Bourbon Love Notes

by Ryan, Shari J.

  As I’m staring at Mom, I catch Brett glancing at me with a coy smile as he chews the bite in his mouth. "I’ve gotten the impression Melody likes to be in control, am I right about this?" Brett asks Mom.

  Mom nearly chokes on the sip of water she had taken. "Melody will control the world until the control is taken from her," Mom says, raising a brow in my direction.

  "Good to know," Brett replies with a thrilling look in his eyes.

  24

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish yesterday away. Tuesday was slow and lacking excitement, but I’ve been looking forward to today. Tonight, I get to put all my baggage in storage and enjoy a night out with Brett. First, I have a full day ahead, consisting of preparing shipments for The Barrel House, though. I’ve been focusing on the shipping end of the business for now, so I can perfect one task at a time. Learning the software for incoming requests and preparing shipments is enough to hold me over for a couple of weeks. I hadn’t realized Dad had accumulated this many vendors over the years.

  "This damn snow is like a never-ending storm this week," Brett says, carrying a crate out from the back. "I have to go get Parker from school early. They just called to say they’re dismissing them early, which almost never happens. I guess the plows are having trouble keeping up because of the snow and ice.”

  "I think it’s supposed to stop later this afternoon, at least.”

  "Yeah, it’ll give them time to clear the roads at least. I’ll be back in a half-hour. Call me if you need anything.”

  Brett reaches for his coat from behind the back door, then grabs my arm, pulling me in for a peck on the cheek. "You smell extra nice today," he says. "New shampoo?"

  "Maybe," I say, grinning like a moron. He places his hand on his chest as if he’s grateful for the scent of my shampoo.

  I continue with the shipping labels, preparing them all to print at once in the back. As I’m getting to the last one, my phone lights up with Journey’s name scrolling across my screen.

  Journey: I’m coming by for a bit if you need any help.

  I figure she’s already in the car when she sends the message, so I don’t respond because I have to yell at her about texting and driving more than I yell at her for anything else.

  She mentioned she would spend a few hours in the shop here and there to help where she can since she hasn’t made a final decision about her share of the business. I thought she had made her mind up, but I think Ace sent her for a loop the other day.

  I’m onto packaging the crates up when Journey comes stomping in through the front door. "Freaking snow," she groans. "It’s too early for this much."

  "I know. I’m missing the thought of the sun in South Carolina, but it’s the only thing I’m missing from there, so I’ll deal with the snow."

  Journey circles around, looking for a place to keep herself busy. "Mind if I dust and polish?"

  "Go for it," I tell her.

  We’re both quietly working for a few minutes before I summon the question I’ve wanted to ask her for the last week. "Hey, have you read Dad’s letter yet?"

  Journey shoves the duster into her back pants pocket and turns to face me. "I’m not ready. Have you?"

  I huff, feeling relieved and guilty at the same time. "Not yet. I feel like I’m just starting to make it through the days without breaking down, and whatever he wrote in the letter will probably shatter me again. I need more strength first."

  "That’s how I feel, too," Journey says. She takes the duster back out and continues working down the length of the shelves. "Where’s lover boy?"

  "I’m sorry, who are you referring to?" I question, twisting my lips to the side as if I’m confused.

  "You know who I’m talking about," she grins, sinisterly, avoiding eye contact.

  "Brett had to go pick up his daughter because the schools closed early. The plows are having trouble keeping up with the ice."

  "I heard you’re going out with him tonight," she says with an obnoxious purr.

  "We’re just having dinner."

  "Then what?" she presses.

  "I’m going home because Mom is watching Parker, and she has school tomorrow."

  "Lame," Journey continues.

  "Why do you care so much?" I ask her.

  She sighs. "Well, I’m living vicariously through you, sis. I don’t have much of a distraction right now, and I could use one, so I’m bugging you about your distraction."

