Mischief and Mayhem

by L. E. Rico

  I put the pies under the counter and wonder, not for the first time, if Janet isn’t a little more on the “bat-poop-crazy” side of the spectrum than the “quirky” side. Before I can let my thoughts go too far down the rabbit hole, Hennessy comes in with Bryan in tow.

  “Hey, come here, you have got to see this!” I beckon her excitedly and pull out my pie box from underneath the bar. “According to Janet Lahti, Mama sent me a message,” I inform her as I pull the cover back for her to see. “I mean, it’s a beautiful pie and all, but—” I stop short when I see the expression on my sister’s face.

  She stares at the pie for a long moment and then looks up at me, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Mama sent you butterflies, James,” she says in a breathy whisper.

  “Maybe…” I say softly, not sure I want to commit to this idea. “Apparently it’s going on a trip with me. To the airport.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, no clue. But I’ll tell you what I do know… There’s one here for you, too,” I say, reaching for the other box.

  “Really? I got a butterfly pie, too?” she asks, her eyes growing wide.

  “I don’t think so…but it did come special delivery, just for you. And it’s peach!”

  “Who’s having peach?” Bryan asks as he strolls up to the bar along with Father Romance.

  “Peach!” my sister exclaims, hopping up and down on the balls of her feet.

  “And look,” I say, guiding her hand to the box top. “It’s still warm!”

  “Oh, get the plates out, ladies, we’re doing dessert first,” Bryan says with the devilish grin of a kid in a candy shop.

  I take his suggestion and pull some small plates onto the counter and grab a big knife to cut it with. I’m about to dig in when Bryan catches my eye and gives me a very subtle shake of the head. My brows crease in response, but when he tilts his head in Henny’s direction, I get it.

  “Oh, here, Hen, will you please cut this? I don’t think I can keep it straight with the one good arm,” I suggest, handing her the knife with one hand and waving the cast around.

  “Sure,” she says and makes the first deep cut across the flakey crust. When she pulls the knife out again, she uses her index finger to wipe a little peach filling off the blade and put it in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she moans, eyes closed, finger in her mouth.

  “Uh, Hennessy? Could you maybe not do that? At least, not in public?” Bryan asks, his voice a little hoarse.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry!” she says, turning bright crimson as she gets the hint.

  “Ah, young love,” Father Romance says, and Hennessy turns brighter than I thought possible.

  “You’d better just cut the thing,” I suggest. “It’s not going to stay warm forever…”

  With a nod, my sister continues to cut the pie into eight pieces, then she starts lifting the wedges out, one by one, and setting them on the plates.

  “Oh, hey…what’s this?” she asks after the second piece is gone. “There’s something written underneath, on the pie plate.”

  I look over her shoulder as she rotates the pie around. Suddenly the letters W-I-L come into view.

  “Huh, take another out so we can see more,” I suggest, excited by this newly discovered treasure.

  Another slice reveals L-Y-O-U-M.

  “The plot thickens,” Father Romance says, leaning over to get a better look. “Go ahead, lass, take another for us.”

  Hennessy obeys, and we add A-R-R-Y-M to the line-up. There’s only one slice left, and she doesn’t wait for someone to suggest she remove it. She can see the writing on the wall—or under the pie, as it were—and her hands are trembling as she removes the final slice and uses the knife to clear some rogue peaches out of the way.

  “Will you marry me.” She reads the words slowly and softly, closes her eyes for a second and, when she opens them, her gaze falls on Bryan. I see it then, the mix of emotions on her face. She thinks she knows what this is, but she’s afraid she might be wrong. She’s not sure if she wants it to be what she thinks it is…and, at the same time, she’s hoping that’s exactly what it is.

  A wave of pride and joy washes over me, and I feel the tears spring to my eyes. With both of our parents gone now, it’s just the four of us—The Whiskey Sisters—left to bear witness to Henny’s joy. I swipe at the tears as Bryan walks up to the bar and pulls the little blue velvet box out of his trousers. He opens the lid, and my sister slaps a hand over her mouth in shock. Her eyes are moving back and forth between Bryan, the box, and the pie plate.

