“Fine, whatever. I’m just the big sister. Don’t mind me, like always.” When Mac’s eyes meet mine, she shakes her head. “They only want my opinion when it’s what they want to hear.”
“Typical,” I say and hold up her pint glass. “To take the edge off.”
“Perfect,” she says. “I need a little sanity in my life.”
“Ha! Then you came to the wrong place,” I tell her with another wink.
Bobby takes a gulp of his beer and turns to face her fully. “When are you going to man-up and graduate from drinking cider?”
“Oh boy, here we go,” I mutter, mentally settling in for a typical sibling squabble session.
“First of all,” Mac starts. “I’m not a man, nor will I ever be one, thank God. You all take no pride in your attire, and you always have dirt under your fingernails.”
“Hey now,” Colton says. “Don’t lump me in with them.” Of course, given how many showers he takes a day between work and the aftermath of Casey, his five-year-old daughter, he’s probably cleaner than Mac most of the time.
She leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. “Except for you, babe. Though,” she glances down at his hands. “Your hands—”
“Doesn’t count. I just got off work,” he says flatly, and she leans in and kisses him again. “I know, and I secretly like it when you’re dirty.” She smiles against his mouth and we all look away.
“Get a room,” Bobby groans. “You guys are gross.”
“Your face is gross,” Mac retorts. “Anyway, I’ll consider venturing into the hoppy world of piss tasting beer when it stops tasting like, well, piss. Until then, cider is fine with me.”
Always a glutton for punishment, Bobby eggs her on, but I’m not about to engage in another battle of the wits with her about the delicate craft of brewing, which I know I’m gonna lose.
“So, Nick,” Colton starts, resting his elbows on the bar top. “Where’ve you been lately? I haven’t seen you around the complex.” Being my neighbor and all, Colton and I are used to running into each other at least a few times a week, especially when Casey’s around. She likes to make special trips to my house to play Mario Cart or look for Mac, even though Mac hasn’t lived with me for a few months now.
“Mostly up at Sam’s, helping to de-winter the place now that the snow’s gone,” I tell him. “I’m still working on the new office space, too. And I have classes.”
“De-winter?” Bobby asks. “Is that an official ranch term.” He chuckles.
“It is now.” I grin. “How’s the leg, by the way? The last time I saw you, you took quite a beating on the ice.”
Bobby shrugs and glances at his sister. He’s never been a complainer when it comes to pain, none of the Carmichaels are, but in Bobby’s case it’s because Mac worries about him too much as it is.
“It’s still attached,” he says reluctantly. “Annoying as hell, but it hasn’t stopped me from playing.” He looks sidelong at his sister again.
“Yes, you did say that out loud in front of me,” Mac says, distracted as she digs through her purse. “I’m doing my best to pretend I don’t care.”
Bobby looks sheepish. “You can care, Mac. Just don’t be so overbearing. I play hockey. I get hurt. I can’t help it.”
She turns on her stool to face him. “Don’t give me that crap. You can help it.”
“Dude, it’s the code—it’s part of the game. I’m an enforcer, which makes it one of my jobs, literally. Sorry if you don’t like it.”
Mac’s mouth draws up in the corner, and I can tell she’s trying to play it cool even though she worries endlessly about him getting an injury one of these days he won’t bounce back from. “I know. I just . . . If the NHL is what you really want, screwing up your body now—ignoring the pain and brushing off your injuries—it’s going to hurt you in the long run. That’s not overbearing, Bobby. It’s common sense.”
“Maybe if you started coming to my games again, you wouldn’t worry so much,” he mutters. “You’d see that I’m fine.”
Mac living in her own place seems normal now, to me at least. Meeting there for a beer or a game night a couple times a month is a nice change of pace. I never stopped to think how her moving out of the Carmichael house has affected Bobby, though. They’ve always taken care of each other, and now that her dad, Cal, is dating my Aunt Alison, I wonder how often he’s home anymore either.
“You’re right,” Mac says, smiling. “Dad’s been telling me to hire help for the front office for a while now. I’d have more of a life if I did.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe even make it to a game or two.”
