Mischief and Mayhem

by L. E. Rico

  This makes me want to smile and cry at the same time. I’m happy for them. I really am. In the last few weeks, Bryan has grown on me. And he’ll make Hennessy very happy. Like I would’ve made Jameson if I’d had the chance. I sigh in agitation and shift uncomfortably, trying to keep my elbows glued to my sides since neither of my row mates has seen fit to give me an armrest.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain John Jones on the flight deck. Just want to let you know we’re waiting for someone from maintenance to bring us a replacement fuse and then we’ll be on our way. Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes or so. We appreciate your patience. And we’re gonna go ahead and keep the cabin door open a little longer so you feel free to use your small, portable electronic devices for now.”

  A collective groan spreads across the plane in a wave. Now aisle dude is cracking his toes. I swear to God, if he pulls out a clipper, I’m going to shove this guy into the overhead compartment. Oh, wait, I can’t. There’s no more space left up there. That’s why my duffle bag is crammed under my seat. No arm room. No legroom. This is starting to feel more like torture than transit.

  That’s when I recall what that woman Angel said. About being grateful. Well, I’ve got nothing to lose, right? Nothing else, anyway. So I close my eyes instead and say a silent thanks for getting the last seat on the last plane headed out tonight. I’m not sure to whom this should be directed—God, maybe? Or perhaps the universe? Or is it Angel herself? I mention all three in my impromptu prayer—or whatever this is.

  “Thank you,” I murmur almost silently.

  “Mr. Clarke?”

  My eyes fly open, and my head jerks up at the sound of my name so close to me. One of the flight attendants is leaning over the row in front of me, across Stanley Stinkytoes.

  “Y-yes?”

  “Mr. Clarke, I need you to come with me. And please bring your things with you.”

  Well, if this is a miracle, it’s off to an ominous start.

  …

  “Did I do something wrong?” I ask as soon as we’re off the plane and out of earshot of everyone else.

  “What?” She looks confused. “Oh, no! No, nothing like that. Believe me, you’d know it if you’d done something wrong.”

  “Okay… So why am I the only one leaving this plane?”

  “You know, Mr. Clarke, I don’t have all the details…but my understanding is that it’s a family emergency of some sort, and TSA has asked that we pull you off the plane. Normally we wouldn’t be allowed to do that, but since the cabin door wasn’t closed yet, the captain decided to make an exception.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter distractedly, my brain having seized somewhere after “family emergency.” God, could my father have taken a sudden turn for the worse? Or—not Win, surely… Jackson? That thought makes me stop cold, not quite out of the Jetway.

  “Mr. Clarke?” she asks, putting a hand on my arm.

  “Please, just tell me, is someone dead?”

  “I—I really don’t know. But if we walk these last few feet, I promise you there’s someone who does.”

  I nod and straighten up, following her out the door leading back to the gate. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find on that end. Police officers? Medical personnel, maybe? So when I find myself face-to-face with Brenda McNastypants from the security checkpoint, I’m supremely confused. Especially because she looks so different than she did when I saw her last. She’s still dressed in the same uniform. Her hair and makeup appear to be the same. Even her sensible black shoes. But there’s something in her expression—a softening of her hard edges.

  Oh, Christ. Someone is dead. Now there’s no doubt in my mind

  “Mr. Clarke. Scott Clarke. With an ‘E,’ right?” she confirms when she approaches me.

  “Yes, Brenda. What is it? What’s going on?” I ask quickly, before I can lose my nerve.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have all the details, so I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I challenge.

  Brenda looks at me for a long moment, her expression impassive.

  “Follow me,” she replies at last, turning her back and leaving me with no choice but to do as she wants or stay behind.

  She doesn’t even look back over her shoulder to see if I’m there as we walk past the other gates—all dark and deserted at this hour. The news store and tiny food court are also locked up tight, gates down for the night. Somewhere I hear the sound of a vacuum running. It’s an altogether unsettling experience. When we bypass the exit to baggage claim and ground transportation, I know she’s taking me back to the security checkpoint.

