by L. E. Rico
“I think marmalade is reserved for citrus fruits.”
“Yeah, well, Marmalade works better with massacre than jam, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” I agree, jiggling Jackson, who seems to be quieting.
“Anyway, I called the nurse’s station and got Doctor Douglas on the line. He said he’s been trying to call both you and Jameson since last night but hasn’t been able to get either of you.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to put two and two together. Thankfully, math was never Win’s strong suit. For one stupid, foolish, and fleeting second, I consider telling him his ex-wife and I spent the night together. Luckily, my better judgment steps in and reminds me that I still need Win’s help.
“And what did the doctor say?” I ask, trying to steer him away from me. Or Jameson. Definitely away from me and Jameson.
“Oh, well, apparently the old man is doing a little bit better. His vitals have improved and he’s responding to some stimulus. He’s not out of the woods yet, but the doctor says the old coot’s holding his own.”
“Excellent,” I say, this time with a genuine smile. Jackson isn’t crying anymore. Instead, he’s decided that this would be a good time to slather my face with the gelatinous goo on his hands. “Ughh…come on, buddy. What do I look like to you? A piece of toast?”
“Toast! Toast, toast, toast!” he yells excitedly.
“Great, thanks for that,” Win mutters, grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter and tossing a slice in the toaster. “Want one?” he asks.
My stomach roils at the thought of it. “No, thanks. So, Win, we need to talk. About the other night. I’m sorry we got into it like that, but I really need for you to give me those documents. I’ve got some investigating to do.”
He doesn’t answer me immediately, just waits for the toast to finish before he scrapes the last of the “sterile” jam out of the jar and onto the bread. When he turns around and hands it to Jackson, still in my lap, my brother and I lock eyes.
“You know what I want,” I say flatly.
He nods. “I do. And if Dad wants you to have that stuff when he wakes up, that’s fine. But you’re not gonna get it from me.”
“And why is that?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Because this bullcrap is between you and him. Always has been. Always will be. You want to figure out the mysteries of the past? Then I suggest you find another way, little brother.”
“Wow,” I say, finally getting up with Jackson and bringing him over to the sink. I get the warm water going and soak a wad of paper towels. Jackson shakes his head in annoyance as I try to wipe the jam from it.
“Noooooo, Unca Sock! Nooooooo! What the helllllllll…”
Yeah, my thoughts exactly, kid.
…
An hour after Win and Jackson leave, I’ve managed to get most of the sticky strawberry ectoplasm off the walls. The iPhone lights up with Jameson’s face.
“Hey there,” I say.
“Hi! I heard about Big Win—that’s wonderful!”
“I know, right? Did Dr. Douglas get in touch with you, then?”
“No, actually, Win stopped by the pub to drop Jax. I heard all about his little faux crime scene. I’ll bet that scared the crap out of you.”
“You’re not kidding. For a split second, I thought the kid had gone all Lizzie Borden on Win.”
“Oh my God! That is so, so wrong!” she squeals through the phone, and my head pounds through the half-dozen aspirin I’ve taken since this morning.
“Yeah, but you still think it’s funny,” I note with a grin.
“I do. I do…” she admits, the line filling with the buoyant flutter of her laughter. Like birds’ wings. Or butterflies. Or some other poetic thing that flutters. Whatever it is, I want to record this sound so I can hear it again and again. And again. “Anyway,” she continues, cutting my reverie way too short, “I called because I had this idea…”
“Okay…”
“DNA.”
“DNA?”
“Yeah, DNA. There’s this lab up in Duluth. You could bring your dad’s toothbrush or some strands of hair from his hairbrush, and then they’ll also do a mouth swab on you. It takes a couple of weeks, but you’d know for sure, one way or the other, if Big Win is your biological father.”
“Huh,” I reply, not quite sure what to think about this possibility.
“It’s just a thought. In case you want to be, you know, sure about what you think is going on.”
