Mischief and Mayhem

by L. E. Rico

  The collective gasp from around the pub is audible.

  I hadn’t wanted to poke the bear with a short stick, but now I see it’s time to kick the big, crabby bear’s backside with that Louiseville Slugger that’s behind the bar. The one that I can see Walker reaching for right now.

  “And why would you think that?” I ask him, my voice a deadly calm that should put him on alert. Should. But doesn’t. “What have I done for you not to trust me? I’ve never had an affair. In fact, you’re the only man I’ve ever slept with.”

  When he scoffs, I start to see red. The red that’s going to be pouring from the head wound he’s about to get if he doesn’t start back pedaling—and fast.

  “Oh, please. I know all about you and Scott. I know what you two were up to while my father was lying in a coma. My own brother, Jameson. That’s low.”

  My brows are arched so high that I can feel them brush up against the bottom of my bangs.

  “Oh my God! Have you gone absolutely insane?” I hiss.

  Somewhere, someone has dropped another quarter on Etta, and the unfortunate song begins all over again, a sweet lilting mockery of my marriage. A cruel reminder of what my parents had all those years. What Henny and Bryan have now. What I never had. Not until…

  “Oh, yeah,” Win jeers at me. “I see you, James. I see that look in your eye, and I know exactly what it means. Maybe you didn’t go to bed with Scott, but you wanted to. Too bad you’ll never get the chance now.” He snorts and then stops abruptly, putting his face back to rights. But it’s too late. He can’t un-ring the bell, as Henny would say.

  I practically jump out of my skin when I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. My head swings around so fast I practically knock noses with Father Romance.

  “Whoa, whoa, there…” the priest says, taking a step back. “I wanted to make sure everything is okay. Things appeared to be getting rather…heated…from the other side of the room, and your sisters were getting a little concerned—”

  “You can tell them to mind. Their. Own. Business!” Win bellows over Etta, loud enough for my sisters and everyone within a three-block radius to hear.

  At last…

  “Oh, for God’s sake, will someone please unplug that thing?” I plead, feeling the tears of anger and frustration start to prick at the corners of my eyes.

  “What say we take a time out?” Father Romance suggests quietly.

  Win agrees a little too eagerly.

  “What did you mean by that, Win?” I ask in the coldest, flattest voice I can muster. “What did you mean by ‘too bad you’ll never get the chance now?’ Why won’t I, Win? And where is Scott, by the way? I expected him to drop by after he went to see your father this morning.”

  At the sound of his brother’s name, the last bit of Win’s romantic facade crumbles right before my very eyes.

  “He’s gone back to Mexico. Where he belongs.” I gape at him as he continues. “That’s right. He got a better offer, Jameson. Project Peace came calling, and he just packed up his duffle bag and hopped a plane. Boy, that’s some dedication. That’s some romance! I warned you. Give him an easy way out and Scott Clarke will take it every time.”

  “No.” I’m shaking my head. “No, you’re lying. You miserable, small man. You’re lying,” I say, springing into action. I walk back to the bar and root around for my purse.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Win demands as he follows me across the pub.

  “I think I’m going to get the truth. I think I’m going to find Scott and sort this all out…”

  “Don’t you even think about it, Jameson.” Something in his tone makes me stop what I’m doing and turn to face him. “If you walk out that door, I’ll do everything in my considerable power to take our son away from you.”

  Suddenly the air is sucked from my lungs. I glance at Jax, happily playing with the Cheerios on the tray of his stroller, oblivious to the drama all around him.

  “What did you just say to me?” I ask Win, taking a step between him and our son. “What did you just say to me, Winston?”

  “You heard me. I’ve got pull, James, and you know it. If you think I’m going to let you ‘tart’ around town with my brother—right under my nose—right in my face, you are sadly mistaken.”

  “Winston, I think that’s quite enough of that,” Father Romance says so sternly that we both stop long enough to stare at him. “Don’t say anything that you’ll regret later, son. There are some things you can’t walk back…”

  “Oh, trust me, Father, I have no plans to walk anything back. I will convince a judge that she’s an unfit mother, living in an environment that’s detrimental to a child—like a pub—and I will take Jackson from her. For. Good.”

  “Try it!”

  The two words aren’t loud, but they manage to penetrate that shroud of anger that’s descended on what was a celebration just a short time ago. They’re hoarse but firm. And when every eye in the place swings toward the front door, it’s clear that the man who spoke them has every intention of standing behind his threat.

  “Just try it, Winston!” Big Win rasps again.

  And then I see it. Him. The man I married. The man I had a child with. I see him for everything that he is. And is not.

  At last.

  Scott: “Hey, Siri: Do you believe in miracles?”

  Siri: “I don’t believe I have beliefs, Scott.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Scott

  I’m waiting out front of the house when the little black Prius pulls up.

  “Goober?” I ask hopefully.

  “Uber,” the woman says with a snort of laughter. She looks to be in her early twenties with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and great big sunglasses covering much of her face. “You Scott?” I nod. “You really want me to drive you all the way up to Duluth?” I nod again. “All right then, my friend. Get in.”

