The Last Drink

Last Drink
By Jennifer Fleming

At seven o'clock Friday evening, Sarah Thomas still sat in her rusty Chevy truck staring at the discolored paint on the trailer’s aluminum door. As the sun set, an orange afterglow reflected off a window and into her eyes. Blinking, she fingered the plastic covering of a key. Pulling at the door handle, she pushed her shoulder against the window and slid off the foam-blistered seat. She forced herself up the dusty path, moved past the barking dogs and stepped onto a weathered wooden step. Sarah touched the knob but paused, hearing television sounds pouring from the duct tape-patched living room window.

Reaching into her wilted purse, she turned to sit on the topmost step. She traced the handmade floral design of her worn leather wallet before pulling out what she had been looking for - a fatigued picture of her husband before the war. He was handsome in his uniform. With his trim angular face, dark hair and eyes, the image still made Sarah’s heart throb. Her mind drifted, remembering how she had felt on her wedding day. Baby’s Breath in her hair and borrowed pearls around her neck, Sarah had felt like the princess in a fairy story. With a sigh, she placed the picture back in its place, stood and entered the trailer.

Willie Thomas was seated in a cracked-vinyl easy chair he had scavenged from the side of the road a few months earlier. In the dimly lit living room, his TV-illuminated face was pink with alcohol as he laughed at a crude one-liner that had become the staple of his favorite primetime viewing. He was so engrossed in his drink and television Sarah went unnoticed until his beer was gone. "Get me another, would you?" he said, tossing the empty can over his head. The can bounced off the opposite wall and landed in a scattered pile of others. When she did not respond, he glanced across the room to where she stood in the dark kitchen behind the counter. Sarah was looking past him, her shoulders stiff and chin set.

"Come on, Sarah. A-nother," he slurred, raising his graying eyebrows in confusion.

She flicked on the kitchen light and turned towards the magnet-zitted fridge to open the door. It had been years since the light worked on the inside of the refrigerator and at least a month since she had been able to get good groceries. The silver grated shelves were bare except for what remained of a gallon of tea and a couple bowls of leftovers. One can of beer rested in the bottom left hand drawer. Grabbing the can with both hands, she twisted it around for a few seconds, set it down on the counter and wiped her chilled fingers on her blue work apron. Feeling her husband watching, she eyed the container before popping the lid. Frowning, she lifted the can to her lips. Her nose wrinkled when she took the first swallow but the gulps that followed were easier. Before Willie could cognate what was happening, Sarah had consumed half the drink.

"Wha-," Willie tried to say, pushing his large frame forward in the chair. Sarah looked at her husband and then took another swallow. Emotion made her eyes water. "You hate beer." His hand reached for her as his behind cleared the seat. She knew that no matter how wasted Willie was, he would be aware of the exact number of beers left in the fridge. Watching her husband, Sarah drank some more, but before she let the final amount of pungent liquid coat her throat, she slid her hand along the side of the counter, finding the metal of the sink under her fingers. She locked eyes with Willie and lifted the can above the dirty dishes. Willie had stumbled as far as the other side of the littered beige counter and was leaning his heavy frame against it. As she tilted the can, anger flitted across his face before he wilted into tears. "Come on, Sarah. Give it to me," he whined, his puffy features scrunching.

Sarah’s expression softened, but she poured the remaining gulp of beer onto the dishes resting in the sink.

"Awe, what you go an’ do ‘at fer?" he said, wiping at the tears on his face as the amber colored liquid rained onto the dishes.

Sarah looked at the unopened newspaper she had scraped her pennies together to get earlier that morning, remembering her hope Willie would take some initiative to search for a job.

Willie followed her gaze to the paper and slurred out a "Wha-?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice barely audible. She could not believe it had been two months since he had attempted to look for a job. With sudden clarity, she realized that she hated the way her life had turned out – her sons gone, her husband a jobless drunk and debt that forced her to work three jobs.

"Huh?" he grunted, wiping his nose on a hairy arm.

