by Roxie Noir
FWEEEEEEP! sounds a sudden, ear-splitting whistle, and Daniel and I both step back.
“Boys!” Catherine says, sternly.
“Does she know we could fire her?” I mutter to Daniel.
“Good luck with that,” Catherine laughs. “She’s in the big room, are you gonna go —”
“Yes, I’ll go see the fancy blonde,” I say, and start walking. “What is this, a Hitchcock movie? If she wants me to help her kill her husband, I am out.”
The big room is just what we call the brewery’s main public space. It’s got a bar along one wall, dartboards along another, windows along a third. The side without the dartboards has three long wooden tables running the length of the room, all made by Daniel’s wife Charlie.
All in all, it’s pleasant, slightly stylish, a little cozy, and a very nice place to hang out with friends on a Saturday afternoon.
I head toward it between the colonnades of big steel tanks, past our offices, running through a list in my head. I’ve still got a few invoices to pay, including the one that Cloverdale Organics finally corrected, I’ve got to figure out why Iris’s direct deposit didn’t go through yesterday, and then my other brother Eli will be here because tonight is the soft opening —
The moment I get to the doorway, I stop. It’s only for an instant, but my mind empties out and all I can hear is the single thud of my heart, the slow surge of blood through my veins, the whisper of adrenaline as it pricks over the back of my neck.
Delilah’s standing there.
She’s in the center of the big room, all red hair and freckles. She’s wearing a long black wool coat, her hands in her pockets. She’s talking to her stepmother Vera, laughing.
I’m derailed, all thoughts of direct deposit and my brother Eli gone, like Delilah’s the copper penny on the tracks and I’m the train unfortunate enough to run it over, the one-in-a-million that crashes because of such a simple, lovely thing.
I take my right foot off the floor, remind myself of each individual movement of my legs that comprise the action walking, and I move forward.
“Hi there,” I call out. “I heard you were in need of beer assistance?”
I cross the room toward them, a smile on my face. As if there’s nothing at all interesting about this.
“Seth,” says Vera, who is both fancy and blonde. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to help me out.”
And then I’m standing there, facing them. I clasp my hands in front of myself and look from one to the other and think charming, helpful, friendly, and I keep smiling.
“It’s no trouble at all,” I tell Vera, running one palm over the other. “What exactly is it I’m helping with? I should probably find that out before I make any promises.”
“I know it’s very last-minute,” Vera says. “But we had more RSVP’s than we expected for Ava’s wedding tomorrow, so I’m hoping that I can add another ten or so cases of beer to our order.”
I don’t look at Delilah, but I can see her anyway: watching Vera, face giving nothing away, still lighting up the place like she’s the sun.
“Well, I don’t know,” I deadpan. “We’re only a brewery, I’m not sure where we’ll get all those beers.”
Vera laughs, reaches out and puts one hand on my shoulder.
“This is what I have to put up with for Ava,” she says to Delilah. “Seth Loveless sassing me.”
“She’s probably worth it,” Delilah says, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Though we could also just go back to Kroger and grab a couple cases of Coors Light. Coors Light never sassed anyone.”
“That’s true,” I say. “It just hasn’t got the personality. But if you’d like sassy beer, then of course I can help. What do you need?”
“I have to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we’ve already ordered and I didn’t bring my food and beverage notes with me today,” Vera starts. “But we planned on three hundred and fifty people at the wedding, but more were able to attend than I thought…”
Delilah glances from Vera to me, then back, but I feel as if someone opened the oven door in a freezing house. Everything about her is warm: red hair, the color of an ember about to catch in kindling. Copper-toned brown eyes. Freckles that pepper her skin like autumn leaves on the last sunny day.
“…but since most of the unexpected RSVPs are from Harold’s golfing friends and Thad’s lacrosse team, I’d say we’ll take about ten percent more than what we originally ordered,” Vera finishes. “Is that all right?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “I’d be pretty bad at my job if I couldn’t get you eight more cases of beer. You want them in the same proportion as the rest of the order?”
I never say numbers aloud to customers if I don’t have written proof of them in front of me, but I’ve got everything memorized anyway. I don’t mean to. It just happens.
Vera ordered eighty cases of beer, split into thirty cases of Loveless Lager, twenty cases of Southern Lights IPA, ten cases of Solstice Stout, and ten cases of Boondocks Brown. At twelve bottles in a case, that’s nine hundred and sixty beers.
In other words, if Vera wanted me to stand on my head right now, I’d at least try.
“That would be perfect,” Vera says. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s no problem at all. We’ll get them loaded up tonight and delivered tomorrow,” I say, sliding my palms over each other in the opposite direction. Oven door, cold house. “How’s the wedding prep going?”
Vera sighs.
“Everything is completely insane and there are a million things to do,” she says. “You know how it is.”
I don’t. I’ve never planned a wedding or been married. I’m the only one in this room right now who hasn’t, and despite myself, I glance at Delilah.
She glances away, and I wonder why the fuck I did that.
