One year later…

I had gotten the impression that all of this town's bars got awful full come six o' clock. Except, apparently, this one. "Creaky Wheel," I think the name was. They didn't I.D., they didn't ask why you were there, they didn't try to be cute with what they had to offer. They sold beer, scotch, and rum. They asked if you wanted a bottle or a glass, gave it to you, and left you alone. Knock once for a refill, twice to change drinks, and three times for the check. Simple, quiet, and affordable. And, for whatever reason, I was the only one here tonight.

I'd been the only one here, every night, for the past week or so.

I mean, the place was a bit of a dive. The wood was cracked and creaky, the chairs were old and busted with chunks of the foam pads missing, the stools sounded like machine guns when you tried to swivel. The bartender had a lazy eye that jiggled when he turned his head. The faux-old-timey country being pumped through the speakers sounded like it was being run through a tin can. Not like the Roues Brothers were going to sound good, anyways. I realized on my first night here the glasses were hard-water stained to Hell; I'd stuck to the bottles pretty religiously. Yep, the place was the definition of a dive bar, but it's what I wanted. I wanted to drink and not think about the contracts or the money or if we'd ever get settled down in that damn house.

I pressed the cold bottle of Coors to my lips and downed a swill. I wished they sold more European beers in this part of the country. I was still a year off from being able to buy anything legally, so I'd just been taking what was given and not asking questions, but I had been spoiled through high school with my buddies' Guinness and Heineken, and American brews just tasted so weak in comparison. But, everyone was so proud of their "down-home" drinks, they weren't willing to let the old world back onto the scene. I took a sip of water to clean out my mouth before I stuffed a handful of pre-shelled peanuts into it. I also wished this place served actual food, but, again, I wasn't going to complain. Anything that disrupted the tranquility and invisibility of this joint was something I wanted to avoid. I liked being the only one here, the only customer to come in each night. I had all the beers to myself, all the peanuts I could eat, and all the opportunity I needed to be alone. I didn't want that to change in any way.

The tinkling of the bell hung by the door, however, begged to differ.

This was the first time in nearly two weeks I'd heard that sound while I was still drinking; the only other times being on my way in and on my way out. The bartender rolled his lazy eye towards the door, and I peered out of my lonely booth across from the counter and did the same.

What in the Hell…?

"What're ya havin'?" the bartender asked, leaning on the counter tiredly. He didn't get a straight answer right away. Instead, there was an interlude of crummy, static-y steel guitar. His lazy eye squiggled up and down the skinny girl that had shuffled her way into his bar: a white a-shirt under a pastel-yellow button-up that was untucked and hanging down onto a modestly short denim skirt, and a pair of brown riding boots with a couple of yellow-petaled flowers embroidered onto them. All of which I recognized in a heartbeat.

"Um…" After a long silence, the girl responded tentatively. "I'm not…I can't…um…I'm just looking for…my husband. Somebody up the street said he came…um…came this way an hour or so ago, and I've checked all the other…um…shops. I was wondering if you'd…um…seen…anyone."

The bartender huffed. "I ain't in th' business of keeping' track'a people, lil' lady," he drawled, "I'm jus' here tuh serve drinks tuh whoever walks in." He threw his cleaning cloth over his shoulder. "Now, what're ya havin'?"

The girl grabbed at the shining blonde braid that hung down over her shoulder. "Oh…um…I'm still…um…well, I'm not—"

"Elsa?" Her head practically snapped around a full one-eighty when I called her name from my booth. Her face spanned a huge spectrum of emotions, from joy to concern, before finally settling into a worried frown. She scuttled her way over to my table in a fuss. As she slid into the seat opposite me, I opened up my hands in a question. "What are you doing here? How'd you even find this place?"

"I should be asking you th—" Her eyes panned over all the empty bottles next to me. "Oh my God," she whispered as emphatically as she could, "sweetie, how long have you been here?"

