CHAPTER 8
On one muggy evening in late April, Victor took the truck to pick up feed at the mill before it closed at six.
He figured he’d take a shortcut back from town, so he pulled onto a narrow local road that meandered along the countryside.
He liked to look out across the rolling hills of cornfields and roaming herds of cattle as George Strait played on the radio and a light rain pitter-pattered across his windshield.
He was just about to hit the intersection where he’d turn right when he spotted Johnny’s truck pulled off the road.
Victor hit the brakes, then backed up until their trucks were next to one another.
There was no one in the cab, but then Johnny’s head popped up over the edge of the side of the bed, hat sitting crooked on his head.
Victor pulled in front of Johnny’s truck so he could park off the road, then jumped out. By now Johnny had adjusted his hat and had his face turned into the collar of his Carhartt duster, as if trying to hide it.
“What in the hell are you doing parked on the side of the road, sitting in the rain?” Victor asked.
“Hmm? Oh I’m just… I’m only…” Johnny trailed off, wobbling. It was then Victor realized two things: Johnny was very drunk and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, as if he’d been crying. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’.”
Victor stepped closer to the truck, and Johnny turned further away from him, suddenly interested in the opposite side of the bed. Victor spotted a few cans of beer crunched up and tossed along with various chains, ropes, and other detritus that had gathered in the bed over time.
“Have you been driving drunk?” Victor asked.
“Nah.” Johnny shook his head, still wobbly. “Nah, I’m parked.”
“Are you crying?”
“I ain’t doin’ shit!” Johnny snarled, whirling on Victor. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”
Victor would have been more hesitant to push it if Johnny weren’t smashed to hell and back. His whole face was nearly as pink as his eyes. Judging by the drops of rain clinging to his hat and duster, he’d been out here a while.
“I’m not letting you sit out in the rain,” Victor replied. “At least get into the cab.”
“Don’t matter.” Johnny threw back a swig of beer from one of the few intact cans in his vicinity. “Don’t nothin’ fuckin’ matter.”
“What happened? What is this about?”
“I told you to mind your own damn business.”
“I’m not going to be told to mind my own damn business by a man who has never taken his own advice.”
“I ain’t gonna let no sorry son of a bitch tell me what to do.”
“Jesus Christo,” Victor muttered under his breath before grasping the side of the truck and thrusting a boot up onto the tire. “Don’t make me drag you out.”
“Hey!” Johnny blurted, throwing himself backward with enough force to upset his balance.
He toppled onto a bed of crinkled aluminum cans and rusted chains, losing his hat in the process.
It was obvious he’d been at work all day, as there was a line of fine dust on his skin that had stopped at the rim of his hat. “I said leave me be!”
Victor swung himself into the bed and picked his way over the mess to fetch Johnny’s hat. When he offered it back to Johnny, Johnny took it with a scowl and shoved it back on his head.
“Get your ass up,” Victor ordered. “I’m taking you to my place until you sort yourself out.”
“Ain’t no way. I’m stayin’ here. I wanna be left alone.
” Johnny reached for the beer can he’d set down on the metal box where Victor knew he kept his gun but knocked the can instead, so whatever pittance inside spilled over the truck.
Johnny spit a slew of swear words before grasping for the side of the truck and dragging himself to his feet.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Victor said one second before Johnny pitched forward.
He might have hit the ground head first if Victor hadn’t grabbed a handful of his duster and hauled him back.
Johnny swung an arm back to elbow Victor away from him, but it was a clumsy strike and bounced off of Victor’s bicep.
Johnny’s hat went flying again as Johnny tried another punch, but this one was equally as ineffective as the first, missing Victor entirely.
Victor used his hold on Johnny’s duster to shove him forward and down, putting him face to face with the mud-crusted bed of the truck.
Johnny let out garbled protest as he fought off Victor’s grip.
When Victor released him, it was more because he wanted to and less because of Johnny’s prowess at escaping him.
“Fuck you, you son of a bitch,” Johnny grumbled, scrambling onto his feet again.
“Listen, I could leave you here to drink yourself into oblivion, but I don’t trust you to keep yourself from driving in this state.”
Johnny glared at Victor a moment with puffy red eyes before attempting once again to dismount from the truck.
This time he was a bit more successful, even if the impact of the landing brought him to his knees.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he careened to the side, nearly slamming into his truck before staggering onto the road.
