Anything for You

by Kristan Higgins

  Well. That was water under the bridge, and Jess had a big lunch meeting today. Her, Davey...and Connor.

  She got to Keuka Candle Factory where Davey and about ten other people worked, packing cardboard boxes with the different variety of candles.

  "Hi, Jess!" called Petra, the manager.

  "Hi, Jess!" Davey echoed. He ran over and hugged her.

  "Oh, you smell good," she said, kissing his cheek. "What flavor is that?"

  "Woolly Sweater," he said proudly.

  "Yummy. You ready for lunch?"

  They drove to the nearest Chicken King franchise, since A) the food was amazing, if loaded with cholesterol, and B) Connor's mother was marrying the owner, and it made Jeanette happy to hear Jess was going there, and also, C) Davey did better controlling his outbursts if he was in public.

  Because an outburst would surely be coming.

  Today was the day she was telling Davey about Connor. And yes, she was afraid. That time when Chico Three was a puppy, Davey had put the fear of God into her. It had been his worst outburst ever. Last fall, he'd had another one when he'd seen Connor at the grocery store one night and Connor helped Jess by reaching for something on the top shelf. That rage storm hadn't been as bad, but still pretty dreadful; she'd had to drag him out of the store, then go back the next day to pay for all the bananas and apples Davey had thrown, only to find that Connor had already taken care of it.

  And now Davey had to be brought into the picture, because...well, because there was no way around it.

  Shit. Just the thought made her knees wobble. He'd been so betrayed the last time, unable to believe that his sister had been sitting with the enemy in his own house. Thank God he hadn't seen them making out. It had taken him weeks to forgive her.

  The rain was really coming down when they pulled into the Chicken King. She and Davey ran inside. As planned, they were here first, and Connor would come when she texted him that she'd broached the subject.

  There was only one other person at the counter, since it was early yet.

  "Dad!" Davey said, bounding over. Well, that was a coincidence. Hard to avoid in a town of fewer than a thousand people, but still.

  "Hey! My two favorite kids!" he said, hugging Davey. "Hi, Jessie."

  "Here's your Born on the Bayou Louisiana Rub," said the girl behind the counter, handing over a bag that was already staining with grease.

  "Are you here to eat with us?" Davey asked. "You should eat with us! Please, Dad! Please!"

  Keith looked at her. Eyes still clear, no alcohol odor, no tremor in the hand. Davey had grabbed Keith's free hand and was swinging it, chanting "Stay, stay, stay."

  "Okay," Jessica said, surprising herself. "Um, Davey, look at the menu and decide what you want." She stepped away a few paces, her father following her.

  "Are you sure?" he asked.

  "Actually, yes. I have to tell Davey something that will upset him, and maybe it's good that you're here."

  Her father's eyes lit up at the chance of being helpful. "Okay. Sure. What is it?"

  She twisted the silver ring on her thumb. "I have a boyfriend."

  His face softened. "Oh, Jessie, that's great."

  "Davey's not going to think so."

  "Why?"

  "It's Connor O'Rourke."

  Her father shook his head. "From the restaurant... Oh. Right! Chico bit him, didn't he?"

  Mauled was a better word. Nearly killed. "Yes. And Davey thinks Connor killed Chico, more or less."

  "Really?"

  Jess bit down on a surge of impatience. "Yes. Things are very black-and-white for him. He was five when it happened, and it's practically carved in stone in his memory. All he remembers is that Mr. O'Rourke and Connor came over, and then Chico was taken away and died."

  "Shit. I barely remember that myself."

  "No, you were drunk at the time."

  He flinched a little. "You're right. Well, maybe I can help now."

  "The thing is, when he gets upset, he gets violent. And he's not a little boy anymore."

  "Can I have Triple Batter Crunch, Jess?" Davey called. "And extra onion rings?"

  "Get whatever you want, hon."

  Keith's face was solemn. "Thanks for this, Jessie. For letting me help."

  She sighed. "I hope it works." She got a plain chicken sandwich. She actually loved Chicken King food, but her stomach was jumpy. She then sat down at a table across from Davey and her father. Keith asked Davey questions, keeping things light, and Davey tore into his meal like a starved Viking.

