by L. B. Dunbar
“Who’s your sister?”
“Theresa McAllister.”
“Trixie McAllister is your sister?” How did I not know this? Because you make it your purpose in life not to know anything about Roxanne other than her opening a bookstore across from the pub a few years ago and being a sour beer ever since. However, Theresa, nicknamed Trixie, I vaguely remember. She had a crush on me back in high school, and I haven’t seen her in, gosh…fifteen or sixteen years.
The timeframe rolls through my head like flipping back through an ancient calendar. Fifteen or sixteen years. I was thirty back then. Rachel and I had recently divorced. There was some sort of girls’ weekend reunion happening here in Blue Ridge. I’d slept with Trixie, fulfilling her high school fantasy of me and firing the starter pistol on my race to screw every woman I could.
The gleam of Roxanne’s eyes laser beams into mine, and I see the vague resemblance to her sister.
“What happened to you?” I snark, knowing I don’t mean it. Trixie was a looker back in high school and equally as good looking during our night together, but Roxanne and her look nothing alike.
“What do you mean?” Her arms lower to her sides, and she presses her fingers on the edge of my desk.
“Your sister was so pretty.” It’s a low blow, and I don’t miss her flinch at the insult. It’s an asshole comment because I’m in a shit mood. I actually think Roxanne is rather stunning. That eye color, with its strange mix of cold steel and sparkling silver, and how her light tan skin enhances the shade. However, as she’s the last person I want to see right now, I lash out at her. Then again, she’s the first person I need. “How did this happen?”
Roxanne smirks at me. “Well, William,” she begins in a mocking game-show announcer voice. “When a man loves a woman…” She stares down at me again, those swirling eyes quickly regaining a mask. “Oh wait, in your case…when a man only wants one thing, and he takes it—”
“Now wait a minute,” I seethe, standing back to my full height and leaning my hands on my side of the desk. “I never need to take, darlin’. Your sister gave herself willingly, repeatedly, and in more ways than one.”
“You’re disgusting,” she spits.
“The truth doesn’t hurt. I can admit my faults, but disgust wasn’t the expression on her face when we finished.” I dig the knife deeper, feeling the need to strike at her in my fear—the real fear—that there is a teeny-tiny inkling of possibility her sister and I created a child. “How do I know she’s even mine?”
“Did you look at her? She has Harrington written all over her.”
Actually, I did look at the girl, but I didn’t see a single trace of me in her. Of course, I didn’t realize I should be looking for signs, but with the raven-colored hair and the icy brown eyes, she doesn’t come remotely close to looking like a Harrington. As I glare back at Roxanne, I realize the eyes burrowing a hole into me from the young thing at the bar match the shape of the woman’s before me digging just as deeply.
“I don’t understand.” I hate the tremble in my voice.
“As I already said, William, when a man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina, things can—”
“I understand the mechanics of sex, Roxie.” When she formally calls me William, it reminds me of the disappointing ring to my father’s voice when he addresses me by my full name, and I hate it. I shorten her name to spite her because she hates when I use the nickname. “Please spare me the clinical explanation.”
“Oh, do you need the more detailed one called consequences of sex? After ejaculation, a sperm travels up the channel…” Roxanne pauses to ripple her hand as if imitating a fish swimming through water.
“Thank you. Please keep your limited sexpertise to yourself.” A shiver slithers down my spine as though the thought of Roxanne having sexual relations revolts me. Who says ejaculation, anyway? I don’t ejaculate into anything other than condoms. Always condoms.
“And then, one lucky swimmer wins the race and forces its way into…” Roxanne pauses to shove her index finger into her opposite fisted hand again, working at her visual display. “And at the end of nine months, voila!, a baby.”
My jaw clenches. What I want to know is how do I know this Sadie girl is mine.
Mine? I have a daughter. Maybe.
I shake the thought and will away the sudden patter inside my chest. I clutch at my BRMP shirt near my heart and then smooth my hand down the front of it to disguise the action.
“I have no reason to believe she’s mine,” I argue although another pinch occurs inside my rib cage.
“There’s also the mechanics of a faulty condom. Then again, that would be considered operator error, so—”
“Roxanne, seriously, shut up.” My voice growls at her, and her expression softens for the breadth of a second. She looks away from me, glancing at the open door.
“You can have a paternity test done.” She nods all clinical and practical, which contrasts with her overall appearance. She looks like a hippie with her waves of white and silver hair, and armful of bangling bracelets, and I hate that she’s the voice of reason. “A swab in your cheek sent to a lab for testing will confirm everything.”
Now, I’m the one disgusted, and I don’t even know why.
“I’m not swabbing anything or pissing in a cup or…”
“Sorry, pal, but you already did the pissing. On my sister’s life. Time to man up.” Roxanne stands straighter while she speaks and then blinks at me. Before I can read the expression on her face, she quickly turns and stomps out of my office with the grand exit of slamming the door.
3
Men
[Roxanne]
This is all my fault, and I knew it the moment I heard Sadie double-timing up the wooden back stairs to my apartment above the bookstore.
“I hate him,” she muttered as she climbed. I surmised who she meant, which sent me on a mission to cross the street.
