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enough time to report this news to his grandma before heading into town for work.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Wyatt sat with his back against his wife's gravestone. The day was bright. And warm. He was a third of the way through a bottle of whiskey, which made it warmer. After taking Ettie to her car, he'd driven back up to the lookout. He remembered her bra was still up there and for some reason he didn't want it to stay up there. So now it was in his glove compartment and the thought made him smile.
    "She didn't mean anything, Amberlee." He spoke softly. "She's too young. And she's not you." He rubbed the folded paper between his finger and thumb. Not his list. But Ettie's number. He'd lied about not remembering her name. Of course he remembered. He remembered everything about her.
    In all of his marriage, in all of the time Amberlee had been sick, and in the two years she'd been gone, Wyatt hadn't thought about being with another woman. On the rare occasion that a woman caught his eye, he was extremely disciplined in looking away and pushing her out of his thoughts. So when that girl had come on to him last night, he'd almost missed it. Then he'd told himself that he couldn't cheat on Amberlee like that. But when he'd made the mistake of looking the girl over, his body had suddenly betrayed him. He found himself justifying everything and before he knew it, he was having a great time. A greater time than he'd had in years.
    When it was time to touch her, to kiss her, it all came too easily for him. He'd expected it to feel strange and wrong, touching another woman. But she'd been so open with him. The first touch woke him up. Made him feel alive. And he craved more after that. The rest had just come naturally. He couldn't recall ever having that much fun with Amberlee. Sex with her had always been amazing, but she wasn't the type to laugh in bed. Ettie had made the whole experience feel surprisingly innocent. And beautiful.
    "I won't see her again tonight if you don't want me to. But you have to tell me. You have to speak to me, Amberlee."
    The wind whispered in his ear and he imagined it was Amberlee telling him she loved him. He lifted the bottle to his lips again. The liquid sloshed forward and then back as he rested it on the ground beside him. He slouched down further and leaned his head against the stone. There had been a time when he'd believed he was hearing her voice on the wind. Now, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how drunk he got, he couldn't hear her voice.
    It was spring. He'd gotten Amberlee's garden planted. And a crop of alfalfa for the cows. His son would be home for spring break all next week. He told all of this to Amberlee and imagined that she was listening with her chin resting on her palm and her eyes sparkling.
    "I'm keeping to that list you made me," he said. As she was dying she'd written the list, two pages long, of things for him to remember to keep up with. He always had it with him, folded in his back pocket. Except for last night. "Sometimes I forget to water those violets of yours, but they're miraculously still alive." He yawned and let his eyes drift closed. He must have dozed, because when he woke up, the sun was well overhead.
    His buzz was completely gone. He capped the whiskey and stood. Nothing but firm ground underneath him. In fact Wyatt felt amazing. It was his curse. No matter how much he abused his body, he seemed to bounce right back. He always felt strong and healthy.
    He climbed on Tornado and rode back to the farm to work, though Stan and his dad had probably finished up all the chores. If so, he could go work on Amberlee's garden.
    He met them as they were walking back to his dad's house. They waved and smiled. His dad and brother. Good men. They all got along very well. He hopped off his horse.
    "Well look who decided to join the party," Stan said.
    Wyatt shrugged. "Looks to me like you guys work faster without me. Maybe I'll skip out on chores more often."
    They laughed.