Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  “Honka!” Jackson demands, even as the swan continues to hiss. “Honka swan!”

  Win is on his feet again and about to snatch the child out from the beak of danger when the irritable fowl strikes, the S-shaped curve of its long neck stretching as its razor-sharp bill darts forward to peck at Jackson.

  I can’t look—I have to close my eyes. The only thing louder than the sound of Jackson’s screeching is the sound of the whooshing in my ears. Finally, I gather my courage, take a deep breath, and open my eyes again—quickly—like I’m ripping off the bandage. I look immediately for the blood…maybe a missing eye or chunk of forehead. But I don’t see any of that as Win frantically pulls Jackson’s coat and scarf off, trying to locate the source of his injury. He just looks baffled as he unzips, and unbuttons, and unfurls, and runs his hands over every square inch of the child’s body.

  “I—I can’t find anything—I don’t see any cuts or beak marks or anything!” he hollers over the deafening wails.

  But how can that be? I know I saw that bird connect with the kid’s head. And, while he’s still got his wings spread, the swan isn’t hissing anymore. He can’t. Because there’s a giant orange pompom in its beak.

  “Holy—! Hey, Win, he pulled the pompom off the hat. Check Jackson’s scalp!” Scott yells.

  The remaining portion of the hat is ripped off the kid’s head, and his father is wildly pawing through his fine red hair. At last, Win looks up and shakes his head, Jackson still howling in his arms.

  “No blood! No wound. Not a scratch,” he tells a baffled Scott and me.

  Suddenly, Jackson points his chubby finger at the swan, like the hand of God pointing in denouncement the moment before He smites your butt.

  “Swan eated pompa!” he shrieks. “Bad swan! No eated pompa! My pompa! Miiiiiiiiiiine!”

  Clearly the only thing injured about Jackson is his pride after the rogue bird divested him of his pompom. And yet, the swan seems to sense this, recognizing—albeit a bit too late—that this is not a full-sized, adult human being. Well, I don’t actually know what the bird thinks, but it sure looks like that’s what’s running through its peanut-sized brain as it waddles a few steps forward and spits the yarn ball out onto the garage floor before returning to his three friends, who have watched impassively as this entire scene has unfolded.

  I grab the orange fluff off the ground and bring it to Jackson. He stops his wailing almost immediately, a smile crossing his face even as he’s still hiccupping from all the screaming and crying.

  “Oh. My. God! Did you see that? I’ve never seen anything like that before! Holy crap!” Scott rants excitedly, swiveling his bug-eyed face between the birds and his nephew, who has now stuffed the pompom into his own mouth. “Oh, jeez, Win, don’t let him do that…not after the swan had it…”

  “You know what, Scott? Just wait till you have kids. Just wait till you have to worry about where they are, what they’re doing…whether of not they’re being accosted by a flipping swan…then you can judge my parenting skills. Okay?” Win snaps at his brother.

  He’s seems about to continue his tirade when he glances my way and does a double-take. He stops and just stares at me.

  “Bro, you don’t look so good…”

  And here it is. The third time it happens, the world slants suddenly sideways, like I’m riding on that giant swinging pirate ship at the fair. I extend an arm out to brace myself against the wall of the garage, but it’s not where I think it is, and I end up pitching too far to the right and tripping over a garden hoe.

  I grunt loudly as my butt hits the concrete floor with a bone-jarring impact. All I want to do is get flat. I cannot get low enough as I stretch my body out horizontally between the snow blower and a bag of grass seed.

  “Hey, Bryan! What the—”

  That’s Win’s voice…I think.

  The garage is spinning, but I’m vaguely aware of the two brothers looking down on me in alarm. The last thing I see before everything goes dark are the beady little eyes of the swan.

  …

  “You know, they should’ve just let that…that thing peck you to death,” Jameson hisses at me, even as she’s squeezing the pump on the blood pressure cuff.

  I wince as she practically cuts off the circulation to my lower arm, but I don’t complain. Because I am in the doghouse. Or swan’s nest, as it were.