“I hate that Billy Harrington with a passion myself,” I grumble as I march back out of the pub.
The first time I met Billy Harrington was back when we were kids, but he didn’t remember me, which was apparent when I met him for the second time upon returning to Blue Ridge. That night, I called the cops on him and some party he was having at his pub.
And as they say, the third time’s the charm because the third time I saw him, he was screwing some woman up against the brick wall in the alley behind his pub.
Yep. I hate him.
Although that isn’t really true, a vital part of me whines.
“Shut up,” I argue with myself as I stomp back to my bookstore. Blue Ridge Microbrewery and Pub faces Main Street as does my place, but our businesses are neighbors by way of Third Avenue cutting between us. BookEnds. That’s my little cozy niche in life, and it generally makes me happy.
Grace Eton works today, and I’m so grateful as I made a rather hasty exit from my office in the back of the store with thoughts of maiming Billy. I didn’t need to know all the details from Sadie to know what happened.
Billy rejected her.
This whole hullabaloo started when I registered my niece for high school a week ago. I needed to show proof of guardianship, which I don’t have yet but have filed for in the local courts. She needed a birth certificate, and like a badly told joke, the name of her father was blank. Of course, I’d always known his identity, but as I loved my older sister, and she swore me to secrecy, I never told another soul, including Sadie. Sadie stared at the empty space as the school registrar filled in my name as guardian instead of her mother and raised a questioning eyebrow at me about the missing father.
During the week, Sadie and I were discussing some of the who’s who in the community now that she lives with me, and his name just popped out.
“Then there’s Billy Harrington who owns the pub across the street.” Once those words escaped, there was no reeling them back in, and for a moment, silence hung in the air like a freshly caught fish stunned by oxygen.
“
Billy Harrington, as in William Forrest Harrington?” Sadie repeated his name with dignity and indecision, as if she hoped he was one and the same as much as she worried the names identified the same person. Sadie was smart, though, and within seconds, she’d put two and two together, or should I say, one and one which equaled her.
“How do you know that name?” I asked, holding my breath. Sadie rolled her eyes, admitting she’d heard the name before in reference to her unknown father, and I didn’t have the heart to continue the omission from her history. She’d been lied to long enough, but there had been so many hard truths lately, and she was only sixteen. For a moment, I wonder if this was another reason my sister chose me to become her guardian.
With Billy’s knowledge of Sadie, everything could change.
“Grace, I’m going to need another minute,” I call out after re-entering the shop and pointing at the ceiling, indicating the apartment above the store. Grace instantly understood. She’s a military widow and mother of five boys ranging from thirteen to five.
“Take your time.” She waves at me with a knowing smile, and I duck through the door labeled private, taking the staircase up to the second floor. My place is the entire length of the store from front to back. Narrow and tidy, it’s been an adjustment to have a teenager move in, and we’re still wading around one another. The bonus is I love my niece and have a special bond with her.
“Sadie.” I softly rap on her door before opening it. I remember being her age and want to respect her privacy, but it’s strange having a door closed in my apartment. The wooden barrier clearly tells me to stay out, but I enter anyway to find my struggling girl face down on her bed. Her room is smaller than mine, and I assume it had been the original dining room as it’s across from the kitchen and missing a closet. It has two large windows taking up most of one wall while her twin bed lines the opposite wall. Every day a new poster covers the plaster, along with angsty poems, inspirational one-liners, and questionable images, turning the wall space into a true teenager’s bedroom. The dark motif matches her mood and her clothing.
She’s a vision of black lately. Boots, jeans, T-shirt, hair and nails, and against her pale skin it looks dramatic, beautiful, and sad. She is sad. She’s done this to herself over the course of a few weeks, but I don’t fault her. There have been so many changes.
“He’s a pig,” she mutters into her pillow. There wasn’t much she could bring from her mother’s home in Atlanta. The yellow pillowcase and patchwork quilt contrast with her dark appearance.
“Sadie, honey,” I say as I lower to sit on the edge of her bed and rub a hand up her spine. I don’t hesitate to be affectionate with my niece although it certainly was easier to pull her in my lap when she was six. At sixteen, the lap-holding is hardly appropriate, but we’ve hugged everyday as I’m hoping to break through to her, hoping she’ll understand I’m here for her. My sister was more of a talker and planner while I am more affectionate and quiet. Most of all, I understand her pain.
I continue to stroke over Sadie’s back until she rotates to face me. She’s been resilient so far, but I’m waiting for a breakdown. It’s only been six weeks. Her eye makeup is currently smudged, but I can’t decide if she shed tears or if the smear is from pressing her face into her pillow. She continues to twist until her back hits the mattress, and she stares up at the ceiling. I glance up to find a pattern of glow-in-the-dark stars overhead. When did she put those there?
“What did he say?” I soften by tone as I question her, being reminded Billy never answered the same question from me.
“He hit on me.”
“What?!” I screech, expecting the stars above my head to peel off the ceiling and rain down on us. “Oh my fu….effing God.” I swallow back the curse, but Sadie’s black lips smirk.
“You can say fucking. It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.” I should admonish her directness. A mother would do that, but I’m not her mother.
