Shack turns, leans toward me and whispers in a low, conspiratorial voice. “He loves my ass. Don’t let him fool you.”
“For the love of God, shut up,” Keno barks.
I’m giggling so hard, I can barely keep the gun on the target.
Keno lifts my arms. “There’s gonna be plenty of distractions when you’re shooting; you can’t let them get to you. Pay attention.”
I attempt to pull it together.
“Chamber a round.”
“Do what?”
“Pull back on the slide on top of the barrel to load a bullet into the firing chamber.”
“Okay.”
“Now aim down the sight at the target.”
I focus on a bottle.
“Place your index finger on the trigger when you’re sure you have a target and are ready to shoot.”
“Okay.”
“You pull the trigger one time for each shot you fire.”
“Got it.”
“Breathe in, exhale and squeeze the trigger, darlin’.”
I do and am not ready for either the deafening sound or the recoil the gun makes when it discharges. Luckily, Keno is there, still at my back, steadying me. When I see the bottle is still there, my shoulders slump.
“I missed.”
“It’s the first time you’ve ever held a gun. Did you think you’d be Annie Oakley with the first shot?”
“I hate to fail. In anything.”
“I’m aware. You were high and to the right. Try again.”
I aim at the target, breathe in, exhale, and fire.
All the bottles stand, mocking me.
“Again,” Keno breathes in my ear.
I repeat the steps.
And miss.
“Again.”
I miss again.
“Focus, babe. We’ll be here all day if we have to, ‘til you hit the damn thing.”
Keno knows exactly what buttons to push to get to me, and I’m determined to make the shot.