  “Hennessy V.S. O’Halloran, will you marry me?”

  I feel my own chest tighten with the significance of this moment. The moment when you’re certain everything is going to be perfect from here on out. That you really can live happily-ever-after. I had this moment once, too. As softly as he asks this question, it somehow seems to reverberate all around us, and the entire pub feels like it simply stops. Everything and everyone goes silent, hanging on each passing second, waiting for her response.

  There are tears running down her face when she finally pulls her hand away from her mouth and nods.

  “Yes, Bryan. I’ll marry you,” she whispers. Then she seems to find her voice. “Yes!” she shouts and runs around to the other side of the bar, hurling herself into his arms.

  Bryan untangles her just enough to find her left hand and slip the stunning ring onto her finger. She looks at it and then back up at him and pulls him into a long, deep kiss that has everyone cheering, hooting, and hollering. When she finally comes up for air, she turns around and runs the few steps back to the bar to show us.

  “Look, look, look!” she says, holding out her hand for all of us to examine.

  “Oh. My. God! Henny, it’s gorgeous!” Bailey squeals.

  I second the sentiment. Before I know it, we’re hugging. And jumping up and down. At the same time.

  And, as thrilled as I am for her and as fun as it is to be a part of this, even as I’m literally jumping for joy, I’m feeling just the tiniest bit envious. This was me once, too. I was that happy once, too.

  My sister can’t tell the difference between the happy tears and the tears of regret as they mix and mingle on my cheeks. But I can. And I’m suddenly wishing I could get another look at that butterfly pie.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Scott

  My father is watching an old episode of Law and Order when I arrive at the hospital.

  “Missing the courtroom, Dad?” I ask, plopping down in the chair next to his bed.

  He shrugs and pulls out the whiteboard. He’s able to speak in slow, halting sentences now, but he becomes frustrated if he can’t get his thoughts out.

  “Bored stiff,” he writes.

  “I don’t think you should be talking about ‘stiffs’ considering you were almost one of them.”

  He grins from ear to ear, albeit a little crookedly on one side, thanks to the stroke.

  “So, I…uh…was wondering if we could maybe talk about some stuff?”

  He nods and turns the television off, waiting attentively for me to begin.

  “It’s Win,” I begin.

  “What did he do now?”

  “He stole the last ten years from me, for starters. He admitted that he knew I thought I was the one who was adopted and that he let me keep thinking that.”

  “Me too.”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s not like I gave you the opportunity to explain it all. You were grieving Mom, and you couldn’t get into it with me just then…and I left. For ten years.”

  My father’s face is impassive, so I continue.

  “But Win…he let me run all over the state of Minnesota looking for clues when he had the answer the whole time. In fact, he refused to help me when I asked him.”

  My father uses a tissue to erase his previous message and write a new one.

  “He’s threatened by you. Jealous.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know of what—in the end he got it all, did
n’t he? The wife, the kid…the life that I might’ve had if I’d stayed here in Mayhem.”

  “It’s not too late. You can still have that life. IF you want it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that…” I mutter. “Win came to me and asked me to leave—to go back to work. Claims that’s the only way we’ll be able to have a relationship…which I think is total BS. But then I got this call—about a really great job opportunity. I’d be able to have a direct impact on so many communities—a chance to really affect some change.”

  “Is that what you want, son?”

  “If you’d asked me that question a week ago, I’d have said yes, absolutely. I’d already be on a plane to D.C. But now… now things are different. I think…”

  “Is this about Jameson?”

  I’m so caught off guard by the question that I can only nod at him dumbly, waiting for some explosive display of silent emotion, but it doesn’t come. He watches me. I watch him watching me. After several long seconds, he erases and writes again. I’m almost afraid to look, but he taps on the board with his finger to direct my attention to what he’s scrawled.