  “Your BP is fine,” she mutters, sounding just a hair disappointed that I’m not on the verge of flatlining.

  “Jameson—” Win starts.

  “No!” she cuts her ex-husband off. “I cannot believe that the three of you—supposedly grown men—allowed my child to be put in harm’s way!”

  Win’s head drops down in resigned shame. For his part, Scott appears to have fled the scene of the crime. And who could blame him? If I weren’t laid out flat on the couch, I’d be halfway to St. Paul by now myself.

  Again—hell hath no fury like an O’Halloran scorned…and boy was this O’Halloran scorned when she showed up here to “rescue” me, only to have Jackson—who I swear was giggling and running around a few seconds earlier—burst into tears at the sight of his mother. When he told her about the big bad swan that ate his pompom, whatever sympathy she had for my condition flew out the window. Like…well…a swan.

  “Please, Jameson—it’s my fault. And, for what it’s worth, there was no stopping that kid…”

  “Really, Bryan? Really? You’re going to blame a toddler for almost getting himself mauled?”

  “You know what, James, you can yell at us all later. For now, can you just figure out what made him do a header?” Win suggests.

  I watch as she takes in a breath, clenches her jaw, and nods.

  “Yes. Right. So…what happened before you fainted?”

  “Uhhh…I heard a loud roaring in my ears. And I got really sweaty really fast. Then kinda clammy…and then everything just went sort of…off kilter.”

  “Has it happened before?” When I don’t answer immediately, her gaze turns suspicious. “Bryan? Is this the first time this has happened to you?”

  I could lie. I could pretend. I could get up and run away, but I know I wouldn’t get very far…and who would take care of the swans? So, slowly, with as little drama as possible, I tell her about the other two times…and about Father Buddy’s suspicion that I’ve been having panic attacks.

  “Jeez, man! Why didn’t you say something?” Win asks.

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. And I wasn’t sure… Besides, there isn’t anything anyone could’ve done anyway…”

  “That’s not true,” Jameson says with more “concerned nurse” and less “enraged mother” in her tone. “These things often have a root somewhere deep in your subconscious. You say Father Nutty…er, Father Buddy…thinks it has to do with children?”

  I explain the two previous incidents as the redhead who shares so many of Henny’s features and mannerisms nods and tsks and folds her arms across her chest. When I’ve finished, she sighs deeply and stands up, looking down on me.

  “Well, Bryan, here’s the thing. You’re great with Jackson—when you’re not exposing him to birds of prey…”

  I consider pointing out that swans aren’t birds of prey—but opt to keep my mouth shut instead.

  “And I’ve seen you with other children. Now, I’m no psychiatrist, but I don’t think it’s a generalized phobia or anything like that. I think maybe you’re freaking out about getting married—and, before you tell me how much you love Henny and want to be her husband, I know. I know all of that. What I think is going on has more to do with you being a father than a husband. From what you’ve said, I know you had some…issues with your own father. I’d put money on it stemming from that.”

  She’s right. My father and I had a long, sordid past that kept me from seeing him before he died. This could very well have something to do with that.

  “I…I have to tell Henny, don’t I?” I ask weakly.

  “Yes. You have to
tell her. I can’t believe you haven’t already. What were you thinking? You’re about to be married, Bryan. You can’t be hiding this kind of stuff. Not from her. Ever,” she chides me.

  “I didn’t want to worry her…” I start, the now-familiar justification rolling off my tongue.

  “Oh, please,” Jameson says dismissively. “Henny’s not made of glass. Trust me, she will not break under the weight of your panic attacks. Besides,” she continues, softening her tone, “wouldn’t it be nice not to have carry this alone?”

  Until this very second, I didn’t realize just how hard it’s been to do exactly that.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “Yeah, it would be. Can you help me find my phone?”

  It only takes Jameson a minute to locate it on the kitchen counter. When she returns to my side, she’s still looking at the screen.

  “What? Something wrong?” I ask, struggling to sit upright.

