With a sigh, he brushes some of her hair back, holds the longest strands behind her head as she empties the contents of her stomach. As soon as she settles down a bit, he'll sink to the edge of the bathtub beside her, perched on it watchfully.

"So you went and got drunk? You could've just threatened someone to within an inch of their dignity. That's fine, too."

But this is the South he knows, that he grew up with, that he watched turn from a little tomboy into a full-fledged monstrous woman with intense moods and a willfulness that is second to none. He'd been with her only minutes before he arrived here, but for her... ten months. Ten months she'd been without him, and he wonders how she's even still alive. And he wonders, too, how many times she's been drunk rather than constructive.

But it's not--never has been--his place to judge. He'll set her straight if she goes astray, but he won't tell her how to live her life on the whole.