by Penny Reid
“Janie decided we should fly down today and surprise you.” Quinn’s voice was completely flat, which told me he didn’t agree with his wife’s highhanded approach.
“I know you don’t like surprises, but I’m not sorry.” Janie shook her head, her lips pressed into a flat line. “I wanted to see you. I haven’t been getting much sleep, and breastfeeding has been pretty hit and miss for me, so I might be making selfish decisions right now.”
For the first time since they arrived, Quinn’