  “It’s your mom and your aunt Barb. They’re stuck at O’Hare because of the storm. No planes in or out…”

  “Great. That’s just…great,” I grit out between clenched teeth. What else could possibly go wrong? “I don’t…I don’t know if we should do it without her…”

  “You won’t have to.” Scott’s voice behind me is strong and without so much as a whiff of doubt.

  When I’ve finally managed to get myself upright, I see him running around, stuffing things in a duffle bag.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, perplexed.

  He stops and looks at me.

  “I’m going to get your mother and your aunt.”

  “You’re…you’re what? Are you insane? Scott, I can’t let you do that—”

  “That’s a great idea,” Jameson is saying, nodding her head with approval.

  Ah, so Scotty boy is trying to get himself out of the doghouse by making a grueling trek through the arctic to fetch my mother and aunt from the jaws of the abominable snowman.

  “Scott, that’s a long way through some really bad weather. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that—”

  “And I’m not comfortable with Henny having to postpone this wedding—not after everything you guys have been through. And I’m sure not comfortable with your mother missing her only son’s wedding. So, I suggest you get comfortable with it, Bryan. And fast. Cause I’m pulling out of the driveway in like ten minutes.”

  “Okay…well, that’s me put in my place… I don’t suppose you’d like to pick up the other out-of-town guests along the way?” I joke and just catch the quick look that passes between Jameson and Win. “Oh, jeez. What else?”

  “Yeah…about those out-of-towners…” Win says.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hennessy

  “All of them? She uninvited all of your guests?” Bailey gasps, nearly dropping her tray of drinks on the floor.

  I nod my head solemnly. “All of the out-of-town ones, anyway. I cannot believe what a vindictive little bi—” One pointed glare from Jameson stops me from using the expletive I really want to use. But, with my nephew happily coloring at a table just a few feet away, I don’t dare.

  “Anyway, don’t think about her right now,” she tells me. “Julie Freddino will be here any minute now with one last wedding gift for you.”

  “What? Oh, no! She’s already done so much already! I couldn’t possibly take anything else from her…”

  “Oh, trust me, Hen, you’ll want this,” Walker says with a knowing nod.

  As amazing as everyone has been, I’m starting to fantasize about what our wedding might have been like had we eloped…had we just hopped on a plane and got married on a beach in Barbados. Bare feet, white sand, crystal clear water…it’s all sounding pretty heavenly now as the flakes fall outside the pub windows. I sigh and fill a pair of pint glasses.

  “What’s the latest from Scott?” Walker asks me.

  “Uh, well, last I heard, they were about halfway through Wisconsin and the poor guy now knows everything about shuffleboard, Mahjong, and origami.”

  “Sounds like your mother-in-law’s gonna be a real party animal!” Walker snorts from next to me.

  I’m about to reply when the tiny bell above the front door jingles, and Julie Freddino walks in, a huge box in her black-nailed hands.

  “Hey, everyone,” she calls out and gets a chorus of greetings back in return.

  Julie Freddino is our local celebrity. Years ago, when the town adopted several cats from flood-ravaged towns in the Carolinas and Virginia, she took in a few of her own. But it was February in Minnesota, and these were thin-blooded southern cats. She hated the way hers trembled all the time, so she started knitting sweaters for them. Suddenly everyone in town wanted one.

  Word spread and, before long, she was an internet sensation with more orders than she could handle. So she purchased a big old barn and had it retrofitted as a factory/warehouse. But this isn’t your garden variety factory with big, loud machinery. Row upon row of comfy gliders and recliners are filled with women and men of all ages, whose sole job it is to knit one, purl two. No machine-made sweaters for Julie. She designs the garments, pattern makers break the designs down, and then her army of knitters create them while watching flat-screen televisions and munching on cookies.

  “Henny!” she calls out excitedly when she sees me.

  “Hey, Julie, how are you?” I ask, eyeballing this “must have” wedding accessory she’s brought from the other side of town.

