’t belong out there in the rain; she should be in the house, not in an old cold doghouse made of scrap metal and used wood. Martha was a sophisticated dog who knew how to herd cattle. If she got pneumonia, Abby was going to beat the shit out of Shiloh.
Remember not to throw whiskey on that throw if the blaze catches it on fire, she thought. Lord, I’m drunk, and I’ve only had the equivalent of three drinks. Maybe I shouldn’t drink any more. What do you think, Mama? You’re usually in my head bitchin’ at me when I drink. Where are you tonight?
Bonnie handed Abby a glass with a finger of whiskey in the bottom and then put a glass with the rest of the ’shine in Shiloh’s outstretched hand. “Which one of you is going first?”
“First with what? Oh, we have to tell you a story, right?” Shiloh turned up the moonshine and sipped it. “You’re right, Abby, it kind of makes me glow from the inside out.”
“Sounds like a personality drug.” Bonnie laughed.
“I’ll go first,” Shiloh said. “A story. Let’s see, which story. Does it have to be true?”
“The bartender has changed her mind. Tell me if you ever fantasize about how your life would have been different if you’d been raised right here,” Bonnie said.
Shiloh sipped again. “Yes, I do, but I can’t imagine having Ezra as a father. Lord, can you see him if I came in wearing a strapless prom dress that was cut up to my hip on the side?”
Abby slowly shook her head from side to side.
“What are you thinking?” Bonnie asked. “You are definitely disagreeing with the voices in your head about something.”
“This shit isn’t so bad after the first initial burn. I was thinking about the look on Ezra’s face if I’d told him I was joining the army the week after graduation,” Abby said.
Bonnie curled up on the end of the sofa, the throw from the floor over her legs.
“What about you?” Shiloh asked.
“I like to imagine his expression when I told him that it was past time for me to go on birth control. With his views . . . hey, now I’m wondering if y’all’s mamas were virgins. I can’t imagine my mama being one, not as wild as she was,” Bonnie said.
Abby tilted her head to one side. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Thinking about her mother’s sex life gave her the willies. Or maybe it was the combination of such thoughts added to the moonshine.
“What are you snarling your nose about?” Bonnie asked.
“What you just said about our mamas. Y’all know that Ezra thought we’d take the money and run, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t know that. I think he wanted us to know each other,” Shiloh said.
“He wanted us to fight and bicker and disagree about everything,” Bonnie said. “But we’re getting our revenge on him by working together.”
“The sober one tells it like it is.” Abby reached across the recliner arm and patted her on the shoulder.
“I hope he’s miserable. At least part of me does. The other part is glad that he made this decision.” Shiloh slurred the last word and tried to say it right three times before she gave up. She finished off the ’shine in one last gulp. “Are you sure that’s all of it? We could go down to the bunkhouse and steal the jar that Rusty says he’s savin’ for the year anniversary of Ezra’s death.”
“Bonnie, darlin’, you will have to make a batch before the second anniversary of our dear papa’s death so we can celebrate again.” Abby’s speech was even worse to her ears than Shiloh’s.
“You have my promise,” Bonnie said. “When the wild strawberries are ready, we’ll pick a bunch and I’ll try my hand at making a batch with a strawberry flavor.”
“It’ll be wonshurful,” Abby said.
“What was he thinkin’, spyin’ on us like that? The room is spinning. It’s been years since I’ve been drunk,” Shiloh said. “I’m going to just lie down here and prop my head on the arm of this ugly-as-shit sofa. I’m going to throw it out in the yard for the dogs to sleep on when this ranch belongs to me. And I’m getting a nice neutral brown carpet. I’m not putting orange in here. God, it would look like a cheap hippie place.”
“Well, thank you so much. Just for that smart-ass remark, I’ll buy bright orange carpet for the whole place when the ranch is mine. And then I’ll buy baby-pink leather furniture and paint all the walls turquoise,” Bonnie said.
“Are you trying to make us puke?” Abby groaned.
“If you throw up, you clean up. I’ve done enough cleaning up after Mama in my lifetime. I’m not takin’ on you two to raise at this late date.”
“Oh, hush. I’m going to be here when both of y’all are long gone. Listen to that damned old bull wailing about his harem bein’ gone,” Shiloh giggled.
Abby reached for the lever to throw the chair back to a reclining position, but it was gone. “Shit fire! The bull ate the switch.”
Bonnie got up and pulled the lever for her. “That make the room stop spinning?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. Now can you do something about those spiders on the ceiling?” Abby asked. “And Shiloh, I don’t know what was in that old codger’s mind about us. I think maybe he drank too much of this shit and it fried his brain cells. But I sure can’t see him raisin’ us three indie . . . pensh—shit, girls. God, Bonnie, get a flyswatter and kill them damn spiders.”
Shiloh threw her hands over her eyes. “I see the spiders. Kill them, Bonnie. I hate spiders. Why would Abby put spiders on the ceiling? It’s just to make us leave so she can have the ranch and this butt-ugly sofa. I bet she plans to have sex with Cooper on it.”
Abby shut her eyes and there were her favorite pictures of Cooper again. She’d have to tell him to stay away from that god-awful moonshine when he got home. That shit would knock even a tough cowboy like him square on his butt. And if that happened, not a single wild seed would get sown, so they wouldn’t need to go to church. Had he asked her to go to church with him next week, or was it to a candy factory? She remembered something about a sugar shack. Surely to goodness the church wasn’t named that. It had to be a candy place. She hoped they sold good chocolate and maybe even peanut butter fudge like her mother used to make.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced loudly. “Bonnie, throw the switch to get me out of this chair, please.”
Thank God for furniture and walls and Bonnie, who performed some kind of magic to get her out of Ezra’s chair. She slowly made her way from doorway to chair, which she missed when she tried to sit down and slid down to the floor.
“Ass okay,” she slurred.
The doorbell rang and she tried to stand up, but the walls kept moving toward her. On the third ring she figured out it was coming from her hip pocket, which meant it was her phone and not the doorbell. She fished it out and dropped it on the seat of the chair.
“Damn slippery little thing. I bet Shiloh greased the sucker down.” Finally she got control of it and answered, “Hello.”
“Did I wake you?” Cooper asked.
“Nope, the bull was ringing the doorbell. Pesky old fart learned a new trick but I’m not going to charge you for it,” she said.
“Are you high or drunk?”
“I. Do. Not. Did. Drugs,” she said emphatically.
“How much of that moonshine did you drink?” Cooper’s voice was so loud that she held the phone out from her ear and scowled at it.
“Don’t holler at me. I can hold my liquor,” she said.
“I wasn’t yelling. I was actually talking low because Rusty is asleep.”
“Bullshit. That’s what’s all over the porch and the roses are gone and I hate roses. Did I tell you that? I do not like roses. Don’t bring me roses when we have sex.”
“Abby, you are drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. Do you need glasses? I told you I can hold my liquor.”
“Why would I need glasses?”
“To see that I’m not drunk. Did I tell you that the bull rang the doorbell and that I think you are sexy and it would be easy to fall in love with you and good night, Cooper?”
He chuckled. “Good night, Abby.”
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not. I’m laughing at that bull on the front porch. I think he’s teaching the cows to two-step,” Cooper said.
“You’re the one who is drunk. Bulls can’t dance.” She hit the “End” button, tossed the phone on the chair, and crawled to the bed, but after three tries she gave up trying to get on the bed. She slept on the floor, covered with the spread she’d pulled off the bed sometime in the night when she got cold.