“Completely,” I say. “I’ve never done it myself, but Daniel ran me ragged for the week before his wedding. So did Eli, even though that was just a glorified courthouse ceremony.”
“I didn’t realize Eli had gotten married,” Vera says. “Congratulations!”
“I’ll pass it on,” I say.
“Who’s his wife?”
“Her name’s Violet Tulane,” I say, easing into the small talk. “She went to high school with us.”
“I know that name,” Vera says, a small, delicate frown ghosting across her brow. “Why do I know that name?”
“Did she wrangle the fireworks permits at Winona’s wedding?” Delilah suddenly says. “When the fire marshal didn’t want to let us set them off, but she negotiated to have a fire engine standing by, just in case?”
“Sounds like Violet,” I agree. “She used to work at Bramblebush Farms.”
“Yes!” exclaims Vera. “Yes, that’s exactly right. I quite liked working with her, she really got things done. Poor thing must have been disappointed to have a small wedding.”
I almost laugh.
“I don’t think so,” I tell Vera.
“There are plenty of people who don’t want half the eastern seaboard at their weddings,” Delilah points out.
“I refuse to believe such nonsense,” Vera laughs, adjusting an expensive-looking purse on her shoulder. “Anyway, we should get moving. The rehearsal dinner is tonight and Delilah claims that her hair takes hours to style.”
“Only if you don’t like the frizzy bun look,” Delilah tells her, one hand going to her head, orange curls tied up and twisted on top. “If you’re into that, by all means, keep quizzing Seth about weddings.”
Vera adjusts her purse again, then looks from Delilah to me like she’s thinking.
“Actually,” she says, that familiar, genteel smile on her face again. “Could I trouble you to use the ladies’ room before we go?”
“Of course,” I say, and point the way. “Can’t miss it.”
Vera thanks me, smiles again, walks away.
Suddenly it’s just us, Delilah and I, alone together in this room.
&n
bsp; It’s the first time we’ve been alone in two years. Two years, three months, and sixteen days, but who’s counting?
“How’s it going?” I ask, as good a question as any.
“It’s all right,” she says, hands in her coat pockets. “You?”
“About the same,” I say, nonchalantly as I can muster. “Nice day, huh?”
It’s a lie. Every single piece of what I just said is a lie. Delilah’s in the same room as me and I feel a thousand different ways, not one of which is just all right or nonchalant.
But two years and three months ago, we made an agreement, by God I’m sticking to it.
“It’s kind of cloudy,” she says, glancing at the windows. “Hopefully tomorrow is nicer. Ava’s itinerary has us doing pictures outside.”
“You’re a bridesmaid?” I ask.
“Yup,” she says. “Third time’s the charm, I guess.”
There are so many things I want to say to her. I want to ask how are you, really? I want to say these weddings are insane, right? I want to tell her I know you’re worried for your little sister.
“Vera driving you crazy yet?” is what I settle on.
Even that’s probably too familiar, but I have to say something and we already talked about the weather.
“I’ve seen her worse,” she says. “I guess she’s getting the hang of wedding planning after three.”
“Four,” I say.
The silence from Delilah is expansive. Total.
“Unless she didn’t —”
“No, you’re right,” Delilah says, her voice suddenly brittle. “Four.”
“Just giving the woman her due,” I say, standing up a little straighter. Like I’m bracing for a fight.
Delilah just gives me a simmering look, then takes a deep breath.
“Sure,” she says, and looks away. “How’s your family?”
Just like that, we’re back on safe ground.
“They’re well,” I say. “Eli got married. Levi’s getting married this summer. Daniel had another kid, and Caleb is…”
I trail off, because right now Caleb is heartbrokenly building bookshelves in my living room. He’s a math professor and an idiot who had an affair with a student that didn’t end well, and of course, I’m picking up the pieces.
Actually, his girlfriend called me yesterday, and I’m supposed to let her into my place so she can see him in an hour. Hopefully they don’t break any of my stuff, either by fighting with it or having sex on it.
But none of that qualifies as small talk, so I just say, “Caleb’s doing well. Yours?”
“The usual,” she says. “Winona’s already strategizing on how to get Bree and Callum into Harvard, Olivia’s pretty much running the Junior League —"
We both hear the door shut, and Delilah’s looks over her shoulder. I make myself relax my arms, take a deep breath, and I can see her shoulders move as she does the same.
Just like that, another casual encounter is over. We didn’t kill each other. We didn’t burn anything down. I’ll feel hollow for the next week, but that’s all.
“All right, Delilah,” Vera calls. “You’ve still got plenty of time to do your hair.”
Thirty minutes later, my phone rings. I ignore the first two rings, still staring at the wall like I’m trying to burn a hole in it. There are a thousand things that I still need to do today, and I haven’t started any of them.
I’ve replayed our conversation over and over again, even though there was almost nothing to it, and that’s what kills me. I hate that we talk about the weather like we’re strangers, that there’s so much silence between us. That I never get to make her laugh, see her smile.