  "So Davey," Jess began. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

  "I love chicken," he said. "They make it thirty-eight delicious different ways." He could quote all the commercials. "Joo-Joo Haitian Spice, Sweet Home Alabama Fire, Better than Grandma's Bacon Lard with Biscuits--"

  "So, the thing is, sweetie, I...uh... There's a guy I like. And I want him to be my boyfriend."

  He took another bite. "That's nice."

  Keith raised his eyebrows at her. So far, so good, he seemed to be saying. He obviously had no idea what was about to happen.

  "He's really nice," Jess said. "He likes animals, especially dogs. His sister has a big, funny dog, and he likes kids, too. He has a little sister and he plays baseball with her."

  "Can I have your corn?"

  She passed him the ear, dripping with butter. The Chicken King's mission seemed to be to shorten lives. "So he'd like to meet you. Actually, he already knows you a little bit."

  "Who knows me?"

  "The guy I'm dating."

  "Oh. Okay."

  And now for the hard part. "The thing is, you might think at first that he's not nice, but he really is."

  "Who is it?"

  She took a deep breath. "It's Connor. Connor O'Rourke."

  Davey blinked. A second later, he stopped chewing. "But he killed Chico One."

  "No, he didn't, actually," Keith said, looking at Jessica for permission. She gave a little nod. "Chico was a bad dog that day. He bit Connor. Hard."

  "So Connor killed him." Davey's voice rose.

  "No, no, he didn't, honey," Jess said.

  "He came to our house and they took Chico One away and Chico died! He killed Chico One!"

  "It was my fault that Chico got off his chain," Jessica said. "So it was my fault that Connor got bitten. And when a dog bites a kid, they can't--"

  Unfortunately, that was when Connor came in. Early. He was supposed to wait, damn it. "Hey, guys," he said.

  "Get out!" Davey screeched. He grabbed his cardboard container of lunch and flung it at Connor, who ducked, chicken wings raining down behind him. "Go away!"

  Keith put his arm around Davey's shoulders. "Settle down, Davey. Come on, now."

  "Get out! You can't be here!" Davey said, furious tears spurting out of his eyes. Jess felt her own throat tighten.

  "Davey, listen to me," she said, gripping his hand across the table. "I wouldn't be friends with someone who was mean to dogs, would I? I love dogs. I loved Chico One, and I loved Chico Two, and I'm crazy about Chico Three. Right? You know that. I wouldn't let anyone hurt a dog."

  "You let him take Chico One. You brought Chico One to the mean men." He started sobbing.

  Oh, God. It was true, of course. Her throat locked with tears.

  "Listen, Davey," Keith said, turning his son's face toward him. He took a napkin and blotted his tears. "Chico One did a bad thing. Mommy and I, we should've kept a better eye on him. You might not remember, but Chico One only liked us. He chased Connor and bit him, and when dogs bite someone like that, they have to...go to heaven."

  Davey put his head on the table and wailed, and Jess felt her heart crack.

  Keith stood to greet Connor. He gestured him over and shook his hand. "Hi, I'm Keith. Jessica's father. You must be the nice guy she's dating." He spoke clearly; the nice guy was obviously meant for Davey, who didn't look up.

  Connor glanced at Jess, then looked at her father. "We've met before."

/>   "Right, right. Of course. It's good to see you again."

  "He's not nice," Davey said without looking up. His skinny shoulders shook. Jess swallowed, hard.

  "He seems nice to me," Keith said. "Want to sit down, Connor?"

  Davey looked up, his eyes darting between their father and Connor, his long lashes clumped together with tears. He looked utterly, wretchedly confused. Jess's stomach twisted. This wasn't fair. Things that were true for Davey stayed true. It spared him a lot of heartache in life, because when he thought of Dad, for example, he remembered the father who loved him. That Dad had left for eight years didn't matter; Dad loved him, the end.

  And Connor was bad, the end.

  She hated that he looked so lost.

  Connor sat down and took her hand under the table and squeezed it. "Hey, Davey."

  Davey's mouth tightened. "I want to go home."

  "I'd really like to get to know you," Connor went on. "Jess loves you so much. She talks about you all the time."

  "Shut up!"

  "And I want you to know I never meant for Chico One to...go away."

  "I hate you!" He banged both fists on the table. "Leave me alone! Jess! Make him go away!"