Turning to the sink, Sarah began placing the dishes on the counter beside it. They were cracked, stained, dirty, and cheap like she felt her life had become. Squeezing some liquid soap into the sink after putting in the stopper, she pushed the faucet over and turned on the tap to let the water warm in the other side of the double sink. Her right hand hung in the stream, testing the temperature. She heard Willie let out an exaggerated sigh and the squeak of his vinyl chair as he retreated back into his corner of the world. Sarah stared out of the window, her hands doing the dishes. The sun had already set making it difficult for her to see. A small glimmer of light from a neighbor’s back porch offered a small light of hope – Willie would be sober in the morning.

By the time she had finished the dishes, Willie snored in his chair. Sarah cooked a pot of pinto beans with the last piece of bacon. Rather than risk being told once more he was not hungry, she did not wake her husband when they were ready. She sat at the counter with a steaming bowl, but could not eat. Staring at her sleeping husband until the food got cold, she sighed. Sarah cleaned the dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge, knowing Willie would be hungry in the morning.

Sarah went down the dark hall to her son’s old bedroom and removed the quilt from his bed. Back in the living room, she placed the cover over her husband. He twitched in his sleep. Frowning at the large scar on his cheek, Sarah remembered the day he had come home from the war. They said the point man had stepped onto a land mine. Shrapnel had sprayed Willie and several soldiers in his company. Thankfully his injuries were minor compared to several of the other men’s wounds, but he came home with the rest of the dead and dying. Sarah and their sons were waiting at the airport, having taken the better part of two hours to dress Paul and Adam before fixing her makeup. When he hobbled off the plane, she did not recognize him. That day had been over thirty years ago, but she still believed the person she married was still lost somewhere in a Vietnamese jungle. She tucked the rest of the quilt around Willie’s neck, patted his shoulder and went to her room.

Closing the door behind her, she stood before the mirror on the wall, feeling like the Evil Queen from the Snow White fairy tale she had once loved. "I am definitely the ugliest one of all," she said. Watching her reflection take off the small wedding band, she sighed as it clinked into the glass ashtray that sat on her dresser. Sarah inspected the wrinkles that had appeared almost overnight when Willie had come home. Her dull eyes used the reflection to search the room behind her, hoping to find Willie asleep in the bed like she used to do when they had first gotten married. "You aren’t here anymore, Willie," she said, pressing a palm to the image of the flat pillow on his side of the bed.

When he had come back from his two year stint in Vietnam, they had at least slept in the same room. Sarah remembered how red the scar on his cheek used to be. She also remembered the frequent trips to the VA hospital in New Orleans. Those were tough days, but somehow they had all survived the high emotions. Her kids ran off to college and left her with a man who was having a lasting affair with the amber liquor god.

~*~*~

Around three the next morning, Sarah woke as Willie’s voice filled her ears. "I need beer," he said. He stood in the doorway - his large bare chest shining like a pale glow-stick against the dark of the hallway.

"No you don’t. Go back to sleep," she said, turning away from him.

He moved to the other side of the bed and bent over to look into Sarah’s sleepy face. "I do too need it," he said, his hands resting on her pillow.

"You don’t neither. Now Willie, go back to sleep. I have to work tomorrow."

Willie straightened and turned from her; then as if thinking better of it, sat on the floor leaning against the bed. His shoulders began to shake and his irregular breaths made the bed springs fuss. She put a hand on the side of his balding head and told him things would be better in the morning and that he just needed to rest.

"No, they won’t. I need a beer. You know I can’t sleep without my beer and you washed the dishes with my last one," he said, wiping his eyes with the palm of one hand.

“Come to bed, will you?” she asked, allowing her hand to trace from the top of his head to the scar on his shoulder.

“I can’t. I need my beer first,” he said – his head dropping.

"Who buys those beers, Willie?" Sarah asked, sitting up in the bed. The moonlight slipped through the window to illuminate her serious face.

"You do," he said while running a hand across the top of his balding head and looking away from her eyes.

