If someone had suggested to her only a year and a half ago that she would one day not only find herself sitting in a half-empty dive bar on a weeknight in a shitty little town in East Texas, but that she would also live in said shitty East Texas town, well ... really, who in a million years would suggest such an absurd scenario about Courtney Park, loving fiancée, expectant mother, Barnard graduate, and raging, blue state liberal?!

And not only that, but that she would be renting a run-down house in a snake infested neighborhood from a fat, racist Boss Hawg guy straight from Central Casting and that her only friends were the air conditioning repair guy and his teenaged son, who was her student, and a mediocre one at that. Well, had been her student, technically.

"I mean, I'd never even been to Texas when I took the damn job," she explained to the bartender while she busily set up the next shot of tequila she had decided to treat herself to. She knew that slamming tequila shots only a few short hours after waking up from a bad case of "heat sick" was probably not advisable, but it was the closest she could get to the taste of a margarita without driving to the Mall food court the next county over.

Also, she knew she should probably shut up, but she was on a role.

"But I took it, didn't I?" she muttered, a little quieter now. She licked the side of her hand and poured way too much salt onto it. Whoops. She blew at the little pile and it scattered every which way across the top of the bar. Whoops. Shit. Luckily the bartender was at the other end finishing up a phone conversation and didn't seem to notice.

Why did the bartender suddenly look so familiar? All these local women resembled each other, kind of blonde and faded. Perhaps it was the sun that did it. Or because they married young, to guys like Cam and his father, and began popping out the puppies before the ink on their high school diplomas had time to dry.

"I took the damn job, didn't I, and I tried my hardest," she grumbled a little louder, and felt better when the bartender put the phone down and came back over to finish drying glasses or whatever it was bartenders did to pass the time when there was only one drunk lady to keep track of. She slammed her shot.

"Yes you did Miss Park, and I know the high school is grateful for it," the bartender said, sweeping away the remains of her third-oh shit was it her fourth?-tequila shot. The bartender's name was Terri. It said so on her name tag. While the rest of Terri was a bit of a forgettable blur, her bright, cornflower blue eyes reminded her of someone else. Someone annoying, come to think of it. Those were the eyes of someone who had consistently annoyed her in the past.

She seriously needed to stop with the rant and with the tequila shots. Seriously. Just one more of each, one more rant and one more tequila shot, and she would be done. Hadn't she earned them, after the kind of day she had had? A disturbing dream followed by an idiotic run through 110 degree heat, followed by puking in front of Cam and then passing out, followed by waking up naked-well practically-and being ministered to by Cam's father. Oh, and don't forget about finally catching Melvin going through her-the gorge rose in her throat. She couldn't even begin to think about that right now. And that stupid, horrible dream again, and everything it had brought to the surface for her.

It had all just been too much. Topped off by how ... happy she was when she found the little private note Cam had left her, along with his phone number. After Cam's father had left she had sat and stared at Cam's message for God knows how long, her initial excitement gradually replaced by dread and indecision, her more natural state of being.

Finally she had stood up, wandered into the kitchen, gobbled down the remains of the Gazpacho soup that Cam's father had left for her (she had given up on referring to him as anything else inside her head), and made a very impromptu decision. She would have a night out on the town.

So that was exactly what she was doing. Having her night out. Luckily there hadn't been much planning involved, since there really was only one place open this late on a Wednesday (or was it Thursday?) night.

"You know, this is the first time I have worn lipstick since I moved here?" she announced to Terri. "Isn't that something? I should win an award for it."

"Oh yeah," Terri said, "And what would the award be for?"

"I dunno," she replied, hearing the slur in her voice. She tried to sit up straighter, but it made her head spin so she slumped back down again. "Like, the Award for Most Pointless Gesture Of the Year Award. Yeah, of the year."

"I mean," she continued, making a concerted effort to look pointedly around the mostly empty bar without falling off her barstool. A few grizzled barflies quietly watched the action from their shadowy corner tables nursing cans of PBR and bottles of Michelob. A dull metal jukebox dutifully spat out one sad sack country song after another. "Look at this place. Just look at it."

Her butt vibrated.

"What?" she cried out, to the air around her, outraged at its violation of her personal space. "Excuse me?"

Then she realized it was her cell phone texting her butt. She fumbled around with her back pocket before whipping it out. It was not, as she had fully expected, a text from her sister. Instead, it came from an unidentified local number.

"A little bird tells me you are drunk as a skunk at Charley's"

"Who?" she tapped back.

"Nope," she added. Decisively.

