That was when I saw the shooting star. At first, I got scared, thinking it was a UFO landing out in a field somewhere. That was what it looked like—a flash of light dropping out of the sky.
Our dad explained everything he knew about shooting stars, which turned out to be a lot. He talked about why stars die and how long it takes us to notice, even with a telescope. I used to marvel at how much he knew, but I’ve come to learn that about 50 percent of the shit he told us was made up. He could’ve had a great career as a storyteller if he’d had any interest.
The best thing about living out here is the sheer blackness of the sky at night and the radiance of those stars. You'll never catch me living in a city, not ever again.
When we pull up to my house, I walk around to Chad's side, but he's out of the car before I can open the door. He sort of ambles and staggers toward the front door of my house, and I follow, knowing he isn’t going to get lost.
Passing through my entryway, I notice a couple of plants that need watering, but I can deal with that in the morning.
I go to the kitchen, grab two glasses of water, and bring them back to the family room, where Chad is splayed out on my couch, an arm over his eyes.
“Come on, sit up. I need to get some water in you.” I hold out the glass.
For once in his life, Chad does what I'm asking.
“You should crash here tonight,” I say.
Chad nods, sipping the water, then finally gulping down the contents of the glass in one go. He hands me the glass, so I go to the kitchen for a refill, looking down and noticing that I'm wearing plaid pajama bottoms instead of the sweatpants I thought I grabbed. That was how I walked into the Hitching Post. Embarrassing.
Whatever. It couldn't be helped.
When I come back with a second glass of water, Chad turns to face me, his eyes a little bleary and a lot bloodshot. I wonder if he's been crying or just drinking. Maybe both.
No, my brother never cries. That’s something we have in common. What he does do, however, is talk when he's had a few too many to drink. And tonight, I'm not spared any details.
“You have it all together, man,” he says, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I don't know how you do it. Where did I go wrong? I never should have gotten married. You have the rightidea by going it alone. All I did was open myself up to hurt and heartache.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Let's not go bringing my life into all of this. I have my own problems, so don't fantasize that I have it all figured out.”
“Well, it sure looks like it,” Chad says. “From where I sit, you've got it made. Nice property, easy hours, and no one yakking all night at you about how you've done everything wrong. How you’re the world’s biggest failure.”
“Is that what she said?” It doesn't sound like Karen. She loves Chad, and I know that with every fiber of my being. But his drinking is killing her.
His answer is a mumble, and I see his eyelids begin to droop. “Best thing I can do is move out of this town.”
“Let’s talk in the morning. Now isn’t the time to make those kinds of decisions,” I tell him.
“If she doesn't want to be with me, I don't think I can live in this town worrying I'm going to run into her in the grocery store, looking over my shoulder every minute to see if she's dating someone new.”
“Hang on,” I say. “She's still your wife. You guys made a commitment. Story isn’t over yet.”
“I dunno. Maybe it is,” he says, lying down on my couch. It's just a matter of moments before he falls asleep. I just need to get him to pass out, and we can have this conversation in the morning.
Or, better yet, not have it at all.
He and Karen are one of the best couples I know. If they aren't meant for each other, there’s no hope for the rest of us.
A minute later, I hear the telltale signs of Chad dozing off. A low rumble comes from his chest, then he begins to snore in earnest.
“Thank the Lord,” I mumble to myself, laying a throw blanket over Chad’s legs. In the meantime, now I'm wide awake at two in the morning, wondering what happened with Karen.
If I'm not going to fall asleep, I might as well get some work done. So I pad over to my office and sit down, opening my laptop to a document that has been taunting me all week. The numbers just aren't adding up, and there's no way they will unless I can get more water to douse the crops behind my house.
And that takes me back to the lawsuit. My lawyer is telling me it might get nasty. That's not my style. But it sure is his.
With those troubles and my brother’s added on top, my thoughts shouldn't drift back to Tessa, but she’s been the subject of every idle thought for weeks. I haven’t been to the Hitching Post since we met, but walking in there tonight hit me hard.
The feeling that I'd let something good slip between my fingers by not at least getting her phone number. I know she's not from here, but that doesn't mean I couldn't see her again.
