“I know you’ve always been close. Losing a friend—”
“Son, I didn’t know Abby very well aside from the couple of times we met her during our visits, but friendship is friendship, and when you lose it, the pain—it’s pain. I know you understand.”
“Yeah,” is all I can say because I don’t want to compare my six-year friendship to a lifelong friendship.
“How did you cope?” Pops asks. It’s a weird question for me to hear. Pops doesn’t usually ask me for advice or look at me as if I’m more worldly than he has. He has made comments many times that I’m more of a man than he’ll ever be because of what I went through in the war, because when he was enlisted, he never deployed. It doesn’t make him less of a man, and I hate that he thinks that way.
“I don’t even know how I made it through all that without losing my mind,” I tell him.
A Wednesday night was nothing out of the ordinary for Parker and me. We always stick to a good schedule of dinner, bath time, story time, and bed and at no point throughout the day did I think anything would throw our schedule off, but the doorbell ringing at six-thirty would be the one thing to change everything.
I take the pot of boiling water off the stove to answer the door, leaving Parker to the puzzle she is working on in the middle of the kitchen floor. “Stay here; I’m going to see who’s at the door.”
The kitchen is open enough that Parker can see out to the main living area and the front door, which isn’t an issue until I open it to see a Chief Warrant Officer and a Staff Sergeant, both in dress Alphas.
I don’t recognize either of them but out of instinct I bring my heels together. “Sir, Staff Sergeant. What can I do for you?”
“Good evening, sir. We’re wondering if we could speak to Staff Sergeant Lane’s next of kin,” the Chief Warrant Officer asks. “Would you be able to please confirm if the person is home and her full name?”
“Sir,” I say, peeking back at Parker. Her focus is on us rather than the puzzle. “Parker Lane is Staff Sergeant Lane’s next in kin, but she’s four. I’m her caretaker while Staff Sergeant Lane is deployed. I’m Sergeant Brett Peterson.” I offer my hand, trying to remain calm until I know the reason for the visit. Although, I am fearing the worst because I’m not new to procedures or notifications.
“I’m Chief Warrant Officer Mayer,” he says.
“Did she make it?” I ask, feeling my heart fall to the pit of my stomach.
The Chief Warrant Officer breaks eye contact for a moment, then looks back at me and gently shakes his head.
I took a step outside to close the door a bit behind me. “Sir, if we could skip the letter for Parker’s sake, I would greatly appreciate it.”
With an agreeable nod, the Chief Warrant Officer continues, “Of course, son. You’re one of us.”
“How did it happen?”
“Staff Sergeant Lane’s vehicle was hit by an RPG while just outside of Kabul, Afghanistan on April 12th at around thirteen hundred.”
I pull in a deep breath as I feel my eyes well up. With my fists clenched by my side, I move my focus to the right, trying to compose myself.
The Chief Warrant Officer must have seen my thousand-yard stare. “You’ve seen it too, son, haven’t you? I’m sorry you have to go through this on the other side.”
My brain is still processing the officer’s statement, and though I know how easy a life can end overseas. I made it through the days by convincing myself it would never happen to me or Abby. I was wrong.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks. His question was not a pre-written statement compiled of notification questions. It is the human question from Marine to Marine.
“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully. “She was my closest friend.” I speak through a whisper so Parker doesn't hear anything.
“I understand, but if there’s anyone who can get through this with a little girl, it’s going to be you. I can see the sadness in your eyes. I have no doubt that you care for her very deeply.”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“Would you mind providing us with your contact information? I’ll follow up with you soon to start discussing the details.”
“Of course, sir,” I mutter before spouting off my phone number.
The Chief Warrant Officer slips the condolence letter into my hand. “Here. I’m sure you know what’s in here.”
“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you very much.”
“Hang in there, devil. We’ll talk soon.”
I press my lips together and turn to walk back inside, finding Parker standing just a few feet away with wonder filling her big blue eyes.
After I manage to close the door, I turn around slowly and slide my back down against the door until I am seated on the entryway mat. Parker is waiting for me to say something but I’m not sure how much she will or won’t understand.
I open my arms for Parker to sit between my legs so I can hold her. She doesn’t ask any questions. I’m not sure if she knows what to ask. She is good with her words for a four-year-old but isn’t very talkative.
“Why are you sad?” she finally asks.
I don’t know how to tell you something, Parker. You’re too little for this,” I explain as if she should understand what I’m talking about. She presses her head against my chest and wraps her hands around my right arm.
“Do you have a boo-boo?” she asks.
My heart will never be the same. There's a hole there, and it’s more of a boo-boo than I can explain to the little girl whose world will never be the same. “Inside, yes,” I say.
I twist Parker around to face me, and she folds her legs in like a pretzel, focusing on my eyes. “Mama was hurt very badly, and she died, Parker.” The words come out like knives that are being thrown at her, however, I have been trained to explain the truth in real words rather than long explanations that cause more pain in the long run. “She won’t be coming home.”
Parker doesn’t blink as she continues to stare at me, but I don’t see confusion written into her eyes. “That’s why she said goodbye,” Parker says.