  “Freezing my butt off! I assume you guys are watching this storm?”

  “Oh, you mean the one meant to drop three feet the day before my wedding? Yeah, I’d heard a little something about that,” I reply with a touch of snark.

  “Yeah… I’ll bet you have!” She grins back at me.

  “Is that it?” Walker asks with a chin nod toward the box, which is now taking up a large chunk of bar-top real estate.

  “That’s it,” Julie confirms.

  “What’s it?” I’m not totally successful at keeping the impatience out of my tone. “C’mon already, you guys are making me crazy with the waiting over here!” I whine as I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet.

  “A wee bit tired of planning ‘the best day of your life’?” Julie asks with a knowing smirk.

  “Just ready for a ‘good’ surprise,” I explain with a sigh. “Rogue swans, canceled invites, a stranded mother-in-law, and now Snowmageddon… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. There’ve just been a lot of fires to put out over the last few days.”

  “I get that,” Julie says with a nod. “And, trust me, this is definitely a surprise of the ‘good’ variety. And, it’s something special that Bryan wanted you to have.”

  “Hah! Let me guess. Slinky lingerie?”

  “Mmm, not quite. Why don’t you open it?” Julie suggests.

  I grab the lid from both ends and gently separate it from the rest of the thin garment box. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in so much tissue that it looks like a small cloud. I pull apart each delicate layer until the paper is parted and I’m looking down at something beautiful.

  At first glance, all I can tell is that it’s long and ivory. I reach in and gingerly pull it from the box, holding it up a few feet high in front of me.

  “It’s beautiful, but what is it?”

  Julie beckons to Bailey, who comes around the bar. They take it from my hands, each of them holding an end as they unravel what appears to be sheer ecru tulle. Once it’s totally unfurled and the two of them are standing about twelve feet apart, I feel my breath catch in my throat.

  It can’t be! Can it?

  My hand flies to my mouth as I walk slowly around the outstretched item, which could only be a veil. The entire sides and bottom are edged in a crocheted lace more delicate and intricate than anything I’ve ever seen.

  “Oh…oh, my God…” I murmur from behind my palm. I can’t take my eyes off it. “Can—can I touch it?” I ask quietly.

  “Of course!” Julie says with a laugh.

  I
t’s like magic in my hands—an ethereal, gossamer garment made of spun silk for the fairies and the sprites. Certainly not for someone as pedestrian as a small town girl from Minnesota.

  “Oh, jeez, she’s crying again,” my sister moans and rolls her eyes.

  Am I? I hadn’t noticed.

  “It’s…it’s stunning,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful…” And then something occurs to me. This kind of craftsmanship takes weeks—maybe months to complete. Not days. “But, Julie, how did you do it?”

  She shrugs, and her brows rise and fall with the motion.

  “Let’s just say I put the Knitty Kitty team on it. And believe me, nobody was turning down double overtime. I had more people volunteering for the overnight hours than I could accommodate! I thought Janice Portentoso and Lori Miller were going to come to blows over the Sunday night shift!”

  “Wait, wait, wait…are you telling me you literally had people working on this around the clock?” I ask, unable to even conceive of such a thing being done on my account.

  Julie smiles and nods to Walker who carefully helps her to fold the veil again.

  “A lot of people in this town care about you, Hennessy. A lot of people remember your folks and know how hard it must be for you to do this without them here,” Julie explains.

  Walker pulls the tissue back so the veil can be nestled back into the box and the lid returned.

  “More importantly,” Walker jumps in, “a lot of people in this town are royally ticked at that hag Jacintha for sticking it to you two like she did.”

  I shouldn’t giggle, but I can’t help it. I’m shaking my head as I wrap my arms around Julie and give her a tight squeeze.

  “Thank you,” I say in her ear. “Thank you so much, Julie. And please thank your staff…”

  “No worries, Hennessy. You’ve got an entire community working to make sure you and Bryan have a beautiful wedding.”

  “Ah, well, if only one of them could do something about the weather,” I say with a smile.