I let my chin sag down onto my chest. I shook my head. "I thought you were busy tonight," I said.

"I was busy tonight, but I stopped being busy when you didn't show up!" I cocked my head. She gave me a look of exasperation. "The square dance? At the county hall? That was tonight, remember?" Oh, for Christ's sake. "It was your idea to go and meet some of the people who might end up being our new neighbors."

Well, that would explain why she was wearing such an atypical outfit. I recognized her by her clothes because I had told her to buy them and I had given her the boots as a birthday gift not even a year ago. I reached for the bottle I was working on and took a drink. "No," came the gravelly sound of alcohol still trickling down my throat, "I forgot we were gonna go do that today. I'm sorry."

She took a look around the bar. "Is this where you've been these past few nights? Drinking?" I didn't answer; my body was physically unable to lie in that moment. Elsa sank back into the booth seat. "Baby, why didn't you tell me where you were going? I thought you were out getting into trouble or something! You might have even…" She covered her mouth with her hand. "No, sorry, that's…silly."

"Did you think I was messing around on you?" I slid the now-empty bottle aside. "Elsa, I can't believe you'd let yourself—"

"I said it was silly!" Her eyes were sharp and glimmering in the light of the uncovered lightbulb that hung over our heads. "I was silly to think that, okay? But…what was I supposed to think?"

I shrugged. "I just…needed some time to de-stress, is all. I haven't hurt anyone, I haven't been irresponsible." I counted the empty bottles quickly. "Yea, I haven't been irresponsible. What's wrong with having a few drinks?"

"Well, aside from the obvious—" she was reminding me that I was still underage; kind of the pot calling the kettle black considering how many times she's been drunk with me since she moved here "—I think I should be allowed to know where you go when you go out. And I'll be sure to make sure you know where I am, too; it's not like I'm going all psycho on you and putting you on GPS watch just because I can."

"I have a couple of drinks and suddenly I have to tell you where I am at all times?"

"This is more than a couple," she said sternly, pointing at the empties. "And this is the sixth day, sweetie! If you've had this much six days in a row? That's definitely more than a couple of drinks."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "So, it's been six days," I said, "I still haven't done anything stupid."

"But who's to say you won't do anything on day eight? Or day ten? Or day twenty? I'm worried about you, baby!" She laid a hand on the table. "What's your plan here? Why did you just decide to go drinking and not tell me what's going on?"

I rotated my glass of water on the table, watching how it slid through the water that had sweat through the glass and pooled on the table. "I just wanted some quiet," I said sheepishly.

"The motel isn't quiet? We're the only tenants in the whole building."

"I needed to think, okay?"

"Does your brain run on beer?"

"No, I just wanted to think over a drink."

"We have drinks in the fridge, too."

"I mean a drink drink."

"Orange juice is a 'drink drink;' it's liquid and you can drink it."

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, I do, and I'm saying that's not going to fly with me."

"Why not?"

"Because there is nothing you can do here that you can't do back at the motel! Why are you here?"

"I want to be, okay?"

"There's no other reason?"

"No, there isn't."

"You're still not going to tell me?"

"No! I don't have to tell you!"

"Why not?"

"Because there's nothing to tell! I wanted a drink, so I went to a bar! I didn't tell you about it because I didn't need to!"

"Is it because you want to get away from me?"

"What? No! Don't be ridiculous!"

"Then why didn't you just tell me you were going to a bar?"

"Because you didn't need to know!"

"Why not?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. "Because…" I wan't going to get angry. No matter how thick I'd boozed up my blood, I wasn't going to let it boil. "Because you don't want to know."

"No, I'm sure I do want to. I think you just don't want to have to say it out loud." She stood up. "Don't move." She scurried over to the counter and whispered with the bartender for a minute or so. I spent the time chugging down my glass of water and choking down another handful of peanuts. When Elsa returned, she had a pen and a napkin scrunched up in her fist. "I know you," she said slowly, "and I know there's nothing you hate more than admitting when something's out of your control." She pushed the napkin and pen my way. "Just…put it down here. Maybe that'll be easier?"