“I hadn’t really considered that,” I admit. “I mean, I just assumed I’m right and that I’d find it in records somewhere, somehow. It didn’t even occur to me to try the scientific route…”
“I guess my mind always goes there because I’m a nurse. If what you’re looking for is proof that you aren’t Big Win’s son, then this is one way to do it. It’s the proverbial ‘smoking gun.’ No one can dispute the DNA.”
“Duluth, huh?”
“Duluth,” she confirms. “Umm, you know, it’s a really nice drive, and I happen to know of a great lunch spot along the way…”
“Oh yeah? Good spot for kiddos, too?”
“Absolutely,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Well then, I guess we’re taking a road trip.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
For a nanosecond, I allow myself the luxury of pretending that I made all the right choices. That I stayed close to home, married the girl of my dreams, and started a family. For an instant, I pretend that this is all mine.
And it’s the happiest nanosecond of my entire life.
Chapter Nineteen
Jameson
“Is that… Is he snoring?” Scott asks quietly, shooting me an incredulous look as he drives.
I grin and nod at him as Jackson snores loudly in the backseat. “I swear, we must’ve put a thousand miles a month on the car during the first year of Jackson’s life. The kid would not go to sleep when we put him in his little crib. He’d fuss and whine until finally he’d erupt into these screams that could wake the dead. That was when Win had the idea to put him in the car and take him for a ride. It worked like a charm. Still does.”
“And the snoring, is that from your side of the family? Because we Clarkes don’t snore. It’s a genetic thing,” he informs me as he signals to change lanes on US-2.
I snort. “Is that so? Seems to me you were doing a pretty good imitation of a fog horn the other night! I could hear you all the way from across the hall.”
“No way,” he says dismissively. “I’d have woken myself up.”
“Oh please, Martians could’ve landed on the roof and you wouldn’t have noticed!”
“I don’t know about that—”
“I have two words for you: pink toenails.”
It’s all I have to say. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Point taken. Speaking of which, how do I get that stuff off? I tried water and rubbing alcohol. I even used bleach and Windex.”
I burst into laughter and immediately slam a hand against my mouth as I hear Jax moan and shift behind us. When I’m sure he’s settled back into his dreams, I remove my hand again and lean closer to Scott. “Windex? Are you nuts? Nail polish remover. It’s a thing, Scott. Hey, I distinctly recall you telling me you were ‘in touch with your feminine side.’”
“Yeah, well, my two sides might not be as close as I initially thought,” he tosses back at me. “Something about years of manual labor in the hot sun with no shirt on, drinking ice cold cervezas and checking out the local señoritas. We’re pretty manly down there in old Mexico,” he says in an exaggeratedly masculine tone while puffing out his chest and clenching his jaw.
I stifle a snort and roll my eyes at him. “Okay, whatever you say, Mister Manly Man. I’ll take it off for you later and—so long as you stay in line—no one will ever know your dirty little pink secret.”
“Please,” he groans softly, “I’ll do whatever you want…�
��
“Oh, look!” I say, pointing at a huge billboard approaching us on the side of the road. It’s got a cow with a giant blue ribbon on it, surrounded by happy, smiling people and children holding balloons. “That’s the first sign I’ve seen for the fair!” I exclaim. “I love the fair! And this will be the first year Jackson can go. He was too young last time. I was afraid he’d be trampled by a rogue goat or caught up in a freak funnel cake accident or something.”
“Seriously? Funnel cake accident?”
He looks as if he’s waiting for the punch line.
“Don’t judge me, Jam Man!” I sneer. “That faux bloodbath you walked into yesterday was just the tip of the iceberg! Until you have a kid of your own, you’ll never know what kind of insanity can happen in the blink of an eye. He could be burned by the hot fudge or inhale the confectioner’s sugar. If he got too close, he might be scalded with the hot oil…” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Look, when you’re a new mom, you sometimes let your imagination run away with you. You think about the weirdest, craziest, most unlikely scenarios in which your child could be harmed. Forget about uncovered outlets and unlatched cabinets. I made Win put netting in between the spindles of the staircase because I was sure Jackson was going to get his head stuck in them. And he wasn’t even crawling yet!”
