3. Eli
Chapter 3
Eli
J ohn Denver might’ve been onto something when he said country roads would take him home. But it was not the place where I belonged. Then again, he was talking about West Virginia, not northern Texas. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d been in the car too long, lost in my own thoughts. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a smutty audiobook to listen to on my drive back to Sagebrush. Although, considering how fucking bored I was gonna be over the next few months while everything blew over, maybe I should start buying some.
The endless prairie rolled by outside my window, a sea of green grass swaying in the Texas wind. I'd forgotten how vast and empty it could feel out here. My fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel as I contemplated the months of small-town boredom ahead.
Sagebrush. Even the name sounded dry and dusty. I could already picture the sleepy main street, the diner where everyone would know my business before I'd finished my coffee. Part of me longed for the anonymity of the city I'd left behind. But that wasn't an option anymore. Not to mention my pristine car was gonna be dusty as fuck forever now.
As I crested another gentle hill, I caught my first glimpse of Sagebrush in the distance. The water tower loomed on the horizon like a sentinel. Home sweet home, I thought sarcastically. At least it would be quiet here. Maybe too quiet. Then again, that was probably a good thing. The last thing I needed was everyone in town gossiping about my company and how I’d somehow let it fall to pieces without knowing I was being duped.
I made a mental note to stop by the local liquor store before settling in at my parents' old place. If I was going to survive this exile, I'd need a steady supply of halfway decent vodka to dull the edges.
As I rolled into town, the familiar sights brought a mix of nostalgia and dread. The faded Texaco sign, Dolly’s Diner with its neon “OPEN” flickering weakly, old man Johnson rocking on his front porch like he hadn't moved in 20 years. Hell, he could be a corpse for all I knew, just rocking in the wind. Everything was just as I remembered, frozen in time.
I slowed as I passed the high school, memories flooding back of Friday night football games and stolen kisses behind the bleachers. God, had I really been that young once? It felt like a lifetime ago.
I might’ve only been twenty-eight years old, but after the past couple of days I was feeling closer to sixty. It seemed like I’d lived an entire life already. I got a job, clawed my way up the corporate ladder, and then lost everything. My only saving grace was my investment account that would keep me afloat for quite some time in a place like Sagebrush. Then again, it wasn’t like I was ever getting a job in Dallas again. Fraud had a way of ruining a person’s resume.
The liquor store was right where I remembered, a squat cinderblock building with bars on the windows like it had been an old west jail from the movies in its previous life. I pulled into the gravel lot, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on my once spotless car. I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable layer of grime that would become a permanent feature on both my vehicle and my life.
As I stepped out, the crunch of gravel under my designer shoes felt like a metaphor for my life - polished and put-together on the surface, but rough and unstable underneath. They should put that shit in a fortune cookie or something. The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and the cool air inside was a welcome respite from the late spring Texas heat.
“Well, I'll be damned,” a gravelly voice called out from behind the counter. “If it ain't little Elijah Daniels, all grown up.”
I squinted in the dim light, making out the weathered face of old Mr. Hawkins. He looked exactly the same as I remembered, right down to the ancient Cowboys cap perched on his balding head.
“It's just Eli now,” I corrected, forcing a polite smile. “Good to see you, Mr. Hawkins.”
“Eli, huh? Too fancy for your full name now?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “What brings you back to our little slice of heaven? Not trying to snag a bottle for another high school party out on the prairie, are ya?”
I bristled at the question, my smile tightening. “Just visiting family for a while. Thought I'd stock up.” I gestured vaguely at the shelves of liquor.
Mr. Hawkins raised an eyebrow. “Must be planning one hell of a family reunion. Aisle three's got our best selection. Unless you've gone and developed some big city tastes for fancy scotch or somethin'. Then that’s behind the counter.”
“Normal stuff is fine,” I muttered, making my way to aisle three. I grabbed two bottles of the most expensive brand they had, which wasn't saying much. Mr. Hawkins made a couple other annoying comments as he took my money and bagged the vodka.
“Now don’t go lettin’ your daddy have any of that,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “We don’t want him having another tantrum.”
