Indelible

She gave a cautious "Hey."

He had a silly grin on his face, and he held his finger in the air for silence as Elvis Presley's "Wise Men Say" came on the radio.

"Jeffrey…"

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, making sloppy work of leading her in a dance.

She looked at the truck, which was probably older than she was. A long bench seat like the kind she had seen in the cave stretched from door to door, a single gearshift sticking up from the floorboard.

She asked, "Did you drive here?"

"Shh," he said, the smell of beer on his breath so overpowering that she turned her head away.

"How much have you had to drink?"

He hummed with the song, picking up the line "Falling in love…with…you…"

"Jeff."

"I love you, Sara."

"That's nice," she said, gently pushing him away. "Let's get you home, all right?"

"I can't go to Possum's."

She put her hands on his shoulders, aware that she was literally keeping him upright. "Yes, you can."

"They arrested Robert."

Sara absorbed this information, but did not offer an opinion. "We'll talk about it when you're sober."

"I'm sober now."

"Sure you are," she said, glancing back to see if Harold was watching.

"Let's go somewhere," Jeffrey said, trying to climb into the truck headfirst.

"Hold on," Sara said, catching him when he fell back. She braced her hands against his butt and pushed him in.

He slurred his words, saying, "Shh-ure been a long day."

"I can't believe you drove like this."

"Who's go

"Scoot over," she said, giving him a nudge.

"Men don't let women drive."

Sara laughed, giving him more of a push than a nudge. "Come on, big boy. You'll still be a man in the morning."

Beer bottles clanged onto the floor as he slid onto the passenger's side. He leaned down, rummaging through the bottles. "Shit," he said. "We need more beer."

"We'll get some," she told him, climbing into the truck and closing the door. The metallic clang echoed in the cab. She reached down to crank the engine, but the keys were gone.

"He'll probably get the needle," Jeffrey said, and she could hear the pain in his voice. "Oh, Jesus," he said, putting his hand to his eyes.

Sara stared at the front entrance of the funeral home, not knowing what to say. Thanks to her stint at Grady Hospital's emergency room, she had dealt with more than her share of drunks. There was no use trying to reason with them when logic was the last thing on their mind.

She asked, "Where are the keys?"

Jeffrey leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes. "In my pocket."

Sara stared at him, feeling torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to tell him everything was going to be okay. She settled on saying, "Scooch down on the seat a little." When he did, she put her hand into his front pocket.

He smiled, and moved her hand a little closer to center. Considering his lack of sobriety, she was surprised to find his libido none diminished.

"Hey," he protested when she found the keys and removed her hand.

"Sorry," she said, her tone contrary to the word as she looked for the ignition key.

"How about a blow job?"

Sara laughed as she found the clunky key. "You're the one who's drunk, remember? Not me." She cranked the engine, relieved when it caught on the first try. "Put on your seatbelt."

"There aren't any seatbelts," he said, sliding closer to her.

Sara engaged the clutch and put the truck into reverse. Jeffrey had positioned himself so that he was straddling the shift. She asked, "How much have you had to drink?"

"Too much," he admitted, rubbing his eyes.

The sign on top of the building lit up the cab as she backed up, and Sara saw at least eight empty beer bottles rolling around on the floorboard. Jeffrey was wearing black boots she hadn't seen before, and one of the legs of his jeans was pulled up, showing his hairy calf.

She waited until they were on the highway to ask, "When did they arrest Robert?"

"A little while after I left you," he said, his head bumping back against the glass. "He wanted me to come see him. I was just glad he was talking to me."

He went quiet, and she prompted, "What did he say?"

"That he did it," Jeffrey said, throwing his hand into the air as if in resignation. "I was standing right there in their goddamn stupid front parlor and he looked me in the eye and said he did it."

Sara was having a hard time following him, but she said, "I'm sorry."

"Came back from the store and just shot him. No questions asked."

Sara could only repeat, "I'm sorry."

"You were right."

"I didn't want to be."

"Is that true?"

She chanced a look at him. He seemed to be getting back to himself, but his breath was enough to make her turn her head back toward the road. "Of course it's true." She put her hand on his leg. "I'm sorry it happened this way. I know you did everything you could."

"You won't believe me," he said. "I know you said Robert was lying before, and I said you were wrong, but now I think you're right. I mean – I think he's lying now."

Sara stared at the road ahead.

"You're thinking it's because he's my friend, but it's not. I know it adds up. I know his story makes sense, but he's a cop. He's had time to think about it and get it right so that it all matches up." He tapped his finger to his head, missing a few times. "I know it here. I've been a cop too long to not know when people are lying."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," she told him, knowing this was useless.

He rested his head on her shoulder. "I love you, Sara."

She had ignored him the first time, but now she felt the need to comment. "You've just had too much to drink."

"No," he disagreed, his breath hot on her neck. "You don't know how it is."

She squeezed his leg before shifting into fourth. "Try to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," he said. "I want to talk to you."

"We'll talk tomorrow." She slowed at an intersection, trying to remember which way to turn. A billboard pointing to a bank looked familiar, and she took a left.

She asked, "Is this the right way?"

"People only say what they mean when they're drunk," he told her. "I mean, being drunk doesn't make you say things you don't mean."

"I don't know about that," she said, glad to recognize a gas station from this morning. The store was dark and, like everything else in town, had probably closed hours ago.

"I love you."

Sara laughed because that was all she could do.

"Turn here," he said. When she didn't turn quickly enough, he grabbed the steering wheel.

"Jeffrey!" she said, her heart jumping into her throat. He had turned them onto a gravel road.

"Just keep going straight," he told her, pointing ahead.

Sara slowed the truck. "Where are we?"

"Just a little farther."

She leaned closer to the steering wheel, trying to make out the road ahead of her. When she saw a fallen tree in the distance, she stopped. "The road's blocked."

"Little more," he said.

Sara put the truck in neutral and stepped on the parking brake before turning to him. "Jeffrey, it's late, and I'm tired, and you're dru -"

He kissed her, but not the way she was used to. He was rushed and sloppy, his hands clumsy on the buttons of her jeans.

"Hold on -"

"I want you so much."

She could tell, he was like a piece of steel against her thigh, but even though Sara could feel her body reacting to his, sex was the last thing on her mind.

"Sara," he sighed, and kissed her so deeply that she could not breathe.

She managed to soften the kiss, and when his lips moved to her neck, she said, "Slow down."