Gunpowder Lips

Luther entered his house with the weight of a man heading for the gallows. He set his briefcase on the floor, then his keys on the coffee table, then toed off his boots with a tired grunt. Soft footsteps came from the back of the house, and then a woman was peering at him from the bright dining room.

“You’re home early.” she announced, and she was holding a towel around her head. “I’m still finishing my hair.”

He barely hid an annoyed expression from her. “What are you doing to it now?”

“Same as always. My roots got dark again. I’ll be out in ten.”

She was gone again, and Luther sat down on the luxurious couch wearily. Always touching up her hair, fixing those dark roots. Luther had never seen her natural hair color, and he wondered what it was like. He had asked her before if she would let it come out, and she’d seemed mortified by the idea. He had a feeling whatever it looked like normal was better than the yellow straw she preferred. Luther had always liked a woman’s hair, soft and better smelling than his could ever be. Hailey’s was brittle and smelled of the burn from her flat iron and strong professional shampoo.

Luther had begun to nod off on the sofa just as her footsteps returned, and he shook himself a little to wake up. Her hair was wet and freshly bleached, the house reeking of the chemicals.

“Could you get me a drink, Hailey?”

Her chin tilted up slightly, but then she nodded. Usually she would have denied his request, but his face looked particularly long. “Bourbon or beer?”

“Bourbon, please.” Luther spoke mostly into his chest, eyelids threatening to shut again.

Hailey returned a few moments later with a glass full of the dark liquid. Luther took it but didn’t comment on the amount. She never drank herself, so she didn’t know that how much she’d given him would likely knock him out. He took a sip and swallowed the burn thankfully, letting it ease some of the throb in his head.

“Work hard?” asked Hailey, sitting on the adjacent loveseat and crossing her arms and legs.

“Yeah…I’ve got some bad news.”

Her face tightened, muddy brown eyes widening. “What is it?”

“We have to move. I’ve been transferred.”

She sighed, eyes narrowing again. “You scared me, Luther. That isn’t as bad as you made me think it was. Where were you transferred? Pocatello? The Falls?”

“No…Alabama, actually.”

There was a long moment where Luther wouldn’t look at her, then she let out a high whoosh of air. “That’s…Luther, we can’t move that far!”

“I tried, but Oldham wasn’t budging on this one. We have until next week.”

Hailey ran a hand over her forehead, shaking her head. “This just isn’t going to work. What about the house? What about my parents?”

“We’ll sell the house, and we’ll fly out to see your parents every Christmas.” replied Luther mechanically, taking a rather painful gulp of his whiskey.

“My father’s knees, Luther! It won’t be long before he needs help getting around the house!”

“There are nurses and chairs and whatnot for that. I don’t have a choice, Hailey.” Luther finally looked at her, immediately frustrated by the pinch of her face. He’d once seen her as beautiful…hadn’t he?

She stood and started to storm from the room. “I can see that this is really tearing you apart, Luther. It’s not like you’re the one who has to leave your home and family because of your goddamn job!”

Before he could think it through Luther stood up and set his sloshing glass on the table, stomping over to shout after her. “Then stay here, Hailey! You should just stay here and I’ll go to Alabama because it’s such a fucking inconvenience for you!”

Flinching in that way she did whenever she got him angry enough to yell, Hailey turned and stared at her husband with eyes the size of saucers. “W-what?”

“You heard me.” breathed Luther, heart beating fast inside his ribs. “If you have such a problem with it you should just stay here.”

Hailey gaped for a moment before her eyes filled with tears. “Fine! I see how you want things, Luther!”

She raced up the stairs and slammed the door to their bedroom, he could hear her crying. Luther put his hand on the wall to keep from punching it, clenching his eyes and rubbing his face. He was too tired for this. Besides, did she think she was the only one who didn’t want this move? Luther would have given almost anything not to go back there, but it seemed Oldham had different ideas for him.

Luther knew that eventually he’d need to go up and apologize, force out the words of affection that he was positive he no longer meant. But for the time being he would let her calm down and lay himself on the couch to drink the vat of bourbon she’d given him and hope it would soothe his fraying patience.