  “Do you love her?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. Love? I mean, I hardly know her…” I sigh and come at it from a different angle. “But when I’m with her, everything feels so right…”

  This time, my father sets aside the whiteboard, and I watch with fascination as he swallows hard, scrunches his brow in concentration, and starts to speak in a soft, slow voice.

  “If you love her,” he rasps, “tell her. If you don’t, you’ll always regret it.”

  “It’s barely been a week! How is that even possible? God, I feel like I’m trapped in some cheesy romance novel!” I moan, rubbing my throbbing temples with my index fingers.

  My father looks at me for a long moment, sighs, and then goes back to writing again.

  “You’ve loved her longer than you think.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  He offers me a shrug and a cryptic smile.

  And then I get it. The party at O’Halloran’s. The lemon cake. Jameson as a little girl. It was there even then and probably just below the surface all those years…but she was too young for me at the time. And I had that wicked wanderlust in my blood. And then Mom died… And she married my brother. Now here we are.

  “Oh my God…you’re right, Dad,” I murmur under my breath. “I think I have always loved her… I think I do still…” I jump up to my feet. “I have to go talk to her. If she feels the same way—”

  My dramatic exit is cut short by the look on my father’s face. He sees something behind me, and when I spin around to find out what it is, I feel my blood run cold. And then hot again. My brother is standing there, leaning against the doorframe watching. And listening. But for how long?

  “Win…?”

  He straightens up and sidles into the room, not bothering to even acknowledge our father’s presence.

  “Okay, you know what? I tried to do this the nice way, but you just can’t seem to stay out of my business.”

  “Your business? How am I in your business?”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “She’s your ex-wife.”

  “Scott, I swear to God, if you don’t leave, I’ll make this place a living hell,” he hisses at me.

  I’m not impressed. “Oh, please, Win. Dramatic much? What can you possibly do to me?”

  When his lips turn up into a malicious smile, I know exactly where he’s headed and I’m powerless to stop it.

  “I meant for Jameson. If you think I’m going to let you move back here and play house with her and Jackson, you’re out of your mind. I promise you, I’ll take her to court and fight for full custody. By the time I’m done with her, they’ll have to sell that dive bar of theirs to pay her legal bills, and she still won’t get the kid because I know too many people. And who do you think she’d choose, Scott? You or her son? If I went to her now and told her all this, who do you think she’d choose?”

  Before I can make him eat his teeth, a loud thumping noise startles both of us. Our father is banging the television remote on the side of his bed to get our attention. Then he holds up the whiteboard.

  “Don’t do it. You’ll regret it Win!”

  “Stay out of it, Dad. You don’t need the stress, and you have no say in it anyway.”

  I can see the fury in my father’s eyes, and I realize what’s happening here. I’m losing. Because I can’t protect him from the kind of stress and frustration that my brother is going to subject him to. This will certainly cause his blood pressure to spike—maybe even cause another stroke. Or worse. And I’m losing because I can’t protect Jameson from whatever hell my brother intends to put her through. Even the thought of losing Jackson would send her into a tailspin she might not ever fully come back from.

  “You’re a lowlife bastard,” I tell my brother.

  “Maybe,” he says, “but I’m the lowlife bastard who’s holding all the cards right now.”

  He’s right, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it—except envision all the ways I’d like to kill him. And there are a lot of them.

  “Fine,” I spit out at last. “I’ll make my travel arrangements and say my good-byes—”

  “Uh-uh.” Win is shaking his head. “Tonight. There’s an eight-thirty flight out of Duluth to the Twin Cities tonight. I don’t care where the hell you go from there, but I want you out of the state of Minnesota tonight. And don’t even think about talking to Jameson—or anyone—before you leave. As far as everyone else is concerned, you just couldn’t pass up that great job that I just heard you telling Dad about.”

  If I could eviscerate my brother with my eyes, he’d be nothing but a bubbling puddle of ectoplasm on the linoleum floor right now. Unfortunately, that’s one skill I don’t have.