Sometimes, I think this is worse than fighting.
The phone rings again. I grab the receiver and close my eyes.
“Loveless Brewing, this Seth,” I say, hoping it’s a telemarketer or a wrong number or something I don’t actually need to deal with.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Vera answers.
My eyes pop open in alarm.
“I was beginning to think perhaps you’d already left for the day, and I don’t think I have your personal phone number,” she goes on.
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about the wedding order again,” I say, and even though I’m trying to sound lighthearted my voice sounds like dead weight to my own ears.
“No, no, nothing like that,” she says. “I’m actually calling to ask a personal favor.”
I swear the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“And what would that be, Mrs. Radcliffe?” I say, making myself smile at the wall of my office so she can hear it in my voice.
“Well, seeing you today gave me an idea,” she says, the hint of genteel drawl to her voice suddenly a little more pronounced. “You see, Delilah’s date to Ava’s wedding had to cancel on her at the last minute, so now the poor thing is planning on going alone, and I just feel so awful about it.”
I hold my breath, and I have the sensation that I’ve just stepped into quicksand and I’m slowly going down.
She had a date.
“I know this is terribly last-minute and probably quite a surprise, but is there any chance you would be Delilah’s date tomorrow?”
I get deja vu so hard I have to close my eyes, because I know this sensation. Not from Vera, but I’ve been here, done this, been on the other end of the phone when Delilah suddenly needs male companionship. It feels familiar, like being punched where I’m already bruised.
I still have to bite the inside of my lip so I don’t say yes.
“Tomorrow?” I echo.
“I know this is so sudden, but the man she intended to go with was called away on family business,” Vera confirms. “The ceremony is at five o’clock at Pinehall Manor, reception to follow, of course.”
She had a date.
It shouldn’t feel like anything, but it feels like betrayal.
I have to fight the urge to say yes. I want to show up, just to see Delilah’s face, get into a fight with her because it feels better than nothing.
And then I have the opposite urge. I want to show up and sweep her off her feet and steal her from whoever the fuck she’s dating, even if only for one night.
My heart beats into the empty space on the phone line.
“Seth?”
“Sorry, I’m still here,” I say.
I clear my throat.
“I’m afraid I have a prior commitment,” I say.
Vera sighs across the line.
“Well, darn it,” she says. “That’s too bad, I’m sure Delilah would have loved catching up with you.”
“Another time,” I tell Vera.
“Well, it was lovely to talk to you anyway,” she says. “And Seth, could you do me one small favor?”
“Is this one going to be about beer?”
Please, God, let this one be about beer.
“Not at all,” she says, laughing. “But would you mind not mentioning this to Delilah? If she knew I’d tried to find her a date, I think she might be angry with me.”
“Not a problem,” I say, and remember my manners at last. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you out, but I do appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Radcliffe.”
We exchange a few more polite statements, and then finally hang up. I’m sweaty despite the season, my palms clammy like I’ve just escaped danger, heart thumping so loudly I was afraid she could hear it.
“What invitation?” says a voice from the door of my office, and I jump.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “What the hell are you doing? Do you listen in on all my shit?”
“Only if it sounds interesting,” says Eli, who looks much too comfortable in the doorway to my office, leaning against the frame as if he owns it.
“It was nothing,” I tell him, grabbing some papers on my desk and pulling them in front of myself, then pretending to examine them like they’re the Rosetta Stone and I’ve recently come upon a
Pharaoh’s tomb.
Unsurprisingly, he does not take the hint.
“Did you need something?” I ask, still not looking up at him.
“No,” he says, and doesn’t leave.
I tap a pencil on my desk, rest my head on a hand, and consider my options.
I have four brothers. Eli is the second-oldest. I’m the second-youngest. Daniel’s in the middle; the oldest is Levi, who loves trees and camping, and the youngest is Caleb, who loves math and also camping.
Actually, we all like camping, though I admit I like it the least. I don’t mind sleeping in a tent on the ground, but what’s wrong with a bed?
Anyway, the four of them are the nosiest assholes who’ve ever lived. Maybe some families understand the concept of keeping information to oneself; mine doesn’t seem to.
Regarding the invitation, that gives me two options where Eli’s concerned: tell him and get him out of my hair for now, surely setting up some further questioning in the future, or refuse him and never get him out of my office.
“Vera Radcliffe invited me to her daughter Ava’s wedding,” I say. “I didn’t think going was a good idea, so I declined.”
Eli is silent. He’s silent for too long, and I don’t like it.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this later,” he finally says. “Where are your circuit breakers?”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I tripped a circuit breaker,” he says, as though explaining it to a four-year-old. In retrospect, I guess it was a dumb question.
“Doing what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Please don’t burn my brewery down,” I tell him, standing. “Come on. What did you do? Do we have enough fire extinguishers for tonight?”
“We’re fine,” he says, soothingly. “I don’t even start worrying until the flames are three feet high.”
As I walk past him, through the door, I shoot him a not today glare.
He just grins at me.
Chapter Three
Delilah