by C. B. Stagg
“The house next door. I sold it.” He made this squinty wince face like he expected me to squirt jalapeno juice in his eye or something.
“Well, okay. Technically it’s your house, but you just finished fixing it up to rent. And it wasn’t even on the market, so you can understand my confusion… ”
“I sold it to Casey.”
“To Casey? Why?” Huh?
“He bought it for Vaughn.” He grinned as the smile on my face grew.
“And Vaughn needs a house because… ?” Say it.
“Because Casey’s going to ask Vaughn to marry him.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “Awww,” escaped my lips before I could stop it. I covered my mouth. “And?”
My muffled words amused him, but he knew exactly what I was asking. “And, my nosy little busybody, Casey has filed the necessary papers to adopt Julian.” At that, my squeal was unstoppable. I grabbed Jase and pulled his face to mine, but he pushed me away. “No kisses, not yet.”
“What’s wrong? Did something else happen?” My face fell, and a chill ran up my spine. “Something bad?”
“Well… ” Jase pulled me to the couch in the living room, then told me about the call from the attorney who’d worked alongside his grandfather for so many years and what the man had to say. The entire time he talked, he watched me closely. I didn’t know if there was a word for what I felt once he’d told me everything, or at least everything he knew.
“Say something, Bec.” His hand softly nudged my knee.
“I don’t know what to feel… I don’t know what to think… to say.” I stood to walk some of the tension off. “I wish he was dead. I wish I could watch him die. I wish I could pull the trigger and blow his head off.”
“Bec…”
“No, Jase. You have no idea how I suffered at the hands of that man.”
Jase stood too. “You’re right, Becky. I don’t… because you won’t tell me.”
“That’s not fair, Jase. I’ve told you about my life with that son of a bitch—”
“Yeah, Bec. You’ve told me some, but I’m not an idiot, babe. I know there’s more. I’ve spent the last ten years picking up the pieces of a life he shattered, but I’m not much closer to knowing what happened to you at his hands than I was when we met.” His shoulders slumped.
“Look, this is the first time in more than a decade I don’t feel like the boogeyman is lurking behind every corner.” I pulled his arms up and onto my shoulders. Getting the hint, he wrapped me up tight, and I listened to his heart beat straight into mine. “But you’re right, there is more. You’ve been my broom for a really long time, and you deserve to know the extent of the mess you’ve been cleaning up. Just give me a little time to process the idea that Toby Carraway is no longer a viable threat, then we’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Everything?” he asked, looking down at me.
“Everything,” I answered, hoping I had the strength to do what I’d just promised.
“SARGE?”
The young girl stood at the door of the downstairs home office that once belonged to her father before the desk was moved out to make room for his hospital bed. It was on the first floor, a steep flight of stairs away from the room he had slept in before he’d become too sick to walk.
“Hey there, my Whiskey Girl,” her daddy croaked as she crossed the threshold to stand at his side. George Preston, a good family friend, stood on the other side. She pulled her lips between her teeth, in hopes of masking the fear on her face. She didn’t want her daddy to know that she already knew what he was about to tell her.
“Climb on up here, girlie. I’m gonna tell you a story.”
He’d been lying almost flat, but used his elbows—along with assistance from the bed controls, and what had to be most of the air in the room—to pull his frail body into a sitting position. He then patted the spot beside him, signaling where he wanted her. She clambered up to the high bed, not even bothering to kick off her boots before scrambling into her father’s arms. And though she knew he should be taking better care of himself, the all too familiar smell of unfiltered Marlboros and hints of the vanilla cherry-infused bourbon he was known for filled her nostrils, dispelling the girl’s fears with one sniff of her own personal Superman.
His once broad, muscular chest was now soft, his leathered skin sagging, and covered in fine white hairs. And his arms—which had single-handedly lifted hay bales, tractor wheels, and anything else one could possibly imagine requiring superhuman strength on the small South Texas ranch—now shook as he gathered the girl into them. He tucked her head, with its unruly mop of frizzed-out hair, up under his chin before he began speaking again.