  I’m so focused on Brenda that I don’t immediately see Jameson. But when I do, I feel my heartbeat accelerate precipitously, and a lump forms in my throat.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  There’s only one reason Win would have told her where I was. Only one reason she’d track me down and have me yanked off an airplane.

  My father is dead.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Jameson

  He’s ghostly pale when he comes back through the checkpoint. Whatever Brenda said to get them to let Scott off that plane, it’s scaring the crap out of him. I can see it in his trembling hands and the raw emotional intensity of his eyes on mine. He must think someone is hurt…or worse.

  “Jameson,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “Just tell me—I can handle it. Was it fast? He didn’t suffer, did he?”

  What on earth is he talking about?

  “Who?”

  “My father. You can tell me. I can handle it.”

  I shake my head and start to speak, but he’s already onto his next thought. “Oh, jeez, please tell me it wasn’t a heart attack or another stroke… Win and I had a huge fight in front of him, and he got pretty upset.”

  Not wanting another repeat of the FaceTime incident, I grab him by the shoulders and squeeze. Hard.

  “Ouch! What’d you do that for?”

  “To get you to shut up and listen!” I bark and catch Brenda smirking out of the corner of my eye. She’s at her post, pretending—badly—not to be listening.

  “Okay, okay, you’ve got my attention,” he says. “What happened?”

  There are a million different things I could say at this point. I know this because I’ve been through all them in recent weeks…and, a little more frantically, on the drive up here. But now that the moment of truth has come…I’m not entirely sure of what the truth is. Except for one part of it.

  “Don’t go.”

  “What?”

  “Please, Scott, stay. I don’t want you to go.”

  For his part, Scott is staring at me, silently, blinking as he tries to process what I’ve just said and reconcile it with what he thought I was here to say. I wait, silent and still, until he’s ready to speak. It feels as if it’s forever, but it’s more likely been about fifteen seconds or so when he opens his mouth again.

  “You don’t?”

  I shake my head.

  “And you came here…?”

  “To tell you that. To ask you to come back home with me. To Mayhem.”

  For a moment, he looks elated but only for a moment because the expression fades into stoic determination. “I can’t, Jameson. I’m sorry. I have a…uh…a really great job opportunity in DC…” he’s saying, but his words trail off when he sees me smile and shake my head at the same time.

  “I know all about Win’s threats, Scott. And it’s never gonna happen—”

  “But Win has connections, and he’s really angry…”

  “He’s not as connected as he’d like to think—or, at least, not as connected as your father is.”

  “My father? What’s he got to do with any of this?”

  “Uh, well, let’s just say he went AWOL and had himself a little adventure.”

  “Wait, wait, wait… He left the hospital?”

  “Don’t worry,” I assure him. “He’s back now and resting comfortably. But he showed up at
O’Halloran’s just long enough to kick your brother’s butt. Win left with his tail between his legs, and after that…well, after that it was just a whole lot of crying.”

  “Crying because you didn’t want him to go?”

  Jeez! Could men be any denser? Clearly, I have to spell this out for him.

  “No, you idiot! Crying because he told me you’d gone. And because…” I stop and take a deep breath before I plunge right into the deep end. “Because I love you.”

  When the three words are out of my mouth, I feel a huge burden lift from my chest. I had no idea I was carrying around something so monumental, and the lack of its oppressiveness on my heart and my soul makes me just a bit lightheaded.

  The duffle bag hits the floor with a loud thump, and before I can even blink, he’s got me in his arms, my feet off the ground as we spin slowly, his lips finding mine as the world goes around and around and around.

  “Say it again,” he murmurs.

  “I love you.” I give him a long, slow, deep kiss, my fingers twisting through that thick head of hair. “I love you, Scott. I. Love. You.”

