Jolene!

“Jolene!”
She knew she had made a mistake letting the stock go down below twelve beers in the fridge. It took at least twelve a night to get Ed pickled enough to take away the pain in his back, or so he claimed. Ed had been drinking heavy for years now,
“Jolene! Where are you? I need another beer!”
His voice carried through the house and sent shivers up and down her spine every time he would yell. At least he wasn’t walking around tonight, so the chances of his cornering her and taking a swing were down. His fists were like mallets, but they weren’t the only things he had used against her in the past.
“Jolene! Don’t you hear me woman? I need another God dammed beer!”
She took a beer out of the freezer where she was trying to flash chill it, removed the damp paper towel she had wrapped around it, wiped it off, popped the top, and ran into the living room.
“Here you go, Ed. I had to cool it down for you, is all. I didn’t have enough in the fridge from last night.”
“Holy Christ, Woman! Don’t you ever think ahead?” He picked up the TV Guide and launched it across the room at her.

It wasn’t always like this. In high school, Ed had been an athlete, co-captain of the football team and a star on the baseball diamond. He was headed to college when he was drafted, finding himself in Vietnam instead of at Monroe State.
Jolene had been by his side throughout all of it, ever since homecoming their sophomore year. She had ridden the highs and lows with him, watched as he triumphed, and comforted his failures. All the while, she did her best to keep him up.
It had been a few weeks after he returned from the war, and had been handed his discharge papers, when she discovered that she was pregnant. Seems all that celebrating they had done came with consequences. Jolene’s father being the old fashioned type, they soon found themselves in the middle of a real-life shotgun wedding. Complete with shotgun.

Jolene returned from the living room, grabbed another beer from the fridge, wrapped it in the towel, and placed it in the freezer. The way Ed was pounding them back tonight; it wouldn’t be long before he started calling again. She sat down at their small Formica kitchen table, lit a cigarette, and went back to the paper.

Two weeks after marrying, Jolene miscarried. They had never tried again. For the longest time Ed had accused Jolene of making the whole thing up, trapping him into a marriage he never wanted. That was when the drinking started.

At first it was a can or two a night, as long as he did not have to go out on the road the next day. Within a few years, it would be nothing to see him down a six pack, then get up to drive out of state at three the next morning. It was the late seventies, and no one seemed to care.

“Jolene!”
She was ready this time, and had the towel off the can and was wiping it down before he could call a second time. Just as he started to bellow, she made her way into the living room.
“Jolene! Oh, there you are. Thank you.” Ed went back to the television, a bunch of talking heads saying something about a football game, playing in the background.

Jolene grabbed some of the empties that were around the chair, returned to the kitchen, and placed another beer in the freezer.

Ed had driven truck for the Duffy brothers for almost twenty years when one day they found him in his truck, unable to get out of the seat. After a month of running to Doctor MacMillan’s, Ed was forced onto unemployment. His back had locked, and the Duffy’s were afraid to put him back on the road.
Doctor MacMillan had also told him to cut back on the beer as well, but that backfired. Since then, Ed had gone from a six pack a night to a half a case a night. It was four months ago that Doc had given Ed the bad news. Cirrhosis. He had about a year to live, unless he quit cold turkey. And that was never going to happen.
Ed had always been quick to raise his hand, or grab whatever he could, when Jolene brought him any bad news. In his mind, everything was her fault, her and that kid. If that fiasco had never happened, he’d be living on easy street right now. She deserved it for ruining his life.

“Jolene! Jolene! What the hell are you doing in there?”
She awoke from daydreaming to find Ed shouting, standing at the kitchen door. He was about to throw an empty beer can at her when she got up, ran to the freezer, unwrapped the can, popped the top, and handed it to him.
“What the hell are you trying to do to me, keeping the beer in the freezer?”
“It’s only to get them a bit colder. I swear!”

It was the most that Ed had moved in a week. She was shocked that he didn’t throw anything at her, or come any closer. He stumbled back to his easy chair, and began to drink.

Jolene went back to the paper, grabbed the bottle of pills the doctor had given her for pain, and took her nightly dose.
It had been two and a half weeks since Ed put her in the hospital overnight with a pair of cracked ribs and a fractured arm. And again, the doctors were highly skeptical of her excuses for the bashing she had taken. At this point, she had been seen so many times in the ER, everyone was starting to question. But she just would not let out the truth.
She rocked the bottle back and forth between her fingers when it finally caught her eye. There, on the side of the bottle, was that little sticker. “Do not mix with alcohol.”
At first, she thought it was a tease. And then, she saw it as her ticket out. She had missed a dose a few days ago, so no one would question, especially after they counted the pills. It was going to be easy.

“Jolene!”
She shot up, grabbed the beer out of the freezer, popped the tab, and ran it to him.
“Well, that’s a marked improvement over last time.”

She grabbed the empty and went back to the kitchen. He had hit number eight for the night. He would ask for at least three more. Probably four or five, especially seeing as how he had to move to get the last one.

Two weeks. Two cracked ribs and a fractured arm. It wasn’t the first time she had cracked those ribs, as well as others. Shattered wrists and broken legs. A crushed foot. Too many skull fractures to remember. She was sure that all those years of abuse had taken their toll, made her a softer target, and caused her to be slower on her feet.

Jolene had everything ready when he began to call again. The can came out of the freezer, the tab was popped, the crushed pills were slid in off a piece of paper, and she was a running. She had finally hit her breaking point.

Cans ten and eleven were delivered on cue. Ed had figured she had learned her lesson after the incident in the kitchen doorway.

He never called for can number twelve.

Twenty minutes after beer number eleven she slid out to the living room. She shook him, tried to get a response, but nothing came. He was still warm, but he did not seem to be in there. The front of his pants were stained from his bowels letting go.

She checked his pulse, and then made the call.