Carter and the crew used to go through two cases of beer by the afternoon. Sometimes they went harder, if shooting was particularly punishing—the prop guy wielding his Wild Turkey like he was offering up a sacrament, a big Good morning! swig in Carter’s coffee. These days it didn’t get much crazier than a few beers, and a beer was basically a Coke, providing the same gentle tonic. Carter was not totally clean, not totally sober, but pretty much. It had been a sacrifice, a genuine trial, giving the rest of it up, but it was worth it, he knew—he had to rise to the occasion.

There are certain moments in life that ask much of us, Carter thought to himself. He couldn’t recall, suddenly, if that had been a line of Pa’s from an old episode or a thought he was having right this second.