“What story are you gonna tell me today, Sarge?” she asked, nestling into the one place she knew she could always count on.
“Well, baby girl, I’m gonna tell you the story about how an angel gave me the most precious gift known to man and entrusted me with that gift for almost twelve whole years… ”
“What was the gift? And who’s the angel? Will she give me a gift, too?” She knew this story like the back of her hand. He’d told it a thousand different times. But she had to ask. It was their tradition.
“The gift was you, my Whiskey Girl, and the story I’m about to tell you… ”
“Whiskey’s Lullaby?” she interrupted, reminding him that they’d named the story a few years back.
“Yeah, baby.” He pulled her even closer. “I’m gonna tell you the story of Whiskey’s Lullaby, but this time, I want you to pay close attention to the ending.”
“But, Sarge,” she pulled back, looking into his grey eyes, encased in wrinkles which spoke of years of hard work in the Texas sunshine. “You’ve always told me that Whiskey’s Lullaby doesn’t have an ending yet because we’re still writing the story, every day of our lives, remember?” Tears sprang to her eyes, terrified of the words he was about to say, but wanting the truth despite her fears. She laid her head back down over his heart.
“You’re right, sweetheart, I did say that, but things change and so do stories.” He swallowed, and she felt his Adam’s apple bob against the top of her head, making her hang onto him a little tighter. “My part in the story has almost come to an end, so now it’s time, Whiskey, for you to take everything I’ve taught you, and start writing your own chapters.”
She didn’t feel the tears as they escaped her eyes, nor did she feel them as they slid down her cheeks. But when all the pain and fear she’d bottled up over the last few months began soaking into her daddy’s skin, she wondered just how she’d ever survive in the world without the only person she’d ever loved.
“Please don’t cry for me, Whiskey. I know you’re scared, but I’m not.”
She looked up at him again, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Did you find my angel?” That had always been part of the story. That one day the angel, who’d given Whiskey to her daddy to care for, would come back when Whiskey needed her most. When her daddy had to go be with the other angels in the sky.
“I didn’t find her, baby, but Mr. Preston did. And as soon as my work here is done, he’s going to take you to meet her.” She shook her head, not wanting to think of living without her father.
“What if she doesn’t want me?” Her voice trembled along with the rest of her body. She was only eleven, and she was about to have to grow up really fast.
“Oh, my Whiskey Girl, she’s always wanted you, but she couldn’t take care of you right away. When you were born, she wasn’t much older than you are now. You both needed rescuing. I got you, and another family got her. We were entrusted to love each of you and care for you, teach you right from wrong. And then, one day, we knew you’d meet again. You never belonged to me forever, sweet girl. But remember, for all the stars in the sky… ”
“And drops in the ocean… “ she added, between sniffs.
“I’ll love you for every one,” he whispered.
“As long as the sun shines warm and the mo
on glows cold… ”
“I’ll love you with every beat of my heart,” he responded again, this time even less audible than the last.
“And even beyond?” she squeaked out, sounding more childlike than she had in a long while. He nodded, unable to speak. The unlikely pair remained so silent and still, Whiskey jumped at the sound of her own voice.
“How long, Sarge? How long before you go to be with Jesus and I meet my angel?” She took a shaky breath and blew it out again. “And how will I find her? What’s her name?” Whiskey was a planner and wise beyond her years. She wanted to prepare herself, and it was only fair she be treated fairly with honesty, and not fed false hope where there no longer was any.
“Any day now, Whiskey,” Mr. Preston answered for him. Her father had drifted off, his breathing having become more slow and shallow with each minute that passed. Without fanfare, his hospice nurse had slipped in and was recording information on a clipboard. When their eyes met, she shook her head.
“In fact,” he continued, “it may be a good idea to say your goodbyes now. I think Sarge wants to get to Heaven before Christmas, which means we need to find your angel before the holiday.”
