Deadlocked 8 (28 page)

I walked down the aisle to inspect the pens,
and then winced when I saw what was in the third one. A horse’s
skeleton was laid out in the hay, a bridle still in its jaw and a
rope attached to a nearby post.

“Poor thing,” I said as I imagined the
majestic creature starving in here, waiting for its owners to
return.

Ben walked past me, headed towards a
workbench on the far end of the stable. “Maybe in here,” he said as
he pulled an enclosed crate from beneath the bench. He flipped open
the latches and lifted the lid of the chest, but then grumbled as
he pulled out the contents. “Looks like there’s just a bunch of
horse blankets in here.”

Something slipped out of the blanket and
thudded on the bottom of the chest. Ben dropped the blanket and
reached in to retrieve what had been hidden inside. It was a
rectangular box that was wrapped in silver paper, with a sparkling
bow and a card. He tore the card off and set it on the bench as he
said, “Wonder what this is.”

I picked up the card off the workbench and
tore it open as Ben started to unwrap the present. The front of the
card featured a smiling old man, his face beset with wrinkles as
his eyes squinted. The picture was black and white except for a red
rose that the old man was holding. Inside was a simple printed
message: ‘Happy Anniversary! From one old fart to another.’

On the opposite panel was a man’s messy
handwriting.

My Dearest Andrea,

Can you believe it’s been 49 years? Every
single day I count my lucky stars. You’re the light of my life. You
gave me three beautiful children, a lifetime of laughs and love,
and you don’t even get mad at me when I eat all the devil’s food
cookies (sorry about that).

We had a tough couple years, and you gave me
the scare of my life, but you made it through all of it. You’re
tougher than I ever was. I can’t wait to celebrate a whole bunch
more anniversaries with you. Just one more year to 50!

Love you more every day,

Wes

“It’s champagne,” said Ben as he opened the
gift. The bottle was in a green box with white flowers that curled
around the name, ‘Perrier Jouet.’

“Anniversary gift,” I said as I looked at the
delicate wrapping paper that Ben had unceremoniously tossed to the
dirty floor. The silver ribbon glimmered even in the dull light
that reached this end of the stable.

“Does champagne age like wine does?”

Ben hadn’t read the card, and wasn’t affected
by the significance of the gift like I was. The husband must’ve
hidden the present away in this crate. I could tell by the home
that his wife, Andrea, had been a neat person, and I guessed that
Wes had tucked the champagne away beneath the blankets to prevent
her from stumbling upon it.

“Do you know?” asked Ben, forcing me to
realize that I’d been daydreaming and hadn’t answered him.

“No,” I said. “I can think of at least one
way we can figure it out.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Ben as he inspected
the bottle. “We’ve had a hell of a couple of days. We deserve a
little relaxation.”

Ben Watanabe

We couldn’t risk lighting a fire because of
the smoke it would produce, but I still had Sterno cups, and the
pink jelly within did an admirable job inside the brick fireplace
in the living room. I placed two of the round tins in the fireplace
and let their blue flames heat the pan that would cook our dinner.
It was always risky to cook food, but we felt confident that we
were alone out here. As long as we avoided producing too much
smoke, we could get away with eating a nice meal tonight.

Laura had sent us off with some bread, salted
pork, and several cans of various vegetables. I did my best to make
an appetizing meal out of what we had, but Annie insisted on taking
over. She had a tin of beef fat that she used to add flavor, and
the pan crackled when she laid the strips of pork in the grease.
The home filled with a pleasant aroma as she sat beside our
makeshift fire, prodding the meat with a spatula she’d found in the
kitchen.

The box that the champagne had come in also
had two tall, thin glasses, each with white flowers etched in the
side. They were still sparkling and clean, soiled only by flecks of
cardboard from the packing material. I dusted them off, and then
carried them into the living room along with the champagne.

“Food’s ready,” said Annie as she pulled the
iron skillet off its stand. She scooped the meat off and set equal
portions on two plates along with a mound of beans.