It took everything I had to stay quiet, my shoulders bunching up to keep all the anger inside. Calling a severe episode of PTSD a ‘tantrum’ was about the rudest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard. It wasn’t my father’s fault he was nearly blown up several times in Operation Desert Storm. He was doing the best he could and people like Mr. Hawkins who never served anyone except themselves… well, they just didn’t understand what that could do to a man.
I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. “I'll keep that in mind,” I said, grabbing the paper bag and heading for the door. The bell jangled harshly as I threw the door open and stepped out into the heat, my anger simmering just below the surface. As much as I now hated that man, he had a point. When Dad was having a particularly hard time, he had a tendency to reach for the bottle, which only made things worse. If I was going to have alcohol at home, I’d have to keep it hidden. That in combination with his meds… well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
As I drove the last few miles to my parents' farm, I tried to push Mr. Hawkins' comments out of my mind. But they kept creeping back in, along with a flood of memories I'd rather forget. Dad's night terrors, the way Mom would usher me out of the room when he got that wild look in his eyes. The whispers around town, the pitying glances. I hated all of it. I was mighty proud of my father for serving our country. But the way people treated him… the way the VA wanted to just throw medication at him and push him out the door, it was disgusting.
The gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into the long driveway. The old farmhouse loomed ahead, its white paint peeling in places. Dad's truck was parked out front, a battered Ford that had seen better days.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the reunion ahead. As I stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of hay and livestock hit me, a stark contrast to the sterile air of my Dallas apartment. The screen door creaked open before I could even grab my bags.
“Eli!” My father's voice boomed across the yard. He strode towards me, his gait still carrying that military precision despite the slight limp. “Bout time you showed up, son.”
I forced a smile, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. “Hey, Dad. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a bitch.”
He pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, and I caught a whiff of motor oil and Old Spice. When he pulled back, his amber eyes–so much like my own–searched my face. “You look tired, boy. City life wearing you down?”
If he only knew the half of it.
“You could say that,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light. “Nothing a little country air won't fix, right?”
Dad chuckled, slapping me on the back. “That's the spirit. Come on in, your mother's been fussing over dinner all damn day. You’d think she was serving the royal family or somethin’.”
I followed him into the house, the familiar creak of the floorboards bringing back a flood of memories. The interior was just as I remembered - faded floral wallpaper, well-worn furniture, and the ever-present scent of my mother's cooking. That woman practically lived in the kitchen. She was damn good at it though. One entire wall of the living room was nothing but blue ribbons, all her victories at the county fair over the past twenty-five years.
“Eli!” Mom's voice rang out from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up as she rushed to embrace me. “Oh, honey, it's so good to have you home.”
I hugged her back, feeling a twinge of guilt. I hadn't visited nearly as often as I should have. “Hey, Mom. Smells amazing in here.”
She beamed, patting my cheek. “I made all your favorites. Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. Oh, and peach cobbler for dessert.”
My stomach growled in response. After days of fast food on the road, a home-cooked meal sounded like heaven. “Can't wait,” I said, meaning it.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “Why don't you go get cleaned up, son? Dinner'll be ready in about twenty minutes?” He glanced at mom for approval and she nodded. “That’ll give you a chance to settle in a bit.”
“Thanks,” I replied, grabbing my bags and heading up the narrow staircase to my old room. It was like stepping into a time capsule - faded posters of bands I'd long stopped listening to, dusty trophies from high school sports, and a twin bed that looked comically small with my Disney character duvet still on top. It was from One Hundred and One Dalmatians, my favorite movie as a kid. The animated one of course. Not that Glenn Close wasn’t an incredible Cruella, I just liked the animated puppies better. I can’t remember how many times I asked my parents for a dog after I got that. But I never got one. And good thing too, there was no place to have one at my old apartment in Dallas and I would’ve been heartbroken to leave it behind.
I tossed my bags on the bed, sending up a small cloud of dust. Clearly, Mom hadn't been up here in a while. I made a mental note to change the sheets before I went to sleep tonight.
As I unpacked, I couldn't shake the feeling of regression. Here I was, twenty-eight years old, crawling back to my childhood bedroom with my tail between my legs. It was pathetic. I'd worked so hard to get out of this town, to make something of myself. And now...
