“My suggestion would be that you give that some more thought. Come on, Nola.”
Niecy stormed out of the room, and Jason heard the front door slam shut. He felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Uncle Jason,” Nola said. She started to go, but Jason called after her.
“Nola, wait. Is anyone staying here with y’all?”
She stopped and rolled her eyes. “Technically, Aunt Cathy is.”
“What do you mean, ‘technically’？”
“She’s eighty-seven years old and can’t get around that good. She’s been here two or three times in the last week but only stayed the night once, and she said she can’t do that anymore because she almost fell.” Nola shrugged. “Aunt Cathy’s nice, but it’s not like she was close to our family. She’s just literally the closest living relative. That is . . . besides you.”
“So y’all have been alone this whole time?”
“Burns comes by every day. Brings us takeout. Lets us hang at his house and watch movies. We spent the first couple of nights after Dad’s death over at his place in one of the guest rooms. He’s been really great.”
“I’m glad,” Jason said, feeling relieved that they at least had someone to watch over them and guilty that he’d been out of contact until today.
Several loud honks from a car horn pierced the air, and Nola cringed. “I need to go. Regardless of what Niecy said . . . I’m really glad you’re here.”
Jason peered at the teenager, the hurt radiating from her eyes as his own guilt intensified. He wanted to say, “Me too,” but he knew it would sound like a lie.
Because it’s a lie, he thought.
Nola walked away before he could respond.
27
Jason spent a few minutes pacing around the main level of the now-empty house. Since his arrival in Guntersville, he hadn’t had much time to think, but he did now, and he was consumed by one all-powerful thought.
I need a drink.
Jason walked down the stairs to the basement and Braxton’s man cave, where he’d spent several Christmases and Thanksgivings drinking cocktails, beer, and wine from his brother-in-law’s stocked bar. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he glanced at the bar and saw that it was just as he remembered. He walked over to the glass cabinet and contemplated the bottles of bourbon, vodka, and gin that adorned each shelf. His mouth felt dry, and his heart rate picked up speed. He couldn’t get Niecy’s words out of his mind.
He had abandoned his family. Jason glanced from the liquor bottles to the refrigerator and opened it. There were several beers inside.
“Go ahead. Grab you one. I don’t think Braxton will mind anymore.”
Jason turned at the sound of the deep voice and saw a large man standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to give us some more light.” The man flicked a couple of buttons on the wall, and the room became bright. Jason noticed a massive television that hung on the far wall, where his brother-in-law had enjoyed watching Alabama football games. There was an old-fashioned movie theater popcorn maker to the side as well as the portraits that many Alabama football fans had in their lairs. The Goal Line Stand against Penn State in 1979. The Kick by Van Tiffin in ’85 to beat Auburn. Pictures of Coach Bryant and Coach Saban.
“Jackson Burns,” the man said. He wore a golf shirt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops and shuffled toward Jason with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “We’ve met before, but it’s been a while. Call me Burns. In this town, I’m not sure if anyone knows my first name anymore.”
“I remember,” Jason said, shaking the man’s meaty hand. Burns was about six feet tall, which was the same height as Jason, but he must’ve weighed a hundred pounds more, probably topping out close to 275 pounds. “You used to take us out on your boat in the summer when my wife and I came for the weekend.”
Burns snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Lakin, right? Sorry to hear about the divorce.”
The comment stung, and he was a bit surprised that Burns knew about the breakup of his marriage. But he knew he shouldn’t be. Burns and Braxton had been good friends for years. Next-door neighbors. The subject was bound to have come up.
“Been through that myself,” Burns said, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He popped the top and took a long swallow. “Shan left me over Christmas. Guess she’d finally had enough of being a car dealer’s wife.” He snorted. “You know how it is. Crazy hours, never home, always on the lot chasing the next sale.” He took another gulp of beer. “She and my two sons live in Huntsville now. I get to see the boys every other weekend and on Tuesdays, but Tuesdays during the school year hardly ever work out.”