She nodded her little head, then pressed her lips to her father’s wrinkled cheek and left them there, tears rolling from her face and onto his. For the last week, she’d said goodbye each day, never knowing if he’d live through the night. But somehow she knew this was it, so she whispered to him, “Every time I see the stars or the ocean, the sun or the moon, I’ll think of how you saved me. I’ll tell the angel all about my life on the ranch, the horses, and my friends. I’ll tell her how you loved me and took care of me, and taught me right from wrong. And I’ll love you forever.”
Climbing down from the bed, she took Mr. Preston’s hand as they returned to her room to finish packing.
Chapter 37
Jase
December 2011
“LOOK, I REALIZE I’M not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Casey announced to no one in particular, standing to stretch after sitting through the Cliff’s Notes of The Jase & Becky Drama. “But how the hell did you two conduct a full-fledged relationship for what, almost twelve years, without anyone, especially me, knowing?”
Vaughn laughed, such a magical sound after all she’d endured over the last few months. “Casey, you’re plenty sharp, but it seems like they’re a bit smarter.” She smiled. “But let the record show, I totally sniffed this one out. You may be sneaky, but not sneaky enough to get past me.”
“Hey,” I asked, directing my question at Casey. “I still have no idea why you were beating down my door at the crack of dawn this morning. What did you want, anyway?”
Casey’s belly laugh made both of the girls fall into fits of giggles. “Well, I forgot to buy coffee at the store, and Vaughn in the morning without coffee isn’t an experience I’d wish on my worst enemy.”
A throw pillow flew across the room, hitting Casey directly in the head. “See?” he asked. “She’s a monster.” He swooped down and scooped her up into his arms. “Come on, little monster. Let’s go get you all drugged up.” Vaughn needed her meds, and they were both still in flannel pajamas. “Hey Bec,” he looked back at her before opening the front door.
“Yessir?”
“I may not have coffee, but I do have a few pounds of bacon and some eggs. You think I could—”
“Give me thirty minutes to shower and then come on over. I’ll have Jase start making the tortillas, and we can have some good ole breakfast tacos while we talk about getting you two hitched.”
Casey nodded and carried his future bride down the stairs and next door to their new home. I headed to the kitchen—since apparently I was in charge of tortillas—and within thirty seconds, the shower was running.
Becky found me where she’d left me, standing in the kitchen sipping on cold coffee, and nowhere closer to making tortillas than when she’d left ten minutes before.
“Look in the pantry about eye level. Mine, not yours.”
I did, and there they were—a brand new bag of homemade tortillas. “Have I ever told you your mind reading skills are wicked sexy?”
She laughed, as I sat down at the table and pulled her down onto my lap. “Ah, loving the Boston accent, Will Hunting, but we’re about to have company and—”
“Oh my God, this is like deja vu. I feel as if we just had this conversation.”
And like a perfectly timed sitcom move, a sharp knock at the door had both our heads turning toward the noise. I straightened. “Why even bother knocking, Case?” I laughed through the door as I opened it, fully expecting to see Casey and Vaughn returning with breakfast ingredients as promised, after our trip down memory lane. And had I looked beyond the two people standing on my porch, I’d have seen Casey, helping a still very ill Vaughn make her way up my sidewalk at a snail’s pace, but I didn’t.
“Um, Bec? Can you come to the door please?” I yelled, or at least that was my intent, but I heard nothing, physically unable to tear my eyes away from the young lady standing before me.
“Mr. Preston? Is that you?”
If my entire world hadn’t come to a complete standstill, I’d have missed Vaughn’s diminutive cry acknowledging the man standing just behind the girl. I looked up.
“George?” I said, meeting the familiar eyes of a face I’d known my entire life. He was an attorney who’d worked with my mother on numerous cases. And the man who’d just called me a few days prior to inform me of Toby Carraway’s capture.