“What did he do?” My hands tremble and my legs twitch, suggesting I stalk back to that god-awful pub and give Billy another what-for and then a swift kick in his wayward balls.
“He told me I was too young for him, and then I told him he disgusts me.”
Well, this sounds about right. Billy disgusts me, too, yet despite my opinion of him, I don’t honestly believe he’d stoop to hitting on a teenager. He’s definitely not hard up or hard on the eyes. As a known player in the community, I can’t think of any single women who haven’t had a night with him.
Oh wait, yes, I can. Me.
I seem to be the one woman in this town who repulses him. I dismiss the thought as I wouldn’t want his pole within ten feet of me, but Billy does have this look about him. Charismatic. Charming. Cheeky. Age agrees with him. Salty hair with specks of pepper and a midnight beard make him unique among men. I’d wager my vintage Jane Austen collection he dyes it black in order to look distinct. His best feature, though, are his eyes—a muted brown color—but he prides himself on his body. And Lord knows, he’s full of pride, all firm chest and solid legs and thick hands, not that I have any firsthand knowledge of these things.
Never touched him.
Never would.
Yes, you might. I quickly dismiss the cry between my thighs, and I fight with fist and hammer against any attraction to Billy Harrington.
“What did he say about being your father?”
“I didn’t give him a chance to respond.” Her eyes close, and she swallows hard. I can’t tell if she’s upset or concerned, as if she’s done something to him, like insulted him or set a fire in his bar. I go with option two first. It wouldn’t be unlike my niece to speak her mind or act out.
“What did you do?”
“I told him the only daddy issue I had was him being my dad.”
Goodness. I exhale because I couldn’t agree more, but then I reconsider. Is this a fair assessment? First of all, Billy didn’t know he was a dad until an hour ago. I can’t fault him for knowledge he didn’t have prior to today, unless he did know and never did anything to claim Sadie. If Theresa eventually hinted to Sadie about her father, did she finally break down and contact Billy? I doubt it. She’d have told me. Then again, she never mentioned having a discussion with Sadie about her father, and it’s a reminder that mother and daughter shared things that aunt and niece do not.
On the other hand, if I rule in favor of Billy’s ignorance—and let’s face it, I consider him ignorant—he definitely should understand condoms are only ninety-four percent effective. Maybe he should have never slept with Theresa in the first place. I understand why she was with him, and why he might have been with her. My sister was the outgoing one, the pretty one, the life of the party one back in high school.
Something wiggles to the forefront of my brain from our brusque conversation earlier.
“What happened to you? Your sister was so pretty.” Billy nipped at one of my deepest insecurities. I wasn’t pretty like my sister had been. All blonde hair, blue eyes, and trussed up, she looked like a beauty queen. On the other hand, I was heavier when we were younger, round and jovial with dull brown hair and these strange gray eyes. I lost almost seventy-five pounds before returning to Blue Ridge and opening my shop. I’m a healthy one hundred and fifty-five now for my height of five-six. My bone structure is bigger than my sister’s, and my wide hips are a sensitive issue for me along with the premature gray hair. Billy’s comment struck a nerve, and I don’t want to give him the energy of my anger. He isn’t worth it, but still—what he said, implying I’m not pretty—it stung.
This is one of my checks against him. He makes me feel inferior, as if I’m not good enough for him. Not pretty enough, bouncy enough, peppy enough.
“I don’t want to give Billy credit where he doesn’t deserve it, honey, but it’s not like he knew he had a child until today.” Damn Theresa for keeping this a secret so long and letting me be the one to unmask the mystery. Sadie had a right to know and a lot sooner than this week, as well as under better ci
rcumstances.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need him.” Sadie rolls to her side, placing her back to me. Unfortunately, there might be nothing further from the truth.
4
Specimens
[Billy]
“Want to talk about it?” Clyde’s voice interrupts my thoughts. He lowers himself to the chair opposite my desk while I stare at the computer screen before me. I’d like to tell Clyde I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I do, and so does he.
“So you heard all that?” I nod in the direction of the door.
“You want me to pretend I heard nothing? I can do that.”
I close my eyes and scrub two hands over my face. “I just…I don’t need my family to know anything yet.” That’s the last thing I need.
Do you know how hard it is to be the third son? The fuckup? Giant went into the military, was medically discharged with honor, and returned home a hero. James worked search and rescue for almost twenty years, saving lives daily. Charlie, my younger brother, serves as the town’s mayor. Me, I just like to party. Good times all around and drinks for everyone. I won’t even discuss my sister, Mati, who I love most, but she’s the princess as the only girl and baby of the family.
My dad thought I needed the military, and then he called me a mama’s boy, as Mama stood against the suggestion. The family business of brewing beer wasn’t any more of an attractive offer than the military because it involved working under a man I admired and disappointed. My grandfather Pap was the owner in name only back then. My father was the man in charge and a slave driver as I worked in the brewing facility throughout my teens. But I didn’t want to work directly under George Harrington Jr. even if beer drinking is one of my favorite pastimes. When it was decision time—military, family business, or college—I chose college even though I wasn’t very studious and nearly flunked out. I quit instead.