"You can forget that from now on. I’m not buying any more," she said, her voice growing stronger. "If you want beer, go get a job." Then after a pause, she added, "Get a job if you want beer or if you don’t. You need a job, for you... for me."

Willie was silent for a long while before standing to leave the room. Sarah looked out of the window into the darkness. "Morning is coming soon," she said into the darkness. The red glow of the alarm clock counted the night away like a demon-eyed tormentor while she examined the ceiling and listened to Willie’s intermittent tossing in his easy chair.

~*~*~

Sarah Thomas rose as usual at a quarter till six to get ready for work. At a quarter till seven, she had her purse on her shoulder but could not find Willie in the trailer. Worse, their truck was gone. She called her employer to let the boss know she would be late. The man gave Sarah the day off, even though she offered to work double shifts. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that she didn’t have a job to come back to.

Almost as soon as she hung up the phone, there was a knock at the door. Sarah wondered who it could be. It had been years since she had entertained company. Glancing around, her face flushed with embarrassment. Dust, empty cans and dirty floors - her house was a mess. She went to the door and, closing her right eye, looked through the peep-hole. The magnified face was not familiar, but seeing the dark blue decorated uniform, Sarah opened the door. She stood with one hand on the knob and the other resting on the door frame near the chain lock.

"Mrs. Sarah Thomas?" he asked, his dark face looking back down at something he had written on a small notepad. When she failed to answer, he glanced at the cracked steps, then up at her gray eyes.

"Yes?" Sarah replied, clutching the door knob.

"I’m Officer Jefferson. Your husband has been involved in an accident," he said, his left hand putting the pad into a shirt pocket.

She stared at him, forcing her features to be passive.

"Ma’am?"

Raising a finger to rub at an eye, she asked flatly, "Is Willie alive?"

"Yes ma’am. He’s been taken to the hospital. Would you like to call someone to be with you?" he asked. Then looking aside at the empty dirt ruts in the front yard, he added, "Or perhaps drive you there?"

"I’ll be all right," she said, shaking her head. "What happened?"

The officer was businesslike and professionally void of emotion. Sarah wondered how many times he had given people bad news in the past. "I’m sorry to say that not everyone involved fared well. There were four teenagers. Three of them didn’t make it. The fourth is in critical condition." Sarah’s knees felt weak and her heart lurched as the words "didn’t make it" whirled in her head. Her hands dropped to her sides and her purse hit the floor. "When we arrived at the scene, Mr. Thomas was inebriated." His eyes scanned the inside of the trailer - the flattened gray-blue carpet Sarah stood on, the snap shot of her grown-up sons sitting unframed on an end table. "We also found several cases of beer and a large sum of money in Mr. Thomas’ vehicle. Can you tell me where he could have come by those items?" the officer asked, but paused as his black shoulder radio echoed with a scratchy voice reciting coded numbers. "Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?" His eyes watched her with careful appraisal as he lifted a hand to press a button on the speaker and leaned his ear closer to the noisy thing.

"Yes, yes I’ll be fine. Thanks." She took a step back and shut the man out, locked the door and leaned her forehead against the cool aluminum door frame. Sarah heard the officer’s curt voice answer the page as he walked back to his white cruiser. When she heard the door of the car shut and the motor rev, Sarah straightened and stared at Willie’s easy chair, the empty cans that littered the floor in front of the television, the aluminum foil bunny ears he made for it, then at their wedding picture above the ears. She pivoted towards the door, grasping the knob. But she leered at her hand and pulled it away. Her gaze found the remote on the floor beside Willie’s chair. Sarah crossed the room to pick it up.

Once the control was in her hand, she pressed the button. Willie’s one-eyed god woke and she pressed the button again to silence the monster then sat in his chair, pulling the discarded quilt about her shoulders. In the kitchen water was dripping in the sink, the fridge was clicking. The dogs under the trailer made thumping sounds with their tails and she imagined Willie’s heavy steps coming down the hall. Sarah reached for the phone but did not pick it up. Drawing a hand across her face, she realized if she didn’t do something at that moment she never would.