"I'm coming to get you. Try not to pass out or get in a fight :-)"

She felt a burning outrage at the smug smiling emoticon and briefly considered throwing the phone on the ground and crushing it with the heel of her red stiletto. She had ordered the shoes on a whim and never worn them, guessing correctly that they would be impossible to walk in. Luckily in Texas no one walked anywhere, they just drove from one air conditioned place to the next. She had paired them with an extremely tight pair of jeans and a low cut, black tank top that she felt gave her just the right extra dash of "skank" needed to feel comfortable at an establishment like Charley's.

Wait what? Who the fuck was texting her and "coming to get her"?

"?" she texted. Then added two more "??" to underscore the importance of her question. She tried to stuff the phone back into her back pocket, but either her jeans had gotten even tighter, or someone had moved her pocket, because it wasn't happening.

Then the memory surfaced of the last time she had worn those jeans, the ones that were slowly suffocating her at the moment, like a medieval torture device. She felt sad, because it had been before she started to show. It had taken her body a long time to lose all of the baby weight, and now, at least, it was finally over. She could wear the damn jeans again.

"Bartender! Terri!" she said, in a much louder voice than she meant to. "One more please!"

Terri carefully, almost tenderly, placed a mug of steaming black coffee onto the bar in front of her.

"Hun, this is on the house," she said.

Courtney looked up at the bartender to protest, and then realized where she recognized those annoying eyes from.

"Madysen! You're Madysen's mom!" she crowed in triumph. "I knew I knew you from somewhere!"

Oh yeah, how could she forget those eyes, the same ones belonging to the biggest little shit of a kid she had ever had the misfortune of carrying through a year of senior English. One of her greatest fears had been the image of Madysen failing English and having to repeat her class, the rock to her Sisyphus. She could never decide if Madysen was a high-functioning imbecile, or a sociopath supremely capable of manipulating those around her to get what she wanted. Either way, there was no way she was going to let Madysen fail, and she had done everything she could to consistently extract C minus work from the little blonde Homecoming Queen.

"She takes after her dad," Terri said, a note of apology in her voice.

"Did she graduate?" she asked, holding her breath.

"She sure did, thanks to you Miss Park," Terri replied, smiling.

"Yes Jesus LORD! Lord you have answered my prayers!" she sang, arms outstretched toward the Heavens, where a loving God did indeed live and watch over the faithful and deserving!

This, however, proved too much for her inner ear and she promptly keeled over at a dangerous angle and came crashing down to the sticky black floor beneath her.

"Well fuck," she groaned, at no one in particular. The scent of sour beer and the faint odor of cow manure wafted over her. Aside from that it was quite comfortable down here on the floor at Charley's. Who knew?

"Miss Park?"

She heard him before she saw him. Here he was, right on cue, to rescue her from her latest fuck up.

"Hello Cam, my favorite student," she said, trying hard to move her mouth around the words like a sober person might. His chiseled, handsome face peered down at her. She was still laying down on the floor, but now she had one leg crossed over the other in order to confer some grace and dignity to her otherwise compromised position.

Cam's face disappeared from view, and she heard him in conversation with the bartender, though their voices came to her like the indistinct rumble of a faraway thunderstorm. She began to think about getting up from the floor. It was an interesting idea.

The thunderstorm came closer. It had very long legs and an amazingly tight backside.

"It's okay Miss Terri, I can handle it. Will you just let my dad know I found her?"

Suddenly the thunderstorm was causing a major commotion, and the waves were getting very big and unwieldy. She was capsizing! The smelly, strangely comforting floor was now below her. The thunderstorm had hoisted her over its shoulder, and was now walking out the door of Charley's with her, carrying her like a ... like a ...

"Cam! I am not a side of beef! Stop carrying me like a side of beef!" she protested.

But Cam ignored her, and next thing she knew she was being buckled into the passenger seat of his truck like she was a big helpless baby.

"My car!" she said.

"You can get it in the morning Miss Park," he said, getting into the driver's side and starting up his truck. Yet another schlocky country song popped on.

"Turn that shit off already!" she said, slapping at the radio dials. Or was that the air conditioning? Whoops.

Cam turned the music off and handed her a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

"Here, drink this. I'm taking you to Denny's to get some food in you. You are trashed." He was shaking his head and smiling, no he was laughing at her.

"Oh be quiet," she grumbled. She leaned over to fiddle with the radio until she finally, yes finally, found a station playing something that wasn't country or gospel. She sighed in luxurious contentment as the strong familiar sound of Led Zeppelin filled the night.

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