“See!” Bobby’s eyes brighten. “It’s a win-win. And you guys can bring Casey along—it will be a family affair.”
“I don’t know about that,” Colton says, shaking his head. His blue eyes shadow as he imagines something. Probably Casey sitting through a whole game while Bobby and the boys go to town on the visiting team. He clears his throat. “She’s not big on hockey quite yet,” he justifies.
Colton’s tattoo barely pokes out above his shirt collar, and what Mac once told me flashes to memory. His accident. He’s probably not very keen on violence after what happened, having covered up his burns with the tattoo to try and move past it all.
“Casey’s still in a Little Mermaid phase,” Colton continues. “So, unless you have sing-a-longs and talking fish, we’ll have to take a rain check for the kiddo.”
“Shiiit,” Bobby says with a grin. “If singing and talking critters are all she needs, she’d love it! We have the national anthem—everyone’s favorite sing-a-long—and a giant, fuzzy wolf running around on the ice and driving the Zamboni during intermissions. She’d have a blast!”
Colton chuckles and shakes his head. “We’ll see.”
I eye the guys’ beers, still half full, and glance at Mac’s cider, barely touched. She’s still digging around in her purse. “What are you looking for, Mac?” I ask her. “You’re stressing me out.”
She grumbles and blows a strand of dark hair from her face. “My mom gave me the number of a sports medicine doctor in Benton . . . I wanted to give it to Bobby before I forgot again, but I can’t find it.”
Bobby shakes his head and looks at me. “See what I have to deal with? A bunch of nagging ninnies. And they wonder why I need a little fun in my life. Hence, the Mustang.”
Mac tosses a peanut at his face. “Oh, stop it. You love the attention.”
A grin creeps between his lips. “Yeah, I do kinda love it.”
With the evening crowd trickling into Lick’s and the lively conversation with it, I turn the jukebox volume down and snag a fresh bar towel to wipe down the remnants of the afternoon wave.
“So, Nick,” Reilly drawls and shoves his phone into his back pocket. I recognize that tone and brace myself for whatever topic he’s going to breech that I’ve been avoiding. “What’s up with graduation? We throwing you a party in May or what?”
With a little elbow grease, I dominate a particularly stubborn sticky spot around the taps and glance up at him. “Yeah, I guess. Once we get the office finished and Sam and Aunt Alison situated in there, I’ll feel more like I’m home free, I think.” I want to be excited about graduation, but I can’t seem to rally.
“We still working on the windows this weekend?” he asks. “I picked up the skylights yesterday.”
“You know it.” I tear open a fresh bag of pretzels. “Hopefully with a bit more light, that space won’t be so depressing. Which reminds me,” I say, glaring at Reilly. I slide the refilled bowl toward them. “I have to work Friday night, which means I won’t be at Sam’s until late Saturday, so you better leave me some breakfast this time.”
“No guarantees.” Reilly smirks and pops a pretzel into his mouth.
Sam’s breakfasts are the best part of my weekend, and I try not to let him rile me up. “You’re such a bastard,” I grumble, earning a deep-throated laugh from him.
“Oh, you guys!” Mac says over all the ban
ter. “We have to talk about our trip to the beach.”
“Babe, it’s barely April.” Colton scoops a pile of peanut shells into his hands.
“Yeah, and the weather is beautiful.” Mac’s green eyes are bright with excitement. “I’ve already unpacked my summer clothes. We can thank global warming for that. Besides, the timing’s perfect. We get to have a nice beach day, maybe play some volleyball—”
Bobby laughs. “Yeah right. I bet you and Sam don’t budge from your towels.”
“Oh, hush,” she says and glances around at us. “Plus, there won’t be hordes of people yet.” Mac smiles, and I forget how happy group trips always make her. “How about the 22nd?”
“I’m in,” I say. “Call the boss lady and get it in my calendar.”
“That’s the problem,” Mac says, gaze fixed on Reilly.
He glances around at us. “What did I do?”