She gathered laundry from every room and started a load. Before long the clothes were done. She mopped the floor, vacuumed the carpet, fed the dogs, and packed her bag before looking up her son’s number.

With her purse on her shoulder and bag in hand, Sarah Thomas stepped out of the trailer, locking the door behind her.

~*~*~

Paul pulled a hand through his thinning hair. “What’s Dad done now?” he said in answer to his mother’s voice on the telephone.

“He’s at the hospital downtown,” Sarah answered, her voice cool.

“Drink himself into a coma?” Paul glared out the window of his corner office into the used car lot across the street.

“No. He drove. I need a ride over there. Do you think you could get off work or maybe I’ll ride the bus – you think Dana’d take me?”

“Dana’s got Josh home sick today. I’ll talk to my boss. You at home?” he asked, trying not to sound as bitter as he felt.

“Yeah.”

Paul envisioned his aging mother’s nervous fingers pull at her earlobe. He frowned. “I’ll be there in a bit,” he said and hung up without a goodbye.

Moving his ample frame from the plush rolling chair, Paul stood. He grimaced knowing Eugene, his boss was not in a pleasant mood. Sales had been falling for months and there was talk of cutting personnel.

~*~*~

Room Four was in the first corner of the large ten room critical care unit. It had wire enforced glass windows and a propped open door. Various beeps and swishes came from the interior. Sarah lifted a finger to her mouth and chewed on a nail as she paused in front of the doorway.

“Is he asleep?” she asked a nurse who looked young enough to be in high school.

“In a coma,” the woman said. “Mr. Thomas suffered a head injury among other things. Right now he’s stable. Would you like me to have the doctor speak to you?”

Mrs. Thomas looked at her husband’s quiet face for a minute in expectation, thinking he would wake up at any moment asking for a beer. “May I go in?”

The nurse nodded, stepping aside and turned to speak with a white coated man.

Willie Thomas’ breathing was even, his skin was warm, but he did not respond to his wife’s gentle touch on the cheek. His face was decorated with new scars, some with stitches and others without. Looking at the tube that came from his mouth, Sarah took his hand.

“Why?” she asked, her voice soft against his palm.

Just as she allowed herself a tear, the young nurse came into the room. “Mrs. Thomas? I think you should speak with Doctor McMurray.”

Sarah stood without looking at her and shrugged her purse onto a shoulder before turning from Willie.

“If you’ll follow me,” the young lady said.

Sarah was shown into a side room in the middle of the unit. It was sparsely furnished, with only a physician’s desk and two chairs. The doctor’s brown eyes looked up from behind a pair of reading glasses as she entered the room. He waved her to sit, a solemn expression on his wrinkled face.

The nurse left, clicking the door closed. Mrs. Thomas did not sit. She stood rigid just inside the room.

“Please. Have a seat,” the man said looking up again from the chart on his desk.

“What’s gonna happen to Willie?”

The man sighed, pulled a hand across his face and sat further back in his seat. “Your husband is in bad shape, Mrs. Thomas. We’ve had to put him on a ventilator.” He looked down at the chart. “Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t gone into cardiac arrest. His vitals have been deteriorating from the moment he came in. Before long we’ll likely have to put him on life support. We can have a few tests run to find out if he’s got any brain waves – Does he have a living will?”

Sarah leaned heavily against the wall.

“I’m sorry about this.” The man pushed his glasses up with a finger.

“Can I stay with him?”

“I’ll arrange it. In the meantime, I need some paperwork filled out. I’ll have my aid bring it to you.” He looked down at the chart again.

She took a courage gathering breath before opening the door. “Thank you,” Sarah said and went to look into Willie’s room.

Sarah Thomas sat in her husband’s room filling out paperwork by the light that shown through the glass. Flexing her aching hand, she looked over at him for the hundredth time. She set her jaw against emotion and focused on the next line on the page and thanking the gods that be for the sparse VA insurance Willie had. He’d complained about it saying, “It’s a waste, Sarah. You know that, don’t you?”