  I toss my bag in the backseat and take the passenger’s spot. She looks mildly surprised.

  “Is this okay? Do I need to sit in the back or something?” I ask uncertainly. “I’ve never done this before. Taken a Goo— Sorry, Uber.”

  “Honey, you can sit wherever you’re comfortable.”

  We ride quietly for the first several minutes as she navigates her way to the northbound interstate, and I watch out the window as my hometown passes by. Only this time I’m not running away for myself; I’m running away for someone else. And, while this might be a nobler reason to flee, it still feels pretty crappy. But I know. I know that if I stay here another second, I’ll do something stupid—like piss off Win enough that he makes Jameson’s life a nightmare. As tempting as it is to stay and fight, I care for her and Jackson too much to even risk it.

  So I came home, threw a few things in a bag, and figured out how to use this car service app thing. I haven’t bothered calling Miriam Wentworth yet because I have no idea when I’ll be getting in to DC. The only thing I know for sure is that I need to get to the airport. I can figure out the rest once I’m there.

  “So you headed for home or leaving it?” the driver asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Oh, uh, leaving it, I guess.”

  “You don’t sound too sure about that,” she says with a teasing smile.

  That’s because I’m not.

  “I was born in Mayhem. My father was in the hospital, so I came home. But he’s okay now, so I’m headed back to work.”

  “And what do you do?”

  I’m starting to wish I’d sat in the backseat. At least then I could’ve feigned sleep and avoided the small talk. But when you’re in the front seat, it just seems rude not to speak.

  “I’m with Project Peace. I travel throughout South and Central America helping smaller communities set up fresh water systems and sewage.”

  She shoots me a sideways glance, her brows arching over the big lenses.

  “Wow. Now that’s impressive. How long have you been doing that?”

  “A little more t
han ten years.”

  “Woooo, that’s a long time to be away from home. And I know Project Peace—they keep you guys moving, don’t they?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve been in more towns than I can count. But it’s been amazing. I’m grateful to have had the experience.”

  “Ah! Gratitude. Now there’s the key,” she proclaims with a finger pointed at me for emphasis.

  “The key to what?” I venture, wondering if I’ve stumbled upon a Goober/preacher. A bizarre combination to be sure…though she does have a captive audience.

  “Life, Scott. A grateful person is a happy person.”

  I don’t mean to scoff out loud; it just sort of happens. I’m so not in the mood for little pearls of wisdom right now.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I never thought much about it. I suppose that makes me an ingrate?”

  She smiles and shakes her head as she signals to change lanes.

  “Oh, I don’t know you well enough to say that. Besides, I’ll bet you’re grateful for plenty of things, you just don’t know it. Consciously, I mean. For instance, I’m sure you’re grateful that your dad is okay.”

  “Of course. Yeah,” I agree.

  “And you’re probably grateful for your own health and your ability to help so many people… That’s a big one right there.” She’s correct, though I’ve never quite thought of it like that. When I don’t reply immediately, she continues. “And then, of course, there’s love.”

  “Yeah, well, not much to be grateful for there,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I heard that,” the woman chuckles. “You’ve never been in love?”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “And that didn’t work out for ya, huh?”

  “Pfft. Hardly. I mean, I’ve had a few short-term…arrangements. But picking up and moving from city to city every couple of months isn’t exactly conducive to a serious relationship.”

  “Okay, well, what about back here at home?”

  “What about it?”

  “Oh, come on, now… You seriously telling me that there isn’t some sweet ‘girl next door’ back there in Mayhem crying her eyes out tonight cause you’re headed to the airport?” My expression gives me away before my mouth can. “Oh! So there is a hometown girl,” she presses with a knowing smile.

  “I suppose,” I admit at last. “But it didn’t get very far.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because she’s my ex-sister-in-law and my brother is a real piece of work.”

  “Yeah, that’s not complicated or anything,” she snorts.

  “Tell me about it.” I roll my eyes.

  “But you loved her.”

  “Love her,” I correct. “I…I love her.”

  “And that’s why you’re leaving,” my Goober girl concludes.

  I just nod.

  “Well then, Scott, I’d say you have plenty to be grateful for.”

  “How do you figure that?” I hear the sarcasm dripping from my words, but they don’t seem to bother my driver.

  “Well, there’s the love itself. And then there’s the woman—your brother’s ex-wife—who clearly has feelings for you, too, or your brother wouldn’t feel so threatened by you. And then there’s your brother—”

  “Okay, let’s not get carried away,” I interject.

  “No, really,” she continues. “A brother is someone special. You ever heard the expression ‘cradle to grave?’ Well, that’s a sibling. Someone who’s with you your entire life, beginning to end. If all goes well, that is.”

  I harrumph, unwilling to concede that point.

  “Well, that’s my take on things anyway. It’s been my experience that when you live in a state of gratitude, miracles start to happen all around you. It’s the key.”

  I don’t reply. Not that she seems to be expecting me to. She puts the radio on, and the small car fills with the sounds of soothing strings and piano. Classical music. My mother loved it, and it was everywhere in our home for my entire life. It’s strangely comforting now as I close my eyes and lay back on the headrest.