  "This isn't working," Jess whispered. "Maybe you should go."

  Connor looked at her. Scrubbed a hand across his jaw. "Okay. I'll call you later." He got up, touched her hair, then walked out.

  He didn't even get to eat.

  "Connor," her father called. "We'll see you again soon."

  Connor waved and went out into the rain.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ONE THING WAS clear to Connor--Davey Dunn was excellent at manipulation.

  If the decision was left to Jessica, Connor would never darken their door again. She was used to caving to her brother. Con understood.

  This would be just the two of them. Time to cut out the middle man, or in this case, the middle woman.

  After lunch, he went back to O'Rourke's, cooked up five shepherd's pies with mashed potatoes so creamy they would make angels weep, did a few quick meatloaves from veal, pork and beef and made a vegan dish that could be served with regular or gluten-free pasta. Then he handed the control over to Rafe and said, "I'll be back in an hour."

  "Hey," Jordan breathed from behind the bar.

  "Hey, Jordan. Be back soon." The girl blushed and overfilled a mug of lager.

  He drove up to Keuka Candle, which was a low industrial building just over the hill toward Dundee. Sat in his car for a few minutes, then went inside.

  There was Davey, amiably chattering to a dark-haired girl next to him, the trauma of lunch past, now that he'd gotten what he wanted. Yep. Manipulative. Oh, he might not know it, but he was just the same.

  "Hey, Connor," said Petra, who managed the place and was a regular at O'Rourke's. "What's cookin', good-lookin'? Get it? Since you're a chef?"

  "Yeah. Never heard that one before." She smiled. "Can I talk to Davey Dunn for a few minutes?"

  "What it'll get me?"

  "Nachos on the house?"

  "Deal. Davey, over here, hon!" Davey looked up and, seeing Connor, his expression darkened. "He doesn't like you, does he?" Petra murmured.

  "I'm dating Jessica."

  "Ah. Davey, you be chill, you hear me?" Petra said. She took a few steps away to help one of the workers.

  "What do you want?" Davey demanded, his fists clenched at his sides.

  "I want to date your sister, and I need your permission."

  "No, no, nope, never. I hate you."

  "I understand that. But you're the man of the house, aren't you?"

  Davey hesitated.

  "You look after your sister. Right?"

  "Yes," he said, though he sounded unsure.

  "So I need your permission."

  "Why don't you just go die?" Davey folded his arms, seeming rather pleased at his comeback.

  "That was very rude." Connor glanced over Davey's shoulder. "Would that girl like hearing you say something like that?"

  "What girl?"

  "The one who's watching you. The pretty one."

  Davey glanced back at the girl he'd been talking to. "Miranda?"

  Bingo.

  "Yeah. Miranda. I bet she likes nice guys, not rude boys." Davey scowled. "Look, Dave," Connor continued. "Your sister loves you. She loves you way more than she loves me, I know that. And that will never change. But I want to take her to the movies and come over sometimes. And I want her to come to my house sometimes."

  "No."

  "Just the way I bet you'd like to have Miranda come over and watch movies. And be your girlfriend."

  Davey's face flushed. "She's not my girlfriend."

  "Dude, we're all the same, us guys. She's cute. You like her. Don't you?"

  Another scowl.

  "Have you cooked for her yet? Girls like when a guy cooks for them." As Connor well knew.

  "No! I can't cook!"

  "Why?"

  "Because!" Davey yelped. "I might hurt myself. Jessica doesn't let me even use the toaster."

  That seemed extreme. The kid had a job, after all, and toasters weren't rocket science. "Guess what? I know how to cook. I'm a chef."

  "I bet you're a horrible chef."

  "You like the nachos at O'Rourke's? And the chili?"

  "Duh," he answered. "They're great."

  "I make those." Davey blinked in surprise, and Connor almost smiled. "You want a girl to like you, you have to cook for her."

  "I didn't know that."

  "And yet it's true."

  Davey mulled that over. "Jessica won't let me cook, because I might get hurt."

  Well, shit. It wasn't as if Connor had too many aces in his pocket. If Jess put the smackdown on this idea, he'd have to fold.