~*~*~

Paul hated leaving his mother at the hospital by herself, but his boss had made it clear he was to return promptly to the office ‘or you can kiss your cozy little office goodbye’. He sat in his chair holding a fresh cup of coffee under his nose. Sarah had looked gray and whipped. Paul watched vapor rise from the cup and was reminded of the last time he’d seen her. Ten years ago Paul had called his mother. He’d been so excited about the news, Paul had almost spoiled the surprise as he heard her voice answer the phone. “I’m coming over.”

When he’d arrived, Paul noticed the porch light illuminating a Coors can beside the front steps. Picking it up, he threw it towards the black plastic trash can at the side of the trailer and tried not to get upset – his father had promised to cut back.

Sarah opened the door. “Paul,” she said, a bright smile wrinkling her face.

Willie was in front of his beloved television nursing a can. Paul pulled his eyes from his father and entered the kitchen to sit at the table with Sarah, his excitement returning. The words tumbled out of him. “I’m getting married. I proposed about a month ago and Dana suggested we get married immediately. I’ve an appointment at the court house next Saturday.”

“Oh, son,” she breathed, pleasure evident in her countenance.

“I want you and Dad there. Think you can sober him up before then?” he asked, looking over at the man.

“I’ll try. Could I meet her?” His mother smoothed some graying hair behind an ear.

“She works the nights you’re off, that’s why I haven’t brought her over sooner.”

He watched his mother look down at her hands. “I don’t know. I hope Simon’ll let me have that afternoon, but he’s already laid off three people.” She looked up at him. “I need that job, Paul, but I’ll do everything I can to get there. You know I’d love to be there for your wedding.”

Paul smiled in spite of himself and took her hand in his. She’d always been on his side. “Do you need a dress? I just got a raise at the office,” he asked, watching Willie get up and pull another beer from the refrigerator.

Sarah shook her head and patted his hand with her free one. “I’m proud of you.”

He watched her face. It’d been a long time since he’d moved out and he had spent precious little time with his mother since then. Though he knew she supported him, Paul always found it hard to visit with memories of his dismal childhood hanging thick over the trailer. Adam, his younger brother had used a pistol to take the coward’s way out of his miseries at the end of Paul’s senior year. Paul closed his eyes tight against the memory and squeezed his mother’s hand.

It was then that Willie came over to the table. “Paul. Where ya been?” he asked, scraping a chair back from the table to seat himself.

“You know, Dad – here and there.” He fought the urge to leave.

“Wanna share a beer?” Willie asked, pushing the can towards his son.

“No. You’re already drunk. Why’d you always have to do this?” he said, shooting up. His chair clattered behind him. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait, son. I –“ Willie began. He paused as if unable to think clear enough to form the words he wanted to use.

Paul’s office phone yanked him from the memories with a high pitched scream. “Four Star Rental, Paul speaking.”

“Paul,” Eugene’s voice barked.

“Sir?” Paul held the receiver out from his ear.

“Get in here. Jacob’s off today so you need to be at the counter,” the boss said, his last word clipped by a dial tone.

~*~*~

Sarah Thomas sighed as she walked from the public bus stop to her trailer. Pushing the key into the knob, she forced the door open. She groaned – no longer would she be greeted by the visage of Willie in front of the television – no longer would she have to support his habit. Sarah sunk onto the carpet in front of the couch to stare at Willie’s vinyl chair.

~*~*~

“Hey, Mom? You here?” Paul called, opening the trailer door. He’d gone to the hospital but had been unable to find either of his parents.

What was left of the setting sun slipped inside silhouetting Paul’s shadow against the floor. He called out again, shutting the door.

Paul heard her weakened voice reply, “I’m here.”

He found his mother leaning against the couch, her eyes shut. “What happened? Did they move him to a room?”

“No,” she said, opening her eyes.

“So?”

“Paul, he’s dead.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come to pick you up,” he said, taking a knee in front of her.

“It’s alright.” She drew a hand across her eyes. It didn’t look as if she’d cried at all.

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked, taking her hand.

Sarah shook her head and looked away.

“Come, let’s get you something,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

~*~*~