“Wow. That’s pretty…insane, Jameson,” he chuckles.
“Yeah, well, have you spent any time with Bryan Truitt yet? He’s got this fixation with cheesecurds. Thinks there’s something nefarious about them.”
“Nefarious about deep-fried pieces of cheese? What’s he afraid of? Getting clogged arteries?”
I chuckle. “Maybe…he did move here from L.A., you know. I hear they’re real big into health food out there on the west coast.”
“Hey, so what’s with Bryan and Hennessey anyway? I mean, I’ve heard how they ended up together—some craziness there, by the way, him trying to snatch up the pub and falling in love with her in the process.”
“She deserves it. Henny’s had a real hard time coming to terms with the fact that she never wanted to be a lawyer—that it was Pops’ dream, not hers. And when she finally faced up to it, she felt incredibly guilty—like she was dishonoring his memory or something. So now…there’s Bryan. And he makes her happier than I’ve ever seen her…” My voice trails off, and I find myself trying to blink back the tears that have formed in my eyes, unbidden. I look out the window so he won’t notice. But then I feel his hand on my shoulder, and when I turn to him again, his eyebrows are drawn together in confusion.
“What is it?” he asks, his tone full of concern.
“It’s just that I’m a little envious, I guess. Even when things were good with Win and me, he never looked at me like that. Oh, he thought I was pretty, and he thought he loved me, and he thought I was a catch. But it wasn’t like that. Not for us, anyway,” I admit.
Scott looks straight ahead at the road for what feels like a long time but is, in reality, probably just a few seconds. He doesn’t turn toward me when he speaks again.
“Jameson, my brother didn’t deserve you. It’s that simple. But you, you deserve to be happy. And you will be… I’m…I’m sure of it.”
I don’t know what it is in his voice that makes me believe him. For all I know, it’s just my sheer desperation to not be alone. Whatever it is, I’m willing to put my faith in Scott Clarke for now, as the miles slide by.
…
“Well, that was a whole lot easier than I expected,” Scott says as he pushes the stroller out of the storefront laboratory and into the bright afternoon sun.
He’s right. Turns out that DNA analysis isn’t nearly as exciting as they make it look on television and we’re in and out of the lab in less than twenty minutes.
“I know, right?” I agree. “People do this all the time now. You can send off your DNA for genealogical analysis. Find out where ‘your people’ are from, if you’re prone to lactose intolerance, that kind of thing.”
“You know, it’s incredible to me that all of this information is available for the asking. I wish my brother were this accommodating.”
I glance at him sideways. “Scott, have you… I mean, I’ve just assumed…you did try the Mayhem Town Hall for your birth certificate…right?”
“What? You think they’d have it there?” he asks.
I’m so shocked that I’m not quite sure how to respond. “I…uhhh…well…yeah…”
When he starts to snicker, I know he’s just pulling my leg. “Yes, of course I thought of that, Jameson. But no luck. You see, I just assumed I was born in Mayhem. Win, too. Our parents never told us otherwise, and why would I bother to check? They registered us for school and got us passports…I never had need of it before now. So, yeah, I was pretty surprised when I wrote looking for a copy and got a response back that they had no record of me being born there.”
“That is so weird…” I murmur.
“I know, right? Well, for now, I’d be happy to just solve this mystery…I think that’d make me happy anyway…” he adds, enigmatically.
“What do you mean?” I press.
“I don’t know…just that even as I’m saying the words, I’m wondering if they’re true—really true. I’ve spent all this time being hurt and angry about something that I don’t really understand. What if I get to the bottom of it all only to find it’s nothing? A clerical error or—like you suggested—the delusional ramblings of a woman on her deathbed? Or…what if it’s worse than I ever imagined? What if there’s some deep, dark family secret that will make it impossible for me to forgive or forget or whatever the hell it is I’m meant to do?”