  "I'll teach you to be safe," he said. "And you know what? It can be our secret, and then you can surprise Miranda and your sister by making her a cake or nachos sometime. How would that be? When you get really good, you could cook dinner a couple times a week and not have Jess always make it for you. Be the man of the house, you know?"

  He didn't answer. Glanced back at Miranda.

  "What do you say, Dave? Is it a deal?"

  Still no answer. Davey might have a low IQ, but he wasn't dumb.

  "Also, I need to pick out a dog," Connor said, throwing the Hail Mary pass. "And I was thinking you could help me find the right one."

  "Will you kill it?"

  Connor rolled his eyes. "No. Now, do you want to help me or not?"

  *

  WHEN JESSICA GOT home from work that day, she really just wanted to go to bed.

  Or have a glass of wine. A normal person could have a glass of wine; she couldn't. Pity.

  Chico Three would have to do as stress relief. He was up for the job, whining and wagging his whiplike tail, pushing his big head against her legs. "Hello, Chico," she said, kneeling down to pet him. "Who's a good dog? You? You are? I've heard that about you." She kissed the dog's head and scratched behind his ears.

  He looked a lot like Chico the Original. No wonder it was hard for her brother.

  At least Davey hadn't been worse at the restaurant today. She had to give her father credit. And that, too, was a dangerous thought.

  She changed out of her work clothes and went to her computer. Did a quick bank-balance check; everything was still there.

  She and her father had never talked about the credit card thing, but she'd been changing her banking password and PIN number every week since he'd been back.

  While she was at the computer, she typed in houses for sale, Manningsport, NY. Another relaxation device in lieu of wine--real estate fantasy.

  She didn't want a fixer-upper, though that was what she could afford at this moment. But she didn't have the skills needed to overhaul a place, even though she loved the shows on HGTV that featured people sledgehammering through walls. And she already had two jobs, though she was only taking two shifts a week at Hugo's. She could do some painting, some cosmetic
work, but thinking about tearing down walls just made her feel tired.

  Emmaline Neal had a great house that Jess had hoped would go on the market when Em married Jack Holland, but her sister had moved in--Angela, who taught at Cornell and spent weekends at the house. And it was a family house, so Jess really didn't see it going up for sale.

  Anything on the lake or with a good water view was prohibitively expensive. There were a lot of trailers for sale, but Jess wasn't going back to one of those, even though some could be really cute. No. She wanted a real house. With a porch.

  A house like Connor's would be perfect.

  She snapped her laptop shut. Wishful thinking, she believed that was called. Today had been a big step backward in their relationship.

  Maybe it was better if this ended quickly.

  Or if they could go back to the sneaking around. Dancing together at the reunion...that had been both terrifying and the most wonderful thing ever, being there out in the open, everyone knowing...and judging. The other night, when Ned stayed home with Davey, Connor took her out to dinner in Geneva, the first time they'd been in the same restaurant at the same time and neither had been working. It had been strange. And wonderful, if nerve-racking. The whole time, she'd been thinking, So this is what normal people do.

  She'd also been worrying about what happened when Connor got tired of this.

  It wasn't that Jess felt as though she was a bad person. It was just that she felt a little...well...dismissible in the grand scheme of things. She'd failed every single time she'd tried to get her parents to sober up, and while she'd read all the literature, she couldn't help feeling that if she'd just been better, or smarter, or nicer, she would have found a way.

  Yes, she was glad her father was sober, though how long he'd stay that way was anyone's guess. But it hurt that he'd only gotten that way when he'd been long away from her. All those talks, the pleading and begging from his own daughter, hadn't done the trick. She hadn't been enough.

  No one except Connor had ever wanted more than sex, not even Levi. Levi sure hadn't fallen in love with her (nor she with him, but still). And back in high school, once sex was over, guys didn't exactly bring her home to their mothers. Despite her popularity in parked cars, not one boy asked her to the prom. She had to wonder if Connor was just fixated on her, and if, sooner or later, he'd learn what all those other guys had figured out long ago--she really wasn't relationship material.

  A boyfriend... She didn't know how to have a boyfriend. When she and Connor had been out the other night, she'd racked her brain for fun and interesting things to talk about...and came up empty. That was why women like Marcy tended to drain the blood from her veins. The never-ending stream of confidence, whereas sometimes Jess felt as tired and gray as an old dishcloth.