“We need to make sure boss-lady Sam takes the time off,” Mac says. “Every year she tries to tell me she’s too busy for our trips. You have to start prepping her now and get it on the calendar.”
“Well,” I say, tossing a clean towel over my shoulder. “You guys figure out the details and tell me what to bring. Other than beer, obviously.” I head into the back to grab the last couple bags of peanuts and pretzels and add a new order to Brady’s ownerly list of to-dos this week.
When I step back out to the bar, Bill and Franky, a couple of regulars, have slid into their normal seats at the other end of the bar, handfuls of snacks already in their mouths.
“Gentlemen,” I say by way of greeting. “The usual?”
They both nod, and I grab two Bud Light bottles from the small fridge, tucked beneath the counter, and pop the caps off. “It must be that time,” I say.
“What, beer time?” Franky asks.
I nod. “The hordes tend to follow you in, Franky.” He’s in his late forties, has a graying goatee, and comes in with dirty clothes and a construction vest on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays, like clockwork.
“Does that mean I can collect a finder’s fee for everyone who walks in after me?”
“Oh, sure. Brady would love that.”
Franky grins and tips his beer at me. “Put it on my tab.”
“You got it.”
As I take a five spot from Bill, the door opens, the breeze coming with it, and I know it’s Bethany before I see her. Her sweet, sugary scent’s been branded to memory strongly enough to smell her coming a mile away. When I look up, her gray eyes meet mine. She nods in a surprising yet underwhelming greeting, before heading toward a round cocktail table in the corner of the room.
“Hey, Nick,” Anna Marie purrs as she saunters in behind her.
“Sup, girl?” I flash her a toothy smile. I barely got a head nod from Bethany, but Anna Marie’s an all-around cool chick—a flirt with a killer smile—but always easy to be around and I’m almost relieved she’s here.
I’m surprised, however, when her gaze settles on Bobby. “Hey,” she says and bats her eyelashes at him. A lot of chicks dig Bobby, it’s probably his hotshot, jock appeal and cocky smile, which I used to relate to.
“Hey.” Bobby smirks, acting cool and unaffected as Anna takes a seat at the table across from Bethany. The two of them together actually makes sense, and I suppress a grin.
Of course my gaze lands on Bethany, it always does. I tear my attention away, only to meet Mac’s. Her green eyes are fixed on me, filled with sympathy and uncertainty. I know what she’s thinking all too well when it comes to Bethany, and I quickly look away.
I don’t need any more reminders of just how bad this chick screws with my head when she’s in the same room, despite my best efforts. Sometimes I turn into an asshole. Sometimes I feel like a pitiful fool. Most of the time, I’m just confused by the past and distracted. Either way, it’s a mess—I’m a mess—and I have no idea why.
Grabbing a couple coasters, I pin my carefree, fun-loving smile into place and head over to their table.
Anna Marie’s smirk widens to a full-fledged smile when she sees me. “Looking good tonight, Turner. I thought after baseball you might lose your appeal, but those long days on the ranch really do you some good.” She winks at me, like a woman after my own heart.
I can’t help but wink back. “It’s all for you, darlin’.”
“Sigh,” she says longingly and bats her eyelashes at me. She’s really good at the playful banter, a worthy opponent that always makes my day a bit brighter. Part of me wonders if it bothers Bethany, though she never shows it. She’s really good at acting indifferent around me, even after our years of awkward run-ins and regrettable moments.
Anna folds her arms on the table and settles in. Like Bethany, her fingernails are perfectly manicured, her makeup and hair perfectly in place.
“So, where have you been?” I ask Anna. “I was starting to get a little offended—thought maybe you found a different hole in the wall to drink at the past few months.” No Anna Marie at Lick’s generally meant there was no smiling, drunken Bethany dancing beside her. A weekend staple I’d apparently grown used to.
“Are you kidding? I’d never ditch this place—too many memories,” she says, and with a feigned glare, she looks at Bethany. “Someone hasn’t been up for it much—plus”—Anna shrugs—“There’s exams and graduation,” she grumbles. “You know the drill.”
“Well, then,” I toss a napkin down for each of them, “I guess today’s a special occasion.”