  I want to roll my eyes, but I feel sorry because I have something keeping my mind off the permanent pain sloshing around in my chest, and she has nothing else to focus on but the pain. "Maybe we should find someone to distract you, too.” I jiggle my eyebrows at her like she does to me when teasing about guys.

  "Meh," she grumbles. "Men suck."

  "Why are you so against the thought of dating? When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?"

  Journey shrugs. "It never ends well, and it feels like a waste of time and energy. But, it’s been about a year at this point. I mean, it’s not like there are new faces showing up in this town daily, you know?"

  She has a good point. A small town means a small selection. "Maybe Brett knows someone?"

  "Meh," she says again.

  "I’ll just watch your life and pretend it’s a cute little romance movie. It’ll satisfy my boredom."

  "Gee, thanks."

  "I need you to stay put behind the counter for a couple of hours. Do you have your book to read?" Brett opens the back door and allows Parker to walk through with her sequin-covered backpack bouncing around behind her. She has her hair in pigtail knots and a red tutu with navy blue leggings, snow boots up to her knees, and her black, puffy-down-jacket.

  "Yes, I have three books to read," she says, finding me standing by the counter. "Hi, Melody!"

  She seems happy to see me, and it makes my heart happy. "You are a lucky duck, getting out of school early today, huh?"

  "I guess," she says. "I kind of like school, though."

  "Well, school is a great thing to love," I tell her.

  "I hated school," Journey adds in her two-cents. "The teachers didn’t like me, and I didn’t like them."

  "Journey," I mutter. "Stop."

  "Oh, hey you," Brett says, spotting her across the shop. "I didn’t know you were coming in today."

  "Someone needs to dust this place," Journey says.

  Brett looks at me with questioning eyes, but I shake it off. She’s my sister, and I never have a clue of what’s going through her head.

  Journey makes her way across the shop and behind the counter where Parker is getting comfortable. "I do love to read, though. What are you reading?" Maybe she’s trying to redeem herself from her anti-school talk.

  Parker places her backpack between her crossed legs and tears open the zipper, pulling three books out.

  "Charlotte’s Web and two Ramona books."

  "Classics," Journey says. "I like your style. I loved reading those books when I was your age."

  Journey was always a book worm. I think she still is but doesn’t talk about whatever books she’s reading.

  "Yeah, I’m about halfway through Charlotte’s Web. I’ve been trying to convince Dad to let me get a baby piglet, but he said no way."

  I try not to laugh but instead, snort quietly through my nose as I give Brett a look. He closes his eyes and smiles. "Not happening," he whispers.

  "We have space in the backyard," Parker continues without looking in Brett’s direction.

  "In the snow?" Brett responds.

  "Pigs like snow," she rebuts.

  "No, they don’t," he argues.

  "Yes, they do, but you don’t know anything about pigs." The way she annunciates her words, tells us all it will not be last of this conversation. She’s a determined little girl.

  "So, on the way back here, I got this call from a well-known liquor store in New Hampshire. They want to discuss setting up a reoccurring shipment of some of our products," Brett says.

  "That’s ama
zing," I respond. "When do they want to meet?"

  He looks concerned as he turns his back toward Parker. "Tomorrow night after the shop closes, which is during the bake sale at her school. She’s going to kill me."

  Journey places her elbows on one of my shoulders and one of Brett’s shoulders. "I’ll take the kiddo to the bake sale."

  "Or, I could," I tell her, eyeing Brett to see what he’d prefer. "Or, I could meet with the vendor, but my knowledge—" Journey and Brett both chuckle.

  "No offense, but we want this business, and I don’t know if you’re comfortable sealing a deal like this yet. However, you should be at the meeting so you can lead them in the future." I know he doesn’t mean anything by his comment, but it’s another reminder, I don’t belong here trying to run a business I know nothing about. Still, I can’t walk away. I have to keep trying.

  "Great, so it’s settled. I’ll take Parker to the bake sale, and we’ll sell the heck out of her cookies," Journey says.

  "Are you sure you’re up to that?" Brett asks her. "I can ask my mom if she’ll take her."

