Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  “Good call,” I agree, standing up to clean up the glasses and bottle. I take the leash and unwrap it from the beam, allowing Benji to run ahead. He doesn’t gallop this time, allowing us to keep up. Melody’s hands are tucked into the pockets of her jacket, and a smile is still intact, pinching at her rosy cheeks. “I hope it’s okay that I stopped by tonight. I just needed to know you were okay.”

  Melody presses her lips together and nods her head. “Yeah, it’s more than all right. I don’t remember the last time someone has waited around for me. It’s a nice feeling.”

  How could no one wait around for her? I can guess there is more to the story of her ex-boyfriend, but if she was mine, I’d wait anywhere, everywhere, and for as long as it would take for her to come back.

  I might have distracted her for a brief moment tonight, but thoughts of her, watching the way she walks, and the way the loose curls of her hair sway with each step almost makes me forget about the darkness long enough to find the faint glow from the light above her front steps. “Are you okay?” she asks as we step back onto the street?

  “I am, thanks,” I say.

  She places her hand on my back and presses her head into my shoulder. “I’m glad.”

  We’re silent for the remaining minute it takes for us to reach her driveway, but I can think of at least a thousand things to say. I’ll save it for another night, though.

  “Good luck with everything tomorrow. Text me if you need anything, even if it’s just company.” I hand the leash back to her and offer a simple smile. Seeing as we’re no more than a foot apart, I take the uninvited moment to lean forward and kiss her warm cheek. I don’t know if it’s too much or not enough, but I’m overwhelmed by the familiar scent of peaches. The shampoo. That damn shampoo. How can she still smell so beautiful after a day in hell? “Good night, Melody.”

  She fights against a smile and spins around, nearly tripping over the leash attached to Benji. With a hint of a giggle I used to hear all the time, she sweeps her hair behind her back and jogs up the front steps to the door. I wait until she’s safely inside and head for my truck, wondering how I’m going to get my head out of the clouds long enough to find my way off this street.

  17

  Would I have wanted a distraction when Abby died. I know the circumstances are different because Abby’s death came as a shock, but maybe I shouldn’t be assuming Melody needs or wants a distraction at the moment. I want to say I understand what she’s going through, but losing a parent is entirely different than losing a friend, and I don’t want to overstep.

  My phone buzzes as I reach the first stoplight. It’s probably Mom looking to see when I’ll be by to grab Parker. I check the message as I come to a stop, finding a message from Melody.

  * * *

  The Girl of my Dreams: Thank you. I needed that in more ways than I can explain.

  * * *

  The light returns to green, and I place the phone down, feeling a bout of relief. I think it’s safe to assume I didn’t cross a line or push too hard. At least that’s what her message sounds like. What a relief.

  My string of thoughts lessen as I continue the half-hour drive to Mom and Pops. I need to clear my head of Melody’s sadness so I can perk up for Parker. The last thing she needs is to go through any more feelings of loss, even if it’s just by hearing or watching it happen to someone else. If I could keep her in a bubble of happiness, I would. At some point, I’ll have to allow more of life’s realities into her world, but I feel it’s my responsibility to keep as much despair from her as possible so she can experience how wonderful life can be.

  I walk into the house, inhaling the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and nail polish remover--the norm when I leave Mom and Parker alone for more than an hour. The woman who never had daughters takes every chance possible to have girl time with her granddaughters. Even Pops has joined in on the fun from time to time, but we’re not supposed to talk about the times I’ve found him with mascara or lipstick smudged across his cheeks from one of the girls using him as a model.

  Pops is in the living room watching TV, ready to fall asleep when I interrupt his crime show coma. “Brett,” he says, checking his watch. “Oh, it’s only eight. God, it feels like ten.”

  “It’s that time of year again,” I tell him. We just hit daylight savings, and no one has adjusted yet, including myself, who evidently doesn’t need the extra hour of sleep.

  “Take a load off. Your mom is painting Parker’s nails, and it’s the crucial-no-interrupting-part. Whatever that means.”

  “That process is the drying time. If Parker moves, the nail-polish will scrape off,” I inform him.

  “Listen to you, speaking girl. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, me neither, but here we are,” I say, taking a seat next to him on the couch.

  “How’s Miss Melody holding up?” I didn’t expect Mom to tell Pops what I was up to tonight, since he rarely brings up the topic of women with her or me. It’s not in his nature to pry.

  “It’s hard to say. I don’t know who or how she was before she found out about Harold, at least not since she was seventeen. Maybe she’s been quiet since then. I don’t know. She’s obviously not in a great place, but I offered to be there in case she needs someone, you know?”

  “That was a nice thing to do,” Pops says, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off. “I assume she’s going through more than she’s letting on.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.

  “I spoke to Harold for a bit this afternoon. I was asking about both of the girls because I wanted him to know I’d be there for them. It doesn’t matter what age you are when you lose a parent. It’s tough and I felt like I needed to know what concerns he’s leaving behind so he would rest easy knowing that I’ll keep an eye on them from afar.”

  “That was nice of you,” I say.

  “He appreciated it. I told him if either of the girls ever need anything, they can count on me.”

  “I know this isn’t easy for you, Pops.”

  “No. God, Harold and I have been friends since we were kids. I know our families didn’t do a lot together over the years, but Harold and I always spoke and saw each other at least once a week. It’ll never be the same without him now.”

  “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 Ser
geant. 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.