Chapter 78

"I've always drank," he said. "Pa drank. Grandpa drank. It's just what we do."

"Okay, that would explain your liver, I suppose. Maybe your kidneys. But ulcers--and even now you have alcohol in your bloodstream. People don't just drink this much because it's how they roll."

He wagged his head again. For a moment I thought he'd just roll it up onto his shoulders until it hit the stall wall behind him.

But, then, he caught it in his hands, and groaned.

The next thing I knew, he was weeping, and not in a pretty way. The sobs were wet, strangled croaks edged with whines.

Alarmed, I flapped my hands a bit from a loss of what to do before putting one on his back and rubbing it.

"There there, you can cry." Holding it back was probably how he was making all these alarming noises.