I’m not sure how she is piecing the facts together but I don’t want to disagree. “Is this forever?” Parker asks.
I nod my head while confirming with a weak, “Yes.”
“Well, how long is forever?”
“Forever is different for everyone,” I explain.
Parker is quiet, lost in whatever thoughts are going through her head. Continuing the explanation further won’t serve any purpose except to confuse her, so I remain quiet and still so she can process what I’ve told her.
“It’s a hard realization to comprehend, I guess,” Pops says.
“The meaning of forever is the hardest part to understand. At least that’s how it was for Parker and me.”
“Well, life sucks sometimes, that’s for sure.” Pops puts his arm around me and slaps my shoulder a few times. “Harold said Melody was going through a bad break-up of some sort with a guy she had been living with. I guess he wasn't doing any good for her and had no intention of settling down. So, on top of Melody going through this upcoming loss of her dad, she’s dealing with those emotions too. It’s all bad timing, but I thought you should know there’s more going on than you might have thought with her. It’s something to keep in the back of your head, I suppose.”
“I knew she had ended things with some guy recently,” I respond.
“Harold is happy that she left him. He was emotionally abusive to her, from what he told me. Melody changed a bit over the last few years and wasn’t acting like herself. Harold and Marion had been very worried about her, so Harold is just hoping now that she’s back here in Vermont, that she will stay and find the happiness she deserves, rather than settling for something less. Of course, I can’t quite guarantee him that I can control this particular situation, but I think he just wanted to express his thoughts on the matter.”
“Wow,” I say, trying to digest it all. “I
’m not sure why Pops is telling me all of this. I wonder if he has a reason or if he is just sharing what he heard.”
“I’m not telling you to get yourself involved, but I know you always had a thing for her back in the day, so now might be a good time to be the friend and a shoulder to cry on. That’s all.”
A friend. Is that all he means, or should I read between the lines? There is nothing more I can be to her at the moment, aside from a friend. I would never act on anything else at an inappropriate time. I don’t want to force a relationship when she is vulnerable and on the rebound. I understand Harold’s wishes, but there’s a difference between helping out with those wishes and meddling in a situation that could end badly. “Well, I plan to be as much of a friend as she needs during this time, but it’s not my place to be more than that right now,” I tell Pops.
“Of course, nor would I expect you to think in such a way. I just wanted you to know what Harold said to me. It was unexpected, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Dad!” Parker shouts, running around the corner. “Look at my nails.” Her hands are out in front of her, showing off the fluorescent pink color.
“Hold on a minute. I think I need sunglasses from the glare,” I joke with her.
Mom rounds the corner next with a smile. “Perfect as always,” she says, commenting on Parker’s behavior.
“Thanks for watching her tonight.”
“How are things with—”
“Fine,” I interrupt her, hoping to avoid the conversation in front of Parker. “She’s okay.”
“Good,” Mom says. “It’s nice of you to be supportive, especially after not seeing her for such a long time. I’m sure she’s grateful for a friend right now.”
“Are you talking about Melody?” Parker asks, her eyebrows lifting with question.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Dad likes her,” Parker mutters, making herself comfortable on my lap. I throw my head back against the sofa and close my eyes.
“Parker, I never said that.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, giggling.
Pops scoffs a laugh and Mom covers her mouth with her freshly painted nails. “Okay, time to get going. You have school in the morning.”
“This is what Dad does when he doesn’t want to talk about something,” Parker continues.
“We know, sweetheart,” Mom agrees with my seven-year-old.
“Anyway, let’s grab your things and get going,” I continue, lifting Parker off my lap and placing her feet on the ground so I can stand up.
Mom grabs her things from the dining room table and hands them over. “Maybe Dad is Melody’s Prince Charming,” Parker says while sliding her arms into her coat sleeves.
No one responds, but they all do what they can to stop their laughter from rolling in. I am struggling to get her coat zipped up so we can leave before she says anything else. I’m sure I’ll be hearing all about the fairytale she has conjured in her head throughout the ride home.
18
My head has been full of so much shit today that I’ve made a dozen mistakes with the inventory check and balancing the drawer from yesterday’s cash payments. I’ve had to redo everything at least twice.
I haven’t heard from Melody since last night, and I’m wondering what she must be going through today with Harold in hospice. Though I try not to be invasive of her privacy, I wish I knew more than I do about Harold’s current situation. I'd like to visit, but only if it’s not intrusive on the family’s time.There have been a dozen instances of picking up my phone today, to send Melody a message to check in, but I stop short of hitting the send button.
Mr. Crawley makes his way upstairs just before two-thirty, knowing I have to pick Parker up from school. “Everything good up here?” he asks, stretching his hands over his head.
“Yeah, I was a little distracted today, but everything should be in order at this point. I got the shipment out an hour ago and got the inventory entered into the system.”
“Basically, you left me with nothing to do but sit here and look good,” he jokes.
“Well, sir, if I may say so, you do a damn good job of looking good. So, by all means, have at it.”
“Smartass,” Mr. Crawley says. “Have you heard anything from the Quinns today?”