  He sets me down on the hideous airport carpet again and puts his hands on either side of me, gripping my upper arms firmly, as if he’s afraid I’ll run away from him.

  “Jameson, are you sure? I’m just a manual-laboring luddite with a taste for vodka and the itch to travel.”

  I bend my arms up at the elbows so I can hold onto him while he’s holding onto me. “A hard day’s work is never a bad thing, I can teach you the tech stuff, I’m part-owner of a pub for goodness’ sake—so the vodka’s no problem.”

  “And…the wanderlust?” he presses.

  I shrug and smile. “As long as you take me along…”

  He’s got me back against his chest—and his lips—so fast that I’m lightheaded for a second.

  “Ahem…” Brenda says after a while. “I hate to interrupt, but they’ve just cleared your flight to leave, Mr. Clarke. Would you like me to escort you back to the gate?”

  “No, Brenda, thanks,” he says, talking to her but staring down into my face. “I’m done throwing away things that I want so I can go places I don’t want to be.”

  I don’t fully get it, but I like the sound of it.

  Epilogue

  Jameson

  I’ve seen quite a lot of my former-brother-in-law-turned-current-love-interest since I hijacked him off that flight less than a month ago. Especially since he asked if I’d mind leaving Jackson with him and Big Win some of the nights I work late at the hospital. Apparently, my boy does an excellent job of engaging his Goppa in a way that helps him practice his various therapies while also boosting his spirits.

  Big Win isn’t quite up to driving yet—though Doctor Douglas assures him he should be back behind the wheel soon. In the interim, he and Scott tool around town. They’ve also taken to spending two afternoons a week in the office with Win, researching their new environmental practice…the one that will be headed up by Scott once he finishes law school. Turns out Project Peace offers a degree program through the University of Texas in conjunction with the University of Mexico system, and for the last ten years, Scott has been chipping away at a Bachelor’s degree in watershed science and a Masters in environmental engineering.

  And while Win was irate when Scott resurfaced in Mayhem—on my arm, no less—he seems to be getting incrementally closer to accepting our relationship. He’s even begrudgingly impressed with the possibilities Scott and his experience and education bring to the family practice. By all accounts, the Clarke men are doing quite well on their own.

  I’m just putting away the last of the glassware when I hear a rap on the front door of the pub. I need only walk a few feet closer to realize it’s Scott standing there waiting.

  “Hi,” I say a little shyly when I turn the deadbolt and usher him inside with me.

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  “Of course!”

  “So I just heard from Bryan that he and Hennessy are going to get married Christmas Eve. Like this Christmas Eve!”

  “Right? It’s insane!” I agree enthusiastically over my shoulder as he follows me toward the bar.

  “Crazy. Bryan must have more money than God if he thinks he can pull off what he wants in the time frame he’s talking about.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s pretty flush. And pretty determined.”

  He sits on a bar stool, and I walk around to fix us each a glass of wine. I slide his glass across to him, and he pulls out a folded envelope from the pocket of his jeans.

  “What’s that?”

  “The results of the DNA test.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right. Oh.”

  “Well, what do they say?” I ask. “Do they confirm Big Win’s story—or was it all a clever ruse?”

  He smiles and shrugs. “I don’t really know. I didn’t open it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter. I mean, I know the truth. And even if I didn’t, I’ve realized that seeing it in black and white wouldn’t make a difference at this point. My parents are my parents. And, like it or not, my brother is my brother. So I thought maybe you could just put this out with your trash tonight?”

  I nod and take the envelope from him, feeding it into the shredder behind the bar.

  “There. It can’t hurt anyone anymore,” I tease. “Oh! And I have something for you, too…” I grab my bag from the counter behind me and pull out my own folded, well-worn paper. “I meant to give it to you at the airport, but I totally forgot.”

  I hand it to him and watch as he examines it, unfolding and unfolding and unfolding until he’s holding a considerably larger item than he started with.