  I’m not certain for how long I’m out cold, but the next time I open my eyes, we’re pulling into the airport.

  “Oh, wow—sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep the whole way.”

  “Not a problem at all,” she assures me as she pulls up smoothly in front of the terminal. I start to pull out my wallet so I can tip her, but she holds up a hand. “You can do that right in the app. It’ll ask you if you want to tip and how much. You can also complain about me if you like.” She grins as she says this.

  “Nope. You made my first Goober experience very pleasant,” I reply as I open the back door and hoist my duffle out and onto my shoulder.

  “Uber!” she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Have a safe trip, Scott. And don’t forget to be grateful…you’ll be amazed at the miracles that unfold before your very eyes.”

  “Thanks. Oh, hey, you know—I don’t even know what your name is.”

  The woman lowers the sunglasses just low enough for me to catch sight of the most stunningly bright blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “That’s in the app, too,” she says just before she winks at me.

  And just as stealthily as it glided up to get me, the little black car floats noiselessly out into traffic and out of my field of vision. I feel a vibration in my pocket. It’s the phone. When I open it, the Uber app has sent me an alert asking if I’d like to give my driver a tip. There’s a small picture of her on the screen, sunglasses and all. I’m amazed they let her get away with that. Printed below her face is her name. It reads simply: Angel.

  Somehow, I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I click the biggest tip I can give her and make my way into the terminal, grateful that this part of my trip is almost over.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jameson

  “Dad! What are you doing here?” Win demands. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone out of the hospital!”

  Big Win shakes his head and comes toward us on slow, shaky legs. Bryan rushes over to help him reach his destination—us. “You…will…not…th-threaten…her…again,” he says, his halting speech making the words all the more effective.

  “Dad, this is none of your business. Now come on, I’ll take you back to the hospital.”

  Win tries to grab his father’s arm, but the older man wrenches himself free with surprising strength.

  “No!” he hisses. “I will rep-represent her against y-you! I know more j-judges than you’ll ever know and I. Will. Win!”

  We’re all staring at him now, stunned into silence. Finally, Win clears his throat and lowers his volume so only we can hear him. “Playing favorites again, Dad?” he snarls. “What do you suppose the town would think—what the bar would think of your behavior…oh, I don’t know…maybe thirty-ish years ago or so? When you brokered a deal to buy a child?”

  I gasp out loud. He wouldn’t! Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he would.

  “Win,” I grit out, “your father’s in no state for this kind of thing—”

  Big Win cuts me off by shaking his head from side to side emphatically.

  “Go. Ahead,” he huffs. “I saved you, and I’d do it again. Even if y-you did t-turn out to be an ass.”

  Never, not once in my entire life, have I ever heard Big Win use even the mildest profanity, so when it comes, it sounds harsh. And fierce. And jarring to everyone—including his oldest son, who’s just staring at him.

  “Tell them!” Big Win demands in a soft tone that somehow carries more weight and force than a foghorn.

  Win’s face is turning red now, and he keeps breaking eye contact to look down at his feet. Suddenly he’s not so sure of his stance.

  “Tell. Them!” his father repeats.

  “I…uh…I told Scott that if he didn’t leave town tonight, I’d find a judge to give me full custody of Jackson.”

  I suck in a long, harsh breath. It burns my lungs almost as much as the tears
burning the lids of my eyes. I loved this man. I had a child with him. And all he wants to do now is hurt me—to see me miserable and desperate. I’m so overwhelmed by this thought that I start to sink to the floor in a puddle.

  “Shhh, shhh,” Father Romance says, helping me up and wrapping me in a tight embrace. “It’s all going to be fine, Jameson. Just fine, you’ll see.”

  “Hey, hey, hey—no need for that,” I hear Win say in an alarmed voice. And when I peek, I see Walker coming toward us with the baseball bat she keeps behind the bar.

  “Oh, now, Walker, love, that’s perhaps a bit heavy-handed, don’t you think?” When Father Romance speaks, I feel the rumble in his chest.

  After a moment, I force myself to stand on my own feet, and I put a hand on my sister’s arm. She looks murderous as she stares Win down.

  “Get. Out.”

  Win looks at me, and I see something different in his face. Fear, certainly—because Walker isn’t messing around—but also a tiny slip of regret.

  “I…uh…I’m sorry, James,” he whispers.

  “Just go, Win. Please,” I murmur.

  He nods and turns to leave.

  “I really wish you would’ve let me get one good whack at him,” Walker mutters when he’s out the door at last.

  “I’m so sorry I ruined your engagement,” I sniff at Henny, who’s come to bring me a fistful of tissues.

  “Please. You didn’t ruin anything.”

  I nod and blow my nose loudly.

  “Well, that’s real attractive,” Walker snorts and nudges me, trying to get me to laugh. But I’m not biting. Not today. I just blow my nose and shake my head. “Oh, Big Win. I’m so grateful, but you have got to get back to the hospital… Wait, how did you even get here? You didn’t drive, did you?”

  “Uuuu-b-ber,” he says with some difficulty. “I came to g-give y-you this.” He’s trying to pull something out of his pocket. A picture—which he hands to me with a shaking hand.