  I walk to my father’s bed and kiss his cheek. “I’ll be in touch, Dad, I promise.” He grabs my wrist and murmurs the word “no,” but I extricate myself easily and walk out the door.

  “Bye-bye, Unca Sock,” Win jeers as I pass him.

  “Go to hell.”

  The last thing I see before the elevator doors close is the whiteboard as my father throws it out of the room, and it comes crashing into the hallway, hitting the floor and splitting into shards.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jameson

  Pub patrons are enjoying their third round on the newly engaged Bryan Truitt when Win shows up with Jackson in his stroller. “Hey, what’s going on here?” he asks, taking note of the extremely ebullient crowd this evening. “It’s not darts league or anything, is it?”

  “Nope. Better than that,” Bryan says, standing up. “I’ve asked Hennessy to marry me, and she said yes!”

  “What? Congratulations!”

  Win looks genuinely happy for a change. He and my siblings have always rubbed each other the wrong way, so when he pulls my older sister in for a tight hug, I’m pleasantly surprised. Henny, on the other hand, appears to be at a loss for words.

  “I-uh…umm…thanks. Thanks, Win…” she stammers.

  “Oh, I see you got my flowers,” he says, pointing to the growing display of vases across the back counter.

  “Yeah. Maybe you could start re-routing them to the house or, better yet, stop sending them altogether,” Walker comments from behind the bar, where she’s flipping a shaker in the air.

  “Show-off!” Bailey teases. “Don’t mind her, Win. I love the flowers…Oh and the chocolate!”

  “Well, good, Bailey. Because there’s a bouquet waiting for you at home. To celebrate your success as Princess Mary.”

  Who is this man? And what has he done with my ex? Before I can figure out a tactful way to ask this question, someone throws a quarter in the jukebox and suddenly the room is filled with the eternal voice of Etta James.

  At last…

  Walker abruptly stops what she’s doing. “This isn’t in our jukebox,” she says with suspicion.

 
“It was me,” Win admits as he comes closer to me. “I arranged to have it added to your collection. It was the song we danced to at our wedding, remember?”

  “Well, of course…”

  “I thought you might do me the honor of a little dance?” he asks.

  Before I can process this—let alone respond to it—he’s got both his hands around my waist and is pulling me up against him. So close that I can feel his heart beat through his shirt and mine. And then he’s maneuvered me several feet away from everyone else, to a private corner of our own. I have to admit…it’s very un-Win-like. And very romantic.

  “Well, this is very…sweet,” I say, catching a glance at Bailey, Hennessy, and Walker over his shoulder. They look shocked, alarmed, and pissed off, respectively.

  “I just thought I’d take this opportunity to remind you of the day we got married. The happiest day of my life, James.” He murmurs this softly against my ear as he guides us in slow circles. “Please tell me that you’ve forgiven me for being such a damned fool…for throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Please tell me that you’ll consider giving it another go…not today, I know…but someday? Please, James…”

  I stop short, pulling my hands out of his grip.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  I don’t realize how loudly I’ve said this—shrieked it, really—until everything and everyone around us stills. They’re staring. But no one acts more concerned than Win.

  For a second, he looks as if I’ve slapped him. “What do you mean? Jameson, we have a child together. We could have more children together…”

  “Again, are you out of your flippin’ mind?” I ask, a little softer but with the same intensity. “Not a week ago you were all over that…that nasty little teenager…too busy to even notice your toddler had wandered off. What on earth would make you think this is appropriate, Win?”

  The sad, hurt puppy dog face has morphed into something much darker.

  “Tell me, then!” he roars. “Tell me what I have to do to get you to trust me again, Jameson. What high and mighty hoops do I need to jump through in order to be worthy of the high and mighty O’Halloran clan? Hmmm? You know, Jameson, I think maybe you’re the one who needs to start apologizing. And proving that you can be trusted.”