I stared down at the writing materials she'd given me. What a stupid thing to have to do; I'm too chicken to say anything, so I have to scribble it out on a napkin like a five year old. I might as well do it in Crayon, while I'm at it. I shook my head. "Fuck it," I muttered—Elsa cringed slightly—picking up the pen and uncapping it. I brought the napkin down onto the booth seat next to me, where Elsa couldn't see it before I was done, and wrote slowly so I wouldn't rip the paper.

WE WON'T GET THE HOUSE UNLESS I ASK POP FOR HELP.

I folded the napkin up and capped the pen. Sheepishly, I slid the note across the table, and Elsa picked it up feverishly and unfolded it to read. Her eyes scanned across the message once, then twice, then a third time. I tossed some more peanuts into my mouth. She bit her lip, ripping the note to pieces. "I see," she whispered. "Okay, I understand why you wouldn't want to say that to me."

"I promised you that house, Elsa," I said, "I promised it! I've never broken a promise before, and I sure as Hell won't start by breaking one to you!"

"You promised me a house, you never promised me that one." She dropped the torn napkin bits into one of the empty bottles. "If the money isn't there, that's just what happens; it's not the end of the world."

I made some sort of ungodly retching noise and rolled my eyes. "It sure feels like it to me, though."

She reached across the table. "But it's not," she said firmly. "If we can't get that house, we'll find another one we can afford. There's plenty to buy in this town, remember? There'll be something for us." She drummed her fingers on the table, reclaiming my attention as it began to slip off into space. "And you do not need to go back to your father…ever, if you don't want to."

"What?" I felt my eyebrows practically touch one another as my brow furrowed. "Elsa…did you hear what you just said?"

She nodded. "Yes, and I mean it." She sat back in her chair. "Normally, I'd never tell someone to give up on their parents; you know why that's the case. But…this is different." She shook her head. "You and your father are a situation that I just don't know how to handle." Her eyes widened for a second. "That's not a bad thing," she said quickly. I shrugged. "It's just…your family is so different from the way mine was, and everything you've lived through are things I never could have imagined. And I can see that even talking about him now is making you very, very upset."

She put her hands back on the table again. "You aren't like him. You work so hard to be different, and it shows. It shows to me, and to everyone else who's met both of you. Even before…everything that happened a couple years back, when you were still living under his roof and you hadn't made up your mind to really stand up for yourself, I could see it. When I first met your dad, I could see it. The first time I went into town and introduced myself as your girlfriend, people said they could see it. But look at where you are right now." I slowly panned around the bar. "Look at what you've been doing." The empty bottles next to me seemed to be pulling faces and mocking me now.

"This is not different."

I felt my heart shrivel up and crumble. Elsa kept talking. "This is what he would do. He would sneak off to a bar and get drunk and whatever. Not you." She sighed. "I love you so much, and I was praying I wouldn't have to look in here for you. I would actually rather have you off fooling around with another girl than have you in here doing this to yourself. Doing this to yourself because you want to be different from your father and live your life the way you feel you should live it. It's undoing everything you've worked so hard to accomplish. And for what? Because you're afraid you'll disappoint me by not being able to buy me a fancy house on your own?" She actually chuckled; a genuine laugh. "Sweetie, I don't care about how nice the house is, or if we even have a house! We could live in that motel for the rest of our lives, for all I care, so long as I get to live there with you. I mean that. Forget your father, you don't need him. What you need to do is keep on being you and look forward to what you want to do in the future. If that means we can't buy the house we've been looking at, then that's what happens; I'm okay with that." She smiled. "I'm even okay with that. Right?"

I took a deep breath. "I told you it would be a late anniversary present."