  "Give me something to do other than sitting at home watching reruns, please," she says.

  "Well," Brett says, holding his hands out, "if you insist."

  For a woman who has no desire to get married or have kids, she seems quite inspired to help at a bake sale. I assume she’s tired of sitting at home every night, but I feel like I’m missing something too.

  "Are you sure?" I ask Journey.

  "Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to be here at the meeting, so let me help with something since it sounds like more fun."

  "Okay then," Brett says. "Parker, would you mind if Journey takes you to sell cookies at the bake sale tomorrow night?"

  Journey spins around and leans down, pressing her hands into her knees. I don’t know what expression she’s sporting, but Parker covers her mouth and laughs. "Yeah, sounds fun," Parker says.

  "Maybe I’ll even come over and help with the cookies tonight," Journey says.

  "You should definitely come help. We have to make so many," Parker holds her arms out to the sides to show much she means.

  "It’s a date.” Journey winks at me. Why do I have a weird feeling about this offer?

  Brett knows Journey well enough to know something is up, but whatever it is wouldn’t be malicious, so I’m sure, like me, he’s assuming we’ll figure out what she’s up to at some point.

  "Where are you two lovebirds going tonight, anyway?" Journey asks, turning back toward us.

  Brett appears slightly uncomfortable as his cheeks brighten to a light shade of pink. "To a restaurant down the street," he says.

  "Oh, which restaurant?" Journey continues.

  "Stop," I tell her. "Mind your own business." I can only assume the color of my cheeks matches the color of Brett’s now.

  Brett left the shop a few minutes after I did and told me he’d give me some time to get ready for dinner. I smell like bourbon when I walk out of the shop each day—not that it’s a bad smell, but I would rather not have people wondering if I’ve been drinking all day.

  He gave me a good forty-five-minute leeway before ringing the doorbell. Mom was eager to open the door and gets there before me. "I am so excited for our baking party," Mom tells Parker, taking her hand, pulling her into the house.

  Brett’s still standing at the door with a shy smile and a bouquet of lilies in his hand. "These are for you," he says, handing them over as he steps inside.

  "You didn’t have to get me flowers.” I smile and press the petals up to my nose. “I love the smell of lilies.”

  “I wanted to. Plus, Parker was insistent on the lilies after sample sniffing every flower in the store."

  "Well, thank you. She has good taste," I tell him. "I’ll put these in water so we can go."

  "Oh my, those flowers are beautiful," Mom says as I walk into the kitchen, feeling as though I’m on display, especially with Journey grinning from the kitchen table.

  "Aren’t they?" I tell her. "Well, unless you need anything before I go—"

  "Go, go," Mom says.

  "Parker, be good," Brett warns her as usual, walking in behind me. He leans down and places a kiss on her head. "If you get tired, you can take a rest on the couch, okay?"

  "I won’t get tired," she says.

  "We won’t be out too late," Brett tells Mom.

  "Take your time. We have lots of batches of cookies to make and only one oven."

  "Brett, Melody, be good, kids," Journey says, waggling her eyebrows at us.

  I grit my jaw and snarl at her while we walk out of the kitchen. "Older siblings never give up the game," he says.

  "Your brother does the same?" I ask while slipping on my coat.

  "Every damn day," he says. "I wasn’t planning to tell him about tonight, but Parker told him, so now I’m sure I’ll be getting stupid text messages from him all night."

  "He and Journey would have a blast together," I say, thinking about how badly they would go over.

  "They’d probably end up in jail, but yeah."

  "I was thinking the same thing."

  The moment we step outside, everything between us feels different. It feels real, and like we’ve declared this isn’t just about a random kiss. "I feel nervous. It’s weird, isn’t it?"

  "I do too, and yes, I feel like it’s weird, but I’ve wanted this, and we’ve waited long enough."

  "We have waited a while, huh?"

  "Ten years, it’s a long time to dream about a date with the perfect woman," he says with a sigh.