I peeled off the golden foil that wrapped the
neck of the champagne bottle, and then started to unscrew the wire
that held the cork in place. I tossed the wire aside and the cork
nearly popped out all by itself, as if the bottle had been waiting
a lifetime for this moment. It didn’t take much prodding to send
the cork firing off to the ceiling as a fountain of bubbles spewed
forth, causing Annie to squeal as she pulled the plates away from
the mess that had wet the floor.

“Oops,” I said as I struggled to get the
champagne into the glasses. Annie held them for me, and I poured
our effervescent drinks. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Yeah,” said Annie. “Haven’t you ever had
champagne before?”

I shook my head, embarrassed. “No. I’ve had
wine, beer, whiskey, and all that stuff, but this is my first
bottle of champagne.”

“Well, I’m honored to be here for your
first,” said Annie as she raised her glass to toast me.

I licked wetness from my fingers before
raising my glass and clinking it against hers. We tried the alcohol
at the same time, and I was surprised by the way it tickled my
tongue. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I cared for it, but Annie
seemed to like it.

She drank half her glass and then said, “Fuck
it,” before downing the rest. She sighed in relief once her glass
was empty and smiled as she said, “I needed that.”

“More?” I asked.

“Not until you finish yours. I’m not going to
be greedy.”

I drank mine, ignoring the way it stung my
throat so that I could drink it fast. After I was finished, I
poured us two more glasses and then swirled the half-empty bottle.
“I think a good amount of it spilled on the carpet when I opened
the bottle.”

“That’s okay,” said Annie. “We probably
shouldn’t get too drunk.”

“Why not?”

She laughed as she ate, and then spoke with
her mouth full, “I thought…” she paused to finish her bite. “I
thought you didn’t drink much. Weren’t you the one telling me about
how alcohol should be saved for emergencies?”

“Yeah, but that was the old me.”

“The old you?” she asked with a grin before
taking another sip. “What’s the new you like?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” I said, not
quite certain what I meant. This alcohol worked fast.

“I guess we will,” she said as she drank some
more. “God, this is good.”

“Want another glass?”

“No, I should slow it down a bit.”

“Come on,” I said as I picked up the bottle
and started to pour her some more. “Let’s toast to Harry.”

She obliged, and we raised our glasses a
second time, clinking them together as I began to recount some of
the times I’d shared with the old man. “He was crazy as the day is
long, and made more enemies than friends, but I still loved that
old guy.”

“Here, here,” said Annie before taking a
drink.

I swirled my glass and watched as the bubbles
seemed to form out of nowhere along its side, escaping to the
surface where they snapped free. “He deserved better than he
got.”

“We all do,” said Annie. After a moment of
quiet, she leaned over and pointed at me with the same hand that
was holding her glass. “You made a difference in him, Ben.”

“Nah. If anything, he made a difference in
me.”

“No, trust me. I knew Harry back before he
met you, and I can promise he was a better man after you came
around than he was before.”

“What did he used to do?” I asked. “Everyone
seemed to hate him so much.”

“It wasn’t hate. We just knew not to trust
him. He could be the sweetest guy in the world one minute, and then
turn on you the next.”

“Yeah, I saw that side of him once. Wasn’t
pretty.”

“No one but you was ever willing to put up
with that side of him.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. He was the
only friend I had.”

We were sitting on the floor in front of the
fireplace, and Annie leaned back against the arm of a chair to
relax as we chatted. The food wasn’t delicious, but it was better
than I could’ve made out of what we had. And the champagne seemed
to taste better with each sip. Before we knew it, the bottle was
dry. Annie bemoaned the loss and held the bottle upside down,
waiting with an outstretched tongue for the last few drops to
fall.

“Oh no,” she said as she let the bottle fall
to her side. “We didn’t toast Stubs. We should toast him too.”

“Too late,” I lamented as I upturned my empty
glass.

“No, nope. No, no, no,” she said as she
forced herself up, her dexterity clearly a victim of the alcohol.
“You stay right here. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” I asked as I watched
her stumble her way into the kitchen. The alcohol had stripped me
of any finesse as well, and I didn’t try to chase her.