"My present was hearing that you wanted to find a house." She tapped on the table again. I raised an eyebrow. "Gimme your hand, please." Slowly, I placed my hand on the table and she took hold of it, cupping it gently between her two palms. "I'm pretty easy to impress," Elsa said, "if you haven't figured out yet. I may be high-maintenance, but there's one easy solution that you figured out pretty early on when we started dating; trust. I trust that you love me and that you only want what's best for me. You need to trust in me—now that we've just had our first anniversary—that what I think is best is being together with you."

I felt my chest begin to clear up a bit. I felt lighter, liberated. "So…the house…"

Elsa squeezed my hand. "I'd live under a rock with you if somebody wrote 'House' on it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? Because that would save me so much money it might be worthwhile to think about trying it."

"You—ugh." Elsa rolled her eyes.

"Think of all the extra cash we'd have to renovate it with!" I smiled, and she did the same. That all had meant a lot to me. It had been a quiet year, living with her godparents and making money to try and find our own place. We'd spent a lot of time together, talking and sharing experiences. I felt so connected to her, but what she'd just said was totally new to me. I'd always thought she was all about family and remembering what it meant to be there for someone, but what she'd just shown me was that attitude was more than just that. What she was all about was knowing what it means to be family and knowing how and when to be there for someone. Even though I never would have expected her to tell me to abandon my family, she did so I could see that it was really the thing I needed to do. If anybody else had told me that what I was doing was making me more like my father, I'd've knocked their lights out. But the way she'd said it, the way she'd done it, it was exactly what I needed to hear.

Elsa tugged gently on my wedding ring. "I'm glad you were listening." She smiled.

We both settled back into our seats. I grabbed some peanuts and popped one in my mouth. "Do you want something?" I asked. "He doesn't card you."

Elsa tilted her head. "I'm going to put my foot down as your better half and say you've had enough tonight," she said, nodding towards my empties.

I shook my head. "No, I asked if you want anything." I motioned to the bottles. "I've got a tab going, you might as well get something if you're here."

She scrunched up her mouth in thought. Her eyes scanned the table, then the room, then the lightbulb over our heads. "Do they have any PBR?"

"I think so," I said. "You could get something a little…pricier, y'know. It's fine by me."

"I'll just have a Pabst," she said. She held up her hand, like she was explaining something. "It's not like I'm going to get drunk; somebody's gotta be sober or else we'll get lost on the way back."

I sighed. "I'm not drunk," I said, "you can thank my grandpapa for giving me good strong insides." I knocked twice on the table. The bartender's lazy eye wandered its way over to me. I raised two fingers. "PBR and a glass of water," I said. He nodded curtly.

Elsa was looking around the place while the barkeep produced water and a long, thin can of PBR from somewhere beneath his counter and limped them over to our booth. When he was out of earshot again, Elsa leaned forward and whispered, "Seriously, though: Why would you come here? It's a dump!"

I smiled, taking a sip of water. "It was charming, I guess," I said. "Everybody else was going to the 'Mariposa,' so I thought I'd save that for later when someone wants to show me the town. I just picked a dive and ended up with the quietest bar in town."

Elsa cracked open her can. "Well, I don't know about quiet," she said, "this music is a little grating."

I laughed. "Yea, you're still not a country fan, are you?"

She sputtered a bit through the head of her drink. "Hey now," she said once her mouth was empty, "I listen to country! Darius…um…What's-His-Name has a good duet with Lady Anticlimax that came out a little while ago!"

I covered my mouth to save her the embarrassment of my laughter. "You sure proved me wrong! I guess you're the real country expert now!"

"You shut up!" Through some twist of fate, the very song she had just referenced started playing over the loudspeakers: Darius Rucker's Wagon Wheel with Lady Antebellum on backup. She thrust her finger into the air! "Ah-ha! See!?"

I shook my head. "Unbelievable," I said, grabbing a couple more peanuts and pushing the bowl her way. I listened to the music while Elsa took another smug drink.