“No, I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”
“I think you’ll be hearing something soon,” Mr. Crawley says. “In fact, here, you’ll be needing this.” Mr. Crawley steps into the back room and returns within seconds, handing me a bourbon bottle.
“Why? What’s going on?” My heart pounds with curiosity, wondering what he knows … wondering if something happened that he isn’t telling me.
“Give your mom a call. Harold has decided to have a party tonight. I don’t know how or why, but if the man is making demands right now, we listen, right? Anyway, you’ll be there before me, and he asked that you bring this bottle with you.”
I retrieve the bottle from Mr. Crawley’s hand, feeling confused about the thought of a party. “Well then, I will get the information from my parents. Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem. I’m sure I’ll see you tonight,” Mr. Crawley continues, grabbing my coat off the back rack and throwing it at me.
“Okay.” I don’t know what is going on or why neither Mom or Pops have called me yet, but it’s got to be something, I guess.
“Tell Parker I said hello, and I hope she did well on her spelling quiz,” Mr. Crawley says as I’m walking toward the back door.
“Will do. Thank you, sir.” He’s a good guy. He is like the grandfather of all grandfathers, type of man.
The moment I slide into the truck, I call Mom to see what’s going on. “Hello, Brett? Oh, I’m so glad you called. I’ve meant to call you for the last hour, but I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off.” She’s out of breath and hearing all the chatter going on around her, I can tell she is in a public setting.
“I heard something about a party tonight. How …”
Mom chuckles. “Harold is having a good day, and he demanded a party tonight with his closest friends and family. They have invited us to go.”
“I have Parker, Mom. I can’t—”
“Brody has already offered to stay home and watch the girls. He’s a little more removed from this situation than you are at the moment. Harold specifically asked that you be there, so I think in this situation, we’ll let Brody sit this one out.”
Brody is always sitting these situations out. He can’t handle sadness of any kind, which most people wouldn’t know by the way he cracks jokes at every possible opportunity. We’ve referred to his issue as anxiety since we were kids, but in truth, his situation is not true anxiety. He just went through too much shit between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and since then, he’s been sitting a good chunk of life out. And we have to go along with it because we’re a family. I get it. We’re not all cut out for everything life throws at us, but Jesus, no one has given me a free pass since I moved home. Then again, I should take the opportunity to be there tonight for Melody’s sake, so I’ll be grateful Brody has taken his normal loophole to escape the party.
“Um, okay. Does anyone need anything? What can I do?” I offer.
“I’m at the grocery store to get a few things to bring, but they’re having the party catered, so Marion said she didn’t need anything. I just can’t show up empty-handed, of course.”
“What time?” I ask.
“Six. I’ll text you the address for the Hospice center.”
“Okay, thank you. I’ll give Brody a call to figure out the logistics for the girls tonight. If you end up needing anything, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you soon.”
When the call ends, I feel baffled by the ups and downs I’ve been witnessing from a distance. I know he was doing so poorly yesterday that he requires hospice, so I’m not sure how he would be up for a party today. I wonder if Melody knows they invited me and, if so, how
she feels about me being there. It doesn’t feel like my place to be a part of something so intimate, but if Harold invited me, I can’t say no.
I dial Brody’s number, waiting for him to pick up. It’s my day to get the girls from school, so I’m sure he’s at the warehouse with Pops. “Yo, bro,” he says, answering the call.
“Hey, how do you want to handle the arrangement with the girls tonight?”
“I’ll come to your house so Parker can get to bed at a decent time. Hannah doesn’t see the point in sleep lately, so it doesn’t matter where we are. I can be at your house at five-ish if that works for you?”
“Don’t you think this whole thing is a bit weird?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been dying before.”
“Bro, come on,” I say. Brody acts like he’s tough as nails, and nothing affects him, and most people wouldn’t know the truth by listening to the way he speaks sometimes, but I know him better than that.
“I don’t get why he wants a party, but if the man wants a party, he should get one, right?”
“Yeah. Hey, do you want me to call that sitter I’ve used a couple of times? I can see if she can come last minute and watch the girls, so you can go tonight too?”
“No, no, I’m good. I’m not going to a death party. Sorry, I can’t.”
“Brody,” I comment.
“Nope.”
“You’re a little heartless, don’t you think?”
My brother goes silent, as always. He’s learned to manage his anger over the years, but it took awhile for him to control his every thought and not run his mouth as he’d prefer. “Dude, don’t push—” he sighs. “I know you’re the big badass hero of the family and can handle everything like a damn superhero, but we’re not all cut from the same cloth, okay?”
“Okay, whatever you need. I’ll see you at five, or whenever,” I tell him.
Brody hangs up without saying another word, but I’m not surprised. He’s a man of few words.
I think I do a great job of acting like nothing bothers me but walking into the hospice center is making me feel sick throughout every inch of my body. I wonder how many people have walked into this place with dress slacks and a button-down shirt for a party. I’m betting there haven’t been many. I look like I could be going to a funeral instead than a party. Harold preferred class. He was always dressed to the nines when at The Barrel House. He insisted on top notch fashion from the good-old days, a style that unfortunately faded with time.
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 61