“Hello, Jason.” He nodded as he offered his right hand, ever the gentleman, before turning to the puny voice behind him. “Vaughn, darling.” His joy at seeing Vaughn told me he had a deep and genuine affection for my best friend’s future bride, a connection I was still struggling to make. “You’ve saved me a trip.” Turning back to me, the man asked, “Jason, Dr. Hanson, I hate to disturb you so early in the morning, but I have an urgent matter that needs attention, and it involves all of you.”
The sound of her name brought all our eyes to the woman standing beside me, but a hurricane could have ripped through the neighborhood and she wouldn’t have known. She was completely transfixed on what appeared to be a younger, scrawnier version of herself, standing a mere foot away.
Chapter 38
Becky
“CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING to drink?” I asked the young girl now standing in my living room, but she just shook her head. The adults had filed in. Casey and Vaughn took their places on the loveseat they’d abandoned just a little earlier, while George Preston sat in the matching overstuffed chair, making small talk with the newly engaged couple. Jase had run to our home office to grab the two upholstered chairs we just had recovered.
“Here, babe, why don’t you sit down here,” he motioned, setting one of the chairs down in the living room. I obliged, surprised my legs hadn’t given out sooner. Jase set the matching chair down, no doubt intending to sit beside me. But the mini-me clambered up to claim the spot as her own, leaving Jase to sit on the padded ottoman (which he’d pulled up right next to me).
“Well, now that you’re all here, we may as well get acquainted. My name is George Preston, and I am a senior attorney with MVP Family Law in Dallas. I know Jason here,” he gestured, probably for the benefit of the child,” because I worked alongside his mother and grandfather.” She nodded in understanding. “And this beauty is Vaughn. She is a client of mine. I’ve known her since the day she was born.” He smiled, looking from Vaughn to the child.
“Kinda like me?” Her East Texas accent wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Almost like you. You were a few days old when I met you. Now, this here is…?”
“Oh,” Casey jumped, offering his hand to Mr. Preston. “Casey Clark. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Preston. I’ve heard so much about you, and I owe you a debt of gratitude for taking such good care of Vaughn when she was sick.” Both men eyed Vaughn, who looked like she wanted to crawl inside herself.
“F
or what it’s worth, Casey, I wanted her to call you.”
“I know,” he replied. “She told me. And really, at this point, it’s all water under the bridge.”
“I agree. You’re a good man, Casey Clark. Congratulations on your engagement. I know you will make Vaughn very happy, indeed.”
“So,” he said, turning his attention to me, “You’re Dr. Hanson?”
I smiled. “Yep. Process of elimination would make that so.” I reached out to shake Mr. Preston’s hand, noting a familiarity around his eyes, something that made me feel warm inside like I could trust him.
“Now, I’d like to introduce you to the reason we’re all here. This is Wynona Isobel Key.” She waved, a tiny gesture screaming intimidation and discomfort.
“Well, Wynona, do you—” Jase, always one to break uncomfortable silences, jumped in feet first before the girl interrupted.
“Whiskey, please.” Her words were barely audible, but I could have sworn she just asked for a shot of hard liquor.
“I’m sorry, what?” Jase fumbled, thrown off his small talk game, which he usually played so well.
Mr. Preston stepped in to clarify. “Ah, Cashion Key was one of my dearest friends. He adopted this young lady when she was just a few days old.” I watched her face as George Preston began speaking of her father in the past tense, and it took less than a minute for the dam her lashes had served as to break, letting a small stream of tears run down each cheek. Unable to stop myself, I reached for her hand, and she held onto it like a lifeline.
“The way he tells—I mean, told it—is that one day I went to sleep a little baby called Wynona Isobel, and the next day, I woke up a spunky little spitfire, with whiskey-colored skin and eyes. So ever since that day, everyone’s just called me Whiskey.” Her shoulders shrugged, but as she spoke, she kept her eyes focused on the place where her hand sat in mine.
“Whiskey,” I said, shaking the hand she was already holding. “It’s nice to meet you. I think you probably have the coolest name I’ve ever heard in my life.” I smiled, and when her eyes met mine, my heart lurched. Something was happening. I’d never felt like this before. Preston needed to get to the point, fast.