“It sure is. Just a quick drink to celebrate my parents being out of town for a couple weeks, so I closed the salon tonight.”
“So, you’ll be the big boss lady for a while, huh?”
Anna Marie tucks her thick brown hair behind her ears. “Yep. And you know what that means.”
“Trouble,” I say easily. “Nothing but trouble.”
She giggles. “Yep.” I know exactly three facts about Anna Marie, other than she likes hanging out in Saratoga’s renowned dive bar: her mom owns the only tanning salon in Saratoga Falls, Anna loves Champagne, and she’s the only consistent person I’ve ever seen around Bethany since middle school.
Bethany clears her throat and starts digging in her purse like it’s a black abyss. I’m not sure if she’s really searching for something, or if this is her way of ignoring me. “Are you avoiding me?” I ask, surprising myself.
Her hands freeze in her purse. “What?”
“After class, when you come in here on the weekends—you avoid me. Now”—I glance down at her purse. “You’re avoiding me.”
Bethany scoffs and shakes her head. “I don’t avoid you,” she says flatly.
I eye her carefully. “Are you sure? Because I get the feeling that you are.”
“I’ve got a lot going on, Nick. It’s nothing personal.”
“Sure it’s not,” I mutter.
“I’d never avoid you, Nick,” Anna Marie chirps. “You’re too sweet.” She tilts her head, her smile stretching from ear to ear, and I appreciate her trying to keep the mood light.
With a wink at her, I cross my arms over my chest. “So, what celebratory drink will it be? A whiskey sour for you?”
Bethany nods. “Please.”
“And, let me guess,” I say with a knowing smile. I wink at Anna. “A bottle of bubbles? You know, Brady only stocks that stuff for you.”
“He better,” she says, matter of fact. “If it weren’t for me, he’d be out of business.” She laughs at her own gibe, and I like her all the more for it.
Bethany glances between us.
“All right, bubbles and a whiskey sour, coming right up.” I wink at Anna one last time and head back to the bar. I can feel Bethany’s eyes on me this time.
Good.
Five
Bethany’s Journal
April 9th
Yep, it’s me, Beth. I was going through a box of things in my closet yesterday, searching for my old scrapbooking stuff so I could help Jesse with his theme park idea board, and I stumbled
across you. The last time I wrote was over ten years ago, according to my last entry. I don’t know if I’ll find the same comfort writing my thoughts down as I used to, but I figure it’s worth a shot. I refuse to call you a diary anymore, though. Hope you don’t mind. I have a half hour before my next class, so now is as good a time as any to start up again, I guess.
I was just a kid the last time I wrote. Mom and Dad had arguing been arguing and I was certain they were going to send Jesse away. I was a mess. Unfortunately, that’s also the day I met Nick for the first time. I’d seen him at school, but I’d never talked to him before. Nick was the boy I didn’t know but decided to confide in that day because he cared when no one else did. He asked me why I was crying, so I told him the truth, at least as I saw it at the time: my parents were horrible people, they didn’t care about us, they didn’t even want Jesse, and I wanted to die. When social services showed up, I knew it was because of what I’d shared. They interviewed all of us and treated my dad like a criminal, especially when they saw Jesse’s bruises from one of his tantrums. My dad is a lot of things, but he’s not violent. I looked like an idiot for thinking they were actually going to get rid of my brother when really, they were arguing about sending him to an Applied Behavioral Analysis program for Autistic children, which never happened because my mom was against it from the start anyway. I’d blown it all out of proportion, and while my mom had smoothed everything over, my dad made sure I knew I’d made a mess of things. It’s been a scarlet letter I’ve been branded with since.
I was esctatic ecstatic the day my mom first told me I was going to have a baby brother. I didn’t think at eleven-years-old I would have a sibling. My mom was happy, too, I could hear it in her voice, but there was a sadness in her also. I could see it in her eyes. It was weird, and she’s been sad ever since. Now, I can only assume it’s because Jesse toggles the spectrum, but shouldn’t a mother love her son unconditionally, like I love him?
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