Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
DANNY
“D on’t,” says Nate as soon as we’re in the pick-up.
“Don’t?”
“Don’t tell me it’s all going to be okay.”
Ah, shit. Nate knows me too well.
So instead, I say, “I’m here for you, bro. For as long as you need me.”
“Thanks,” says Nate.
There’s a flatness in his voice I’ve never heard before. Being the oldest Durant, Nate’s always had an overblown sense of responsibility, and he can work himself to the point of exhaustion. He never gives up, though, not even when he’s clinging on by his fingernails. But that’s what I hear now in his voice. Nate sounds defeated.
I revise my plans for this evening. I thought we’d go out, have a couple of beers, shoot the shit, head home mildly buzzed, get a good night’s sleep. Now, I feel like I’m being my worst, most shallow self. Nate doesn’t need brews and banter. He needs … what?
An idea to call Ava pops into my head. She and Cam would be willing to do anything to help out. I reject it because they’re still in the first flush of love, and I don’t feel like Nate needs two starry-eyed love birds giving him advice. He needs someone who’s been through the mill and out the other side. I don’t know anyone like that except for my parents. And that is a hard no from me.
Shit, oh well. We’re parked outside The Silver Saddle now. Guess the best I can do is lend an ear if Nate wants to talk, and drink in companionable silence if he doesn’t.
Every time I push open the door to this bar, I expect a scene from a Western movie, where all the patrons fall silent and stare at the city slickers who’ve had the nerve to enter their joint. The fact this never happens always disappoints me, but then I am a sucker for attention. Though, let’s face it, the only attention I’m really after is my father’s.
Brendan nods at us, which is his equivalent of a hearty welcome. I could feel flattered but his mood tends to change on a dime, so I won’t provoke him by being over-familiar. The place is surprisingly full, so the only seats for us are up at the bar. Nate and I take the stools furthest away from Brendan. No point in being closer. Brendan would take his sweet time serving us if we were literally an inch away from his face.
Amazingly, he comes over right away, takes one look at Nate and fetches the bourbon off the shelf. Pours us a shot each. Walks off without a word.
Nate stares at his for a moment, then downs it in one. I’m driving and his need is greater than mine, so I push my shot glass his way. He cricks his neck, like he knows he’s going to regret it, downs it anyway.
“Might want to wait for those to kick in before you go again,” is my advice.
Nate says nothing. He’s staring at the wall behind the bar. There’s a sign on it that says Line dancers will be thrown out on their achy-breaky asses. Brendan sure knows how to make people feel welcome.
I checked around as soon we came in to see if anyone we know is here. Chiara and Jordan, in particular. It’s safe. Well, maybe not if Nate’s mood gets any darker. Apart from Ava, us Durants are more lovers than fighters. But I’ve never seen my brother like this. I don’t know whether to try to get him talking or let him drink himself into a stupor. Both those options seem equally risky right now.
“Beer?”
Brendan’s back and talking to me. It’s unnerving.
“Uh, maybe later,” I say.
I don’t have to explain that I need to watch out for my brother. Brendan picked up on Nate’s mood soon as we entered, hence the bourbon.
“Bumps in the road?” he says to Nate.
Nate turns his head slowly and blinks at him. Not sure if the shots have taken effect or if he’s stunned by the fact Brendan’s engaging him in conversation.
After a beat, Nate says, “A few.”
“Money or love?” says Brendan.
“All of the above,” says Nate.
Brendan nods. A guy at the other end of the bar has started waving to get his attention. Obviously new in town.
“Conventional wisdom says you gotta roll with the punches,” says Brendan. “But you can’t do that when you’re on the ropes. When everything’s coming at you, it’s hard to keep perspective. Even the smallest blows feel big.”
Nate’s shaking his head. “The blows are big. Nothing’s small. I can’t make my wife well. Can’t make our baby’s birth safe. Can’t get the winery out of low gear. Can’t stop worrying. Can’t sleep. And if I can’t cope now, how the fuck am I going to cope when we have a new baby?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the guy at the other end of the bar stick two fingers in his mouth like he’s about to whistle. I’m torn between listening to Brendan and witnessing this slow-motion car crash.
“Don’t look so far ahead,” Brendan’s telling Nate. “Don’t even take it a day at a time. Do one thing. Do another thing. That’s it. That’s all?—”
Holy shit, the guy whistles. And my Western movie fantasy comes true; the whole bar goes silent.
Brendan tilts his head to one side. I have visions of the scene in Terminator 2 , where the T-1000 morphs its arm into a kitchen knife and impales the foster dad in the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” he says to us.
The whistling guy is young, maybe barely old enough to be in the bar. And he’s cocky. Soon as Brendan turns his way, he opens his arms in the “about time” gesture. Bet I’m not the only one considering diving for cover.
Brendan walks to where the guy is waiting. Close up, Brendan’s biceps look like melons, if melons were tanned and tattooed. His black T-shirt emphasizes the breadth of his chest and shoulders. With his blond, shaggy hair, he looks like he drinks blood out of the skulls of his enemies. If I were that young guy, I’d need a change of underwear. But Mr Cocky is either high or his parents did not set firm enough boundaries when he was growing up.
“What the fuck, man?” he says. “Can I get a beer or what?”
“You can get out,” is Brendan’s even reply.
“ What ? Are you fucking with me?”
“My bar, my rules,” says Brendan.
Mr Cocky is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’s fit and wiry, maybe does martial arts. Maybe has a very specific kind of death wish, who knows?
“He’s not going to take a swing, is he?” Nate murmurs.
Why, yes, he is. Mr Cocky’s fast, I’ll give him that. And if the punch had landed, it would have hurt. But Brendan catches his fist in mid-air and now has the guy pinned on the bar, twisted around with his arm so far up his back, his shoulder must be about to dislocate. The whole room collectively flinches.
The guy squirms and struggles but he may as well be held in an iron vise. Brendan bends his head and whispers in the guy’s ear and he goes suddenly limp. Brendan lets go of his arm and shoves him up off the bar. Mr Cocky hightails it without a backward glance.
The bar stays quiet a moment more. Then the conversation starts up again, pool balls go click. Someone feels confident enough to put money in the jukebox and Kacey Musgraves comes on. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out in a whoosh. Turn back to Nate and find him looking less pinched and gray. Two shots of bourbon and the floor show have probably helped, but I’m glad to see it, nonetheless.
“Do one thing. Do another thing,” he says. “Did Brendan actually tell me that?”
“It’s not bad advice,” I reply. “Can’t hold a candle to ‘Live, Laugh, Love’, of course.”
Nate almost smiles but then his face crumples. “I love Shelby,” he says. “So much. It’s why I’m so fucking frightened. Every hard thing I thought I’d faced seems so trivial now. If I’ve never really been tested, what if I don’t have it in me to deal with this? What if I fuck it up and break everything?”
He has a point. Us Durants know how to work hard, and we know how to compete. But we’ve never had to deal with serious failure. With the collapse of our lives as we know them.
But that hasn’t happened, and it might never happen. Nate should take his foot off his own neck and cut himself a break.
“I don’t know anyone who’s more capable than you,” I tell him. “And maybe when you think of your problems, you should picture them looking like that cocky guy, and unleash your inner Brendan?”
Nate pauses. “What do you think he whispered to him?”
“Hope I’m never in a position to find out,” I reply. “Which is why I’m going to ask extra nicely if we can have another round of drinks.”