  "I hope I don’t crush your dream," I respond, walking around to the passenger side of his truck. I slide in at the same time he settles into the driver’s seat.

  “It isn’t possible.” Before putting the key into the ignition, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. "I have nerves like I’ve never had before, but this feels right."

  The drive to town is quiet, but only because I think he’s hyper-focused on the conditions of the road. I feel a skid now and then, but it doesn’t matter what quality of tires or vehicle size we’re maneuvering, it’s ice and there’s no way around it but going slow and easy.

  Headlights flash around the corner of the bend, and I hear the metal plow scraping against the packed ice. "This guy is taking up more than half the road. Hold on," Brett says, jerking the truck to the side.

  The plow clips the back end of the truck, and we spiral on the ice until we come to a complete stop in front of two trees. When the wave of dizziness clears, I look around the dark cabin of the truck. "Brett! Are you okay?" I ask him, panicking. I can’t see anything in the dark, only the glow from the headlights coming from the opposite direction. "Brett?"

  25

  With a shaky hand, I reach up for the ceiling of the truck, searching for a light. I press the button when I find it, illuminating the front seat. Brett’s hands are still on the steering wheel, his eyes are open wide, not blinking, and his mouth is ajar. I grab his arm and shout at him louder. "Brett! Can you hear me?"

  His chest is moving fast, up and down, and the sound of hyperventilation grows from his lungs.

  He’s breathing.

  "Say something," I beg. He still won’t blink. I push the gear into neutral and yank the emergency brake up, thankful it’s in the center.

  I search his body for injury, but the interior of the truck is still intact. Maybe he knocked the wind out of himself if his chest hit the steering wheel. The airbags didn’t deploy.

  I unbuckle and check myself for any sign of injury, feeling nothing but shock. I lean over and place my hand on the side of Brett’s face. He’s cold, but there’s sweat on the back of his neck. "They did it on purpose," he says.

  "Keep talking," I tell him. "It was an accident. We’re okay. You’re okay,”

  "They did it on purpose," he says again.

  The driver in the plow truck is knocking on Brett’s window, but Brett isn’t moving a muscle. I open my door and jump out. "I think he’s in sh
ock, maybe. I’m not sure what’s going on," I tell the man.

  "Unlock the door," he says. "Let me help. I’m so sorry. I miscalculated the turn. I’m so sorry."

  I search the door for the lock button, finding it right away. The other driver opens Brett’s door and looks him over from head to toe. "Hey bud, can you look at me?"

  "They did it on purpose," Brett says again.

  "No, man, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to get so close. I’m so sorry. My tires slipped."

  "They killed them. All of them," Brett continues.

  The other driver looks over at me with a confused look written across his face. "I don’t know what he’s talking about."

  I climb back into the passenger seat and place my hand back on his cheek. "Brett, you’re okay. Take a deep breath."

  His hands are white with red rings encircling his knuckles from squeezing the steering wheel, and his cheeks are burning red. "I don’t understand," Brett says.

  I take one of his hands from the steering wheel and squeeze it between mine. Sweat coats his palm, and he’s shaking.

  Brett moves his other hand to his lap, feeling for his pocket. His face seems to relax as he glances down to his pocket. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he moves his head around, looking from side to side, finding me. "Oh my God, Melody. Are you okay?" he asks.

  "I’m okay. What’s going on? You’ve been in shock or something?"

  Brett swallows hard and leans his head back against his seat then runs his hand through his hair. "That hasn’t happened in a long time."

  "What?" I question. "An accident?"

  "The collision must have triggered a flashback," he mutters. "Afghanistan. There was an armored enemy vehicle, it took out the hummer in front of me. It was a suicide bomber."

  I take a minute to digest what he’s saying. I’ve been around other military vets, but haven’t spent a significant amount of time with them. I know it’s common to have flashbacks, but I didn’t know they came like this. "Are you okay now?" I ask him.

  Brett looks around, seeing the trees a few feet from the front of the hood and then the other driver outside of his door. "Are you okay?" Brett asks the other guy.