“There has to be some more to drink here
somewhere.” She started rifling through cabinets, and even the
fridge, which was a place I rarely ever searched. Refrigerators
were almost always a horrid mess of decades-old rot and mold. After
searching for a few minutes, I heard her exclaim, “Aha!”

“What did you find?”

“Whiskey,” she answered with a tune as if the
word was stolen from a song. “Gimme your glass. Gimme, gimme,
gimme.” She fluttered her fingers at me as she held the bottle of
brown liquid in her other hand.

I handed the long-stemmed glass over to her
and said, “Aren’t we supposed to use shot glasses?”

“These’ll work,” she said as she filled the
glass to the top.

“Whoa,” I laughed as I watched the whiskey
slosh over the rim. “That’s too much. What happened to us not
getting too drunk?”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Too late.
Don’t be a party pooper.”

“I’m not,” I said like a wounded child
succumbing to the taunts of a friend.

“I bet I can finish mine first,” she said as
she poured herself a glass.

“Wait!” I shouted out louder than I’d meant
to. “We’re supposed to be toasting Stubs.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” she said. “I
forgot.”

We raised our glasses and carefully touched
them, trying not to spill the whiskey that Annie had filled to
bursting. “To Stubs, who could stink up a room worse than any human
I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Annie. She kept
her eyes on me as we both slowly brought our glasses to our lips,
trying not to spill. She started slow, but then tipped the glass
back as she swallowed the whiskey with startling speed. I couldn’t
keep up.

“Ha! I beat you.” She pointed and laughed as
I struggled to finish. When I tried to lower my glass while it was
still half-full, she exclaimed that I couldn’t give up, and pushed
at the bottom of my glass to force me to drink more. I nearly
choked as I tried not to laugh, but finally managed to swallow the
last of the burning liquid.

“There you go,” she said as I winced from the
drink. “How’s that feel?”

“Hot,” I said as I pat my chest. I could feel
the alcohol burning its way into my stomach.

“You drunk yet?”

I laughed, and then nodded. “Getting
there.”

“Want another?”

I quickly refused the offer. “No way. Are you
crazy? You’re going to make me puke my guts up.”

“We don’t want that,” said Annie as she put
the top back on the bottle of whiskey and pushed it to the side.
Then she spoke louder, with a sudden expulsion as if she’d been
waiting all night to say something, “Hey.”

“Yes?” I asked after she didn’t follow her
word with any question or statement.

“I just…” she was looked down as she
struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve already said
it, and I know you’re going to say it wasn’t my fault and all that.
But I just need you to hear it again, from the heart, so you know I
really, really mean it.” She was clearly drunk.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

“For losing Stubs.”

I shook my head and said, “No, it wasn’t your
fault.”

“I had him,” she said as she looked down at
her hands. “He was right there in my hands, and he was just stolen.
I tried to grab him, but he was gone so fast.”

I scooted over to sit beside Annie, and put
my arm around her. I pulled her close and said, “Stop it. It wasn’t
your fault.”

“But it was my fault. It was.”

“Annie, look at me.” I put my finger under
her chin and brought her face up so that I could look into her
sparkling blue eyes. A curl of her red hair fell down, and I swiped
it back up. She smiled, and then bit at her bottom lip. I was going
to tell her again that I didn’t blame her for what happened to
Stubs, but instead I leaned forward and kissed her.

Our first kiss was gentle and timid, and I
retreated nearly as soon as our lips touched. I felt ashamed for
it, and certain that I’d misread the situation. She proved me wrong
by refusing to let me back away. She pulled me closer, and kissed
me passionately, forcing me to anchor my hand on the floor as she
pushed herself onto me.

“Wow,” I said when she started to kiss at my
neck. “Okay. Wait, wait.” I pushed gently at her, but she forced my
hand away and guided me to the floor so that she could crawl over
me. “Wait.”

“What?”

“We’re…” I was flustered and nervous, my
heart pounding in my chest as she straddled me. “Should we? I mean,
we’re drunk. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of
you.”