She could hear Talbot’s voice in the living room room, too quiet for actual words to filter through. Just a low rumble of sound and then his barking laugh. She knew without seeing him that her father’s head was thrown back, one palm slapped against his good thigh for emphasis. She grinned to herself and cocked head to one side as she started kicking off her boots, trying to guess who Talbot might be talking to.
“Did your girl finally drag ‘erself home?”
Ayles let out a shrill, delighted squeal at the familiar voice and didn’t bother with the remaining boot, flinging herself towards the sound. Charlie met her in the doorway and wrapped his arms around her when she barreled into his chest. She squeezed the older man until he let out an exaggerated groan and then pulled back just far enough to kiss both of his cheeks soundly.
“Shit,” she whistled. “All this time I figured you must’ve crawled off into some dark alley and finally succumbed to yer advanced age.” There was nothing new about her teasing, but this time she felt a sharp little jolt of worry. The lines in his face were deeper than they’d ever been, and the last time she’d seen him, he had been spry enough to sweep her up into a bear hug and spin her around without her feet touching the floor. Ayles had been teasing him since she was six years old, but it occurred to the woman that for the first time, Charlie really did look old. They were all getting older. Three days ago, she had seen the first streak of gray in her hair, and Talbot seemed to slow down more and more every year. The thought left a funny, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“You still got that mouth. Everytime I see you, I think, “Maybe she’s finally gone and grown outta that meanness, and every time, you go and break my heart.” Charlie caught her by the chin and gave her head a playful shake before letting her go again.
“Go on, sit.” She made shooing motions at both men. “I’m gonna git me a glass and then I’ll join you.”
She kicked off her remaining boot and grabbed herself a glass, then topped off everyone’s bourbon before she flung herself down on the couch and wedged herself in between two sets of broad shoulders. Talbot draped an arm around her and Ayles closed her eyes, head against her father’s chest. She turned her bourbon glass around and around in her hands as she listened to the men talk. She had heard their stories a hundred times before and none of the gossip was new, but both of the men were already comfortably buzzed and Talbot was in a better mood than she’d seen him in for weeks.
Two hours later, Charlie shoved her legs unceremoniously from his lap and hauled himself to his feet with a groan. “If we’re playing cards tomorrow, then I am well overdue for some sleep.”
“I’ll walk you home. Where you staying this time?” She glanced over her shoulder at her father, but Talbot just waved his hand at the both of them. Ayles knew without asking that it was his leg again; she’d accidentally jostled his thigh when she’d leaned into him to drape her legs across Charlie’s lap, and heard him inhale sharply, felt his fingers briefly tighten on her shoulder.
Ayles grimaced as she yanked her boots back on. “How’s she doing? That was a real shame about Samuel. Bar fight, wasn’t it?”
“Disagreement started in the bar, but they didn’t start punchin’ each other until they got outside. He made it home that night and Lizzie dragged his ass to up to the clinic but he went and died anyway. Somethin’ about bleedin’ in the brain, she said.”
He held the door open for her and waved at Talbot before they stepped outside. “I think she’s holdin’ up. Wasn’t like Samuel was bringin’ in any money, so it wasn’t a loss there.”
“Still. Tell her if she needs anything, she’s more’n welcome to come to me.”
They walked together arm in arm, both of them quiet for several minutes. The night air was heavy and hot, and the wind blowing up from the canals smelled like sewage and salt. They passed a group of whores clustered together on the corner, and Ayles offered an exaggerated wolf whistle in exchange for several good-natured obscene gestures.
Charlie finally started the conversation up again, glancing sideways at her. “That leg is givin’ him a fair bit of trouble, ain't it?”
Ayles frowned in the darkness, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Almost all the time,” she finally admitted. “Last time I took him in, the doctor was wanting to take off the rest of it off up to his hip. Da said that he'd let her cut it off if he got to shove it up her ass when she was done.” She grinned at Charlie’s guffaw and then sobered again.
“Can’t say that I blame him, though. They take off that much of his leg and he’s gonna have a hell of a time getting around.”
“Seems like he’s already havin’ a hell of a time. Why are they wantin’ to take more off?”
She withdrew his arm from his to gesture. “You know that pin that the leg attaches to? One that comes out of the stump? Was some mad goblin that did that for him. The metal is fused with the bone somehow, supposed to make it easier to with the fake leg. Only for some reason, his body don’t like it. Keeps causing infections, and they can’t get it out without taking the whole leg. So it’s either deal with the infections, or be a proper cripple.”
“That why you moved back in with him?”
“Mmhm.” Up ahead, she could see the peeling blue paint of Lizzie’s door, and slid her arm through Charlie’s again. “Wasn’t like I had anything else going on, though. Wasn’t any kinda sacrifice to live with him.”
“No?” Charlie tried to look angelic, but an old scar bisected his face and pulled his features askew; the expression looked demented instead. “I figured you’d have several ginger brats runnin’ around by now. Always pictured you as the marryin’ and motherin’ type.”
“Oh, hush.” She bumped him with her hip and he pretended to stumble back. “I meant what I said about Lizzie. You tell her her to let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
They stood in silence for a moment in the recess of the door, just watching each other. Ayles remembered very clearly the first time she’d crawled in Charlie’s bed, and turned the memory over in her mind, the same way she had toyed with her bourbon glass. There was an ache between her legs and she could tell by his expression that he was remembering something similar and wouldn’t turn her down if she followed him inside. Charlie reached out to tug at a loose strand of her hair and rubbed it idly between his thumbs.
In the end Ayles just kissed his cheek, and he responded by pressing his lips to her forehead. She figured that more than anything, it was the memory of wanting him that she felt - an old, comfortable habit that mimicked desire.
“You get some sleep,” she told him when she stepped away, shaking her finger at him. “When I murder your ass at the card table tomorrow, I don’t wanna hear that it was just because you were tired.” Her tone softened. “And honestly, you oughta come ‘round more. Redridge ain’t that far away.”
She couldn’t help but notice again the how deeply etched the lines in his face were and the way his shoulders sagged as he stepped inside his daughter’s house. It was such a strange feeling; somehow he had gotten older without her noticing, and the dissonance between the man in her memories who had been as loud and as large as a bear and the tired old man who was telling his daughter and grandkids goodnight now left a sharp, cold splinter just under her breastbone.
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