I shook my head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. This was temporary. Just until things blew over. I'd figure something out, find a way to salvage my career. I had to. I was Eli fucking Daniels for god sakes. I’d made something of myself once and I could do it again. No sweat.
The vodka bottles clinked in my suitcase as I moved it, reminding me of their presence. I glanced at the door, then quickly stashed them in the back of the closet, behind a stack of old yearbooks. Better safe than sorry.
I changed into fresh clothes, trading my wrinkled dress shirt for a plain white tee and jeans. As I headed back downstairs, the smell of home cooking grew stronger, making my mouth water.
Mom was just setting a steaming platter of chicken fried steak on the table as I entered the kitchen. “Perfect timing,” she said with a smile. “Grab the potato bowl for me, would you?”
I obliged, settling into the familiar rhythm of family dinner prep. Dad was already seated at the head of the table, a faraway look in his eyes. I recognized that expression - he was somewhere else, lost in memories I couldn't begin to understand.
“How about some music?” I suggested, moving to turn on the old radio on the counter. Maybe it would help ground him in the present.
As we sat down to eat, the familiar strains of a country ballad filled the kitchen. Dad's eyes seemed to focus a bit more as he reached for the mashed potatoes.
“So, Eli,” Mom said, passing me the green bean casserole, “how long are you planning to stay with us? Not that we're not thrilled to have you home, of course.”
I swallowed hard, buying time by taking a large bite of chicken fried steak. It was delicious, just like I remembered, but it suddenly felt heavy in my stomach.
“Well,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “I'm not entirely sure yet. Things in Dallas are... complicated right now. I thought it might be good to take a little break, you know?”
Dad's fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Complicated how? Everything alright at work?”
I let out a long sigh. Whatever plans I’d made in the car to keep everything a secret, it all felt silly now. How was I going to live in a house with my parents and expect them never to ask questions? It was a losing battle, so I figured I might as well get it over with now.
“You didn’t tell him?” I asked, glancing over at Mom.
“No,” she said softly. “I didn’t understand it much myself, so I figured I’d wait till you got here.”
Dad looked suddenly worried. “You in trouble?”
“I’m not,” I said, putting down my silverware. “But my company has been seized by the SEC.” There was an audible gasp around the table. “I can’t tell you all the details, but someone higher up committed an enormous amount of fraud, and the government found out. The whole company will be folded up by the end of the month. Everyone lost their jobs and… well, it sounds like a few of them are going to prison.”
Dad's face darkened, his jaw clenching. “Those bastards. After all your hard work...”
I nodded, pushing food around my plate. “Yeah, it's... not great. I wasn't involved in any of the illegal stuff, but my name's still associated with the company. Finding another job in finance right now would be...” I trailed off, not wanting to say “impossible.”
Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “Oh honey, I'm so sorry. You must be devastated.”
I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It's fine. I'll figure something out. Just need some time to regroup, you know?”
Dad grunted, stabbing at his steak with more force than necessary. “Damn corporate vultures. Probably living it up on some island while good people like you take the fall.”
“Robert,” Mom said softly.
“It's okay, Mom,” I said, cutting her off. “Dad's right. It's not fair.”
The tension at the table was palpable. I could see the muscles in Dad's jaw working as he chewed, his eyes distant again. Mom kept glancing between us, clearly worried.
“Well,” she said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice, “we're just glad to have you home, honey. However long you need to stay. Right, Robert?”
Dad grunted in agreement, but his expression remained stormy. I knew that look. He was spiraling, his mind probably conjuring up all sorts of scenarios about corporate greed and injustice. I needed to change the subject before things got worse.
“So, uh, how's the farm doing?” I asked, trying to sound interested. “Crops coming in okay this year?”
Dad's eyes refocused slightly. “It’s been a bit dry, but we’re managing. The cows are loving it though.” He glanced up, a smile pulling at his lips. “Wanna go see my new project after supper? It goes damn fast.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He was tinkering on something. That explained the motor oil smell.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I’d love that.”
My mother just shook her head with a sigh. “Boys and their toys.”