With a sigh, Victor jumped down from the truck bed and went after him, feeling like a father chasing after an irate toddler.
Johnny made it about six steps before he lost his balance and collapsed into a puddle in the gully alongside the road. Victor expected Johnny to roar and rear back, but he stayed down, which gave Victor an opening to approach.
“Johnny,” Victor muttered, crouching near Johnny’s head. “You okay?”
“Fuck off,” Johnny mumbled, but his voice had lost all its ferocity. He was crying again.
“Listen, the rain is picking up. Why don’t I take you back to my place and let you sleep it off?”
Johnny frowned but didn’t immediately respond. Finally he sighed and held up a hand. Victor did his best to drag a sopping wet and defeated Johnny to his feet.
The drive was silent for the first few minutes. Victor heard Johnny sniffling from the back seat and the slide of clothing as he rolled over, but that was it. Finally Johnny pulled himself to a sit so that he could meet Victor’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“I didn’t mean to punch ya,” he muttered, his voice so muffled Victor struggled to understand him.
“It’s fine. You have terrible aim.”
Johnny sank back down out of view, and he stayed there until Victor pulled into his driveway.
Victor had a bit of déjà vu as he pulled Johnny out of the truck and helped him walk to the house, where Johnny kicked off his boots at the door and fell onto the couch.
Victor decided to leave him there and headed back to his truck so he could unpack all the horse feed before it got totally soaked in the rain.
* * *
Victor returned to the house two hours later to find Johnny sitting on the porch bench, bent over with his head in his hands.
When he heard Victor’s boots on the steps, he pulled his hands from his messy strawberry blonde hair and looked up.
The puffiness had faded a little, but he still didn’t look great.
Victor was afraid of being told some bad news.
“You were gone a long time,” Johnny muttered as he pet the dogs who thrust their noses up toward his face to lick him.
“Had to unload all the feed and take care of things for the night. I thought you’d be sleeping it off.”
“I’m still kinda drunk,” Johnny replied, pinching his nose. “But I’m sobering up.”
“That’s good.”
Johnny scratched behind his neck and shifted with discomfort. “Uh, thanks for bringin’ me here.”
“Care to explain what this is all about? Is Taylor okay?”
“Taylor? Oh. Yeah, she’s fine. This is about something dumber than that.”
Maybe it had something to do with Daisy? That was the last person to get Johnny this out of sorts. “So what is it?”
Johnny pressed his lips together, like he was trying to keep control over himself. “This mornin’ at work the guy who manages the horse barn said my horse had gotten herself into some kind of trouble and asked me to come quick. Turns out she fell into this ditch and broke her neck.”
Victor’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Which horse?”
Victor’s mouth trembled before he rubbed it. “Colonel.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry, Johnny.”
“They wanted to call the vet but I knew that’d take forever and she was in a lotta pain. So I took care of it myself.” Johnny sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes tearing up again. “God fucking damnit,” he growled as he pinched his eyes.
Victor crossed the porch and slowly sank down onto the bench next to Johnny.
He wanted to hug him, and ten years ago, he wouldn’t have had any reservations about it.
But men were weird about physical affection, and men in rural Oklahoma even more so.
So he sat there hating the stupid gender conventions that kept him awkward and unsure of how to proceed.
Victor decided a hand on the back couldn’t hurt, so that’s what he did. “Hey, I’m so sorry. What an awful thing to happen.”
“I had that horse since I was a lil kid,” Johnny sobbed, hiding his face behind both hands now.
“Ain’t no horse in the world like her, and she didn’t deserve that way to go.
I told myself that when the time came I was gonna make it as easy and peaceful as possible.
She didn’t deserve—fuck. Here I am cryin’ like a baby over a horse. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve cried way more over horses who meant half as much to me.”
“If my daddy saw me like this—” Johnny hiccupped, and it became apparent how hard he was trying to hide his face from Victor as he tilted his hat absurdly low on his crown.
Victor allowed himself a few circular rubs between Johnny’s shoulders, wishing he could envelope Johnny and let him cry into his chest or lap.
It hurt to see Johnny try so hard to suppress and hide the way he felt over a terrible loss.
Johnny never talked about his parents so Victor didn’t know what to think of them, but that one cut-off phrase gave Victor a glimpse.