"Heading down south to the land of the pines

I'm thumbing my way into North Carolina

Staring up the road and pray to God I see headlights

I made it down the coast in seventeen hours

Picking me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

And I'm a-hopin' for Raleigh, I can see my baby tonight…"

Elsa dropped the empty can onto the table. "Hey!" I was startled by how loud she was. She jabbed a finger at me. "You owe me a dance, mister!"

The chorus started up, and I felt my foot tapping already. I shrugged. "Why not? Lead the way, missy!"

She got to her feet and took my hands. "I'll have another, too," she said, "if you don't mind; we're gonna be here a while." I knocked once on the table and the bartender began his routine of fetching another can.

Elsa dragged me to an open space between the tables and set herself opposite me. "Okay," she said, flapping her arms by her sides, "how do I square dance?"

I chuckled. "You're serious…"

She frowned. "I thought I was going square dancing tonight! I got all dressed up and everything, and I'm going to get my square dance!"

I laughed. "All right, gal, let's have a square dance."

The beat was all wrong, and I'd never called before, so it was a disaster. By the second chorus, we'd given up and were just goofing around; Elsa was pinching her nose and pretending to dive underwater, and I was doing my best impression of those Russian squat-dancers; I don't need to hide the fact that I fell over pretty darn quickly. Once we'd both recovered from our laughing fit Elsa finished off her second drink and ordered a third. The end of the next song brought more laughter and a fourth drink, the next song the same and a fifth can. The bartender looked like he was reconsidering his career choices.

Then a lazy, twangy ballad came on, and everything slowed way down. Elsa got real close, and I took hold of her hips, and we rocked back and forth in a slow-motion rhythm that seemed to hold up the earth's orbit and make the minutes pass like hours. I had my eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of her arms draped around my neck, the brush of her hair on my chin, the bumps of the metal rivets that held the back pockets of her skirt in place. As an interlude of steel guitar pinged away, I pulled her body closer to mine and bent my head down to meet hers. "Hey," I murmured, "why the strong urge to dance? It seemed…really sudden."

She dropped her arms from my neck and wrapped them around my waist. "We…haven't danced since our wedding." She looked up at me with big, baby blue eyes. "I like dancing with you; I feel good when you're holding me." She squeezed me gently. "And…I wanted…well, I wanted to distract you for a while from all the stuff we'd just talked about."

I stepped back and twirled her around quickly. Her braid whipped around from one shoulder to the other. I pulled her back in and started rocking back and forth again. "Thanks," I said, quietly.

"For what?"

I inhaled quickly. "For real?" I separated us a bit. "What do you think I'm thanking you for?"

Elsa's cheeks were flushed beet red. "Oh," she said, smiling, "of course." She put her head on my chest. "Of course, sweetie."

The song wound down, and I brushed her hair gently while another upbeat song came up. "Your face is really red, girly," I said, "are you feeling okay?"

She stepped back from me, holding onto my hand. "I'm fine," she said, smiling, "I just…danced too hard, is all." I grinned slyly. No, I thought, what you did is drink five huge cans of PBR. She was such a lightweight; always had been. Elsa yawned. "We should go home," she said, "it's getting late."

I was about to correct her, say that we would be heading back to the motel, but I stopped myself. "Okay," I replied instead. She'd just finished told me how wherever we were was our home, even under a rock; where else would we be going but home. I went over to the counter and closed my tab, pocketing my credit card and leading Elsa out the door.

My life wasn't going to be ruined by my father any more. I'm not him, and I never will be. I'm my own man, I'm Elsa's husband, and, most importantly, I'm happy. The reigns to my future were firmly in my own hands, and it was time to get rolling. And Elsa was on for the ride. Her world was the same as mine, and her future was just as clear.

It ain't in a dive bar, tall can of PBR, poppin' tops rocking all night.

It's by my side, filling me out and keeping me level-headed, and trusting that I can do the same for her. We were everything to each other, and that was what we wanted.

That is, surely, where it's at.