Ennis could hold his drink, perhaps better than most. He certainly could pass his own limit and become...belligerent, which equals violent in Ennis' case. He was aware of Trindle, not Jack, sitting with him. He'd be careful, and not drink too much. He was upset, not particularly angry. He needed to think and clear his head, not add to the mess by lashing out at someone unaccustomed to his temper.
He glanced at her, the bottle nearly a third down. Firewhiskey. He could feel it rumbling in his belly, burning in his veins. He held the bottle down to his thigh, his face turned to the horizon, staring off into space.
"She 'as always m'baby. An' now she's here, an' she's got 'er own baby. An' she's tellin' me Jack's dead. An' that baby, ain't no lie, he's Jack's grandbaby too. I see him, in Drew's face. He gots th'Twist mouth." Ennis turned his gaze back to Trindle. "It ain't right."