  “You’re giving me a map of…” He peers at it more closely. “Edina? You’re giving me a map of Edina, Minnesota?”

  “I am.”

  “Why? Do you need to go there? ’Cause I know this great Goo- sorry, Uber driver named Angel…”

  “What? No! I don’t need to go to Edina.”

  “So why the map then?”

  I lean across the bar so I can see his big, warm eyes when I speak. “Because a long time ago, right over there in that corner…” I pause to nod in the direction of the jukebox. “You asked me to come with you when you traveled the world. You wanted me to navigate for you while you steered the boat or flew the plane. Problem was, I couldn’t read a map. But I’ve been studying since then, you see—”

  “Oh, have you?” he asks curiously, sliding off his bar stool.

  “Yes, I have. And I’m happy to report that I can now read a map.”

  “So does that mean you’d still be interested in accompanying me on my adventures?”

  He’s starting to walk toward the end of the bar. I move in the same direction from the inside, chatting the whole way.

  “Well, I did promise…”

  He nods thoughtfully and then stops to pull his shiny new iPhone out of his pocket.

  “Well, I’ve been studying, too,” he informs me.

  “Oh? Do tell, Mr. Clarke.”

  “Watch this,” he says, brows going up. “Hey, Siri!”

  The phone beeps and responds. “I’m listening…”

  “Play Jameson’s song.”

  “Okay. Here’s Jameson’s song,” Siri says agreeably.

  “Haha! Look at you!” I squeal with delight.

  “That’s not all I’m good at,” he assures me, the cheeky smile back in place as the music starts to play. It’s soft and a little tinny, and it takes me a few seconds to recognize Adele’s version—but that’s definitely “Make You Feel My Love.”

  “Oh my God,” I murmur in disbelief. “This…this is the song! The song that was playing at my sister’s christening party—the song that they danced to—well, the Garth Brooks version, anyway…”

  “They did?” he asks with mock surprise. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence!”

  I’m about to comment when he pulls me into his arms.
/>   “May I have this dance?”

  My eyes find his and lock onto them. No more smile. No more playing around. No more waiting.

  “You may,” I reply softly as I lean into him, resting my head against his strong, broad chest. I am like a dainty, delicate little doll in his arms…and I like it. A lot. The embrace is gentle enough to make me feel cherished and firm enough to make me feel protected. And all along, Adele is in the background, telling me that Scott will hold me for a million years to make me feel his love.

  “There was something else. That afternoon, at the party,” he says, resting his chin on the top of my head.

  “What’s that?” I ask dreamily, enjoying the feel of his arms around me.

  “I seem to recall you agreeing to marry me.”

  I stop in my tracks, the moment coming back to me. His words coming back to me.

  “…And maybe we can get married, too.”

  “No.”

  He looks alarmed suddenly. “No…?”

  “No, you never asked. You just suggested we might. I never gave you a verbal agreement.”

  He looks visibly relieved. “Oh, well, that’s just semantics…”

  I shake my head. “Nope. My sister’s a lawyer. I know about these things. It’d never hold up in court.”

  He seems to consider this, then nods his understanding. “All right. If that’s the way it has to be…”

  Before I can utter another word, he’s down on one knee and there’s a ring in his hand.

  “Jameson Gold O’Halloran Clarke, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  I gasp out loud. And I gawk. The ring in his hand is an exquisitely intricate white gold setting with a single solitaire diamond in the middle. It’s nothing fancy. It’s nothing showy. It’s just absolute perfection.

  “Yes,” I say barely above a whisper. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Scott.”

  He’s grinning from ear to ear as he slides the ring onto my left hand. “I know it’s not as grand as the one Win gave you. But it’s special because it’s the one my father gave my mother.”

  The tears are streaming down my face so quickly that my vision is blurred. I can barely make out his shape as he stands and pulls me to his chest. Then he cups my chin in his hand and gently tips my face up toward his waiting lips.