“I really don’t know, Scott,” I confess. “But I don’t think there’s anything you can do about any of it right now—one way or the other. So, if I can make a suggestion…”
“I’m listening,” he says, navigating the stroller up and over a curb.
“I think the mystery we should be working out at this moment is which burgers we’re going to have for lunch at Maudie’s,” I say with a grin and point down the block. “There. The place with the green and white awning.”
He nods, and we walk along quietly to where the hostess is standing at her outside podium. “Hi! Welcome to Maudie’s,” she chirps with a bright smile and brighter blue eyes. “Would you folks like to sit inside or out?”
“Oh, outside,” I reply before Scott can consider the option. But he doesn’t seem to mind my choice once we’re seated at a table on the patio looking out at downtown Duluth and Lake Superior beyond it.
“Nice spot,” he says. “How’d you find it?”
“Ah, well, Win and I used to come here sometimes when I was up here in nursing school. He’d come and visit on the weekends that I didn’t go home. But I can’t even remember the last time I was here, actually. Jeez, must’ve been before Jackson was even born.”
“Well, looks like a great choice to me,” he says, just as our server, a tall young woman with short blond hair, walks up.
“I’ll have the Bonzo burger, medium rare, waffle fries, and a chocolate milk shake,” I inform her after we exchange pleasantries.
“I’ll have the same,” Scott says when she looks to him for his order.
“Anything for the cutie pie?” the girl asks with a gesture toward Jackson.
“No, he’s out cold. We’ll be halfway home before he wakes up.”
The blonde considers us, her gaze moving from Jax, to me, to Scott.
“Well, you make a beautiful family,” she says with a sweet smile before turning to leave.
I shift a little uncomfortably in my seat, and Scott notices.
“What?”
“She thinks we’re…you know…a couple.”
He shrugs. “And…? Makes sense I suppose, two young people with a child. I don’t mind, do you?”
Do I? Absolutely not, I realize.
“No. No, I don’t mind at all,” I assure him.
And I smile.
Hennes
sy: Hey, Scott, what do you know about big hairy spiders? There’s one in the stairwell outside of my apartment and I’m afraid to open the door…
Hennessy: Scott? You there? It’s probably harmless, right? Bryan’s not around today. Maybe you could come have a look quick?
Hennessy: Scott?
Scott: Scott’s dead. You’re next. Love, the spider.
Hennessy: You suck.
Chapter Twenty
Scott
We’re halfway back to Mayhem when I spot the sign.
“James?”
“Hmm?” She stirs from her little nap in the passenger seat.
“Do you need to be back for anything anytime soon?”
“Uh…no. How come?”
“I’m wondering if you’d mind taking a little detour?”
She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and scans the scenery around us. “Sure, of course. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking about maybe stopping in Edgerly.”
“What’s in Edgerly?”
“I don’t know for sure…but I think, maybe, my birth certificate.”
“Oh,” she says quietly, processing this. “Why do you think it might be there?”
“Mmmm…just a hunch, really, but now that we’re coming up on this exit, I’m remembering something—this story my parents used to tell us. About how they met at the courthouse in Edgerly when he was a young public defender and she was a clerk. It could be nothing…”
“Oh, no, of course! I mean, if you don’t mind having Jax and me along…”
“That’s why I want to do it. You’re the only one who knows all this—you know, aside from my father—and now that you do, I kind of like the idea of not doing it alone.”
She nods. “I get that. And yes, we’d be happy to be your ‘plus one and a half’ at the courthouse. I assume that’s where you want to go, the courthouse?”
I nod and signal to take the exit that will lead us eastward.
“You sure? It’ll be another half hour there and then more than an hour home.”
“Really, Scott, it’s fine,” she assures me. “With my arm in a cast, my sisters have had someone covering my pub shifts. And Win isn’t due to take the baby again until tomorrow night. Besides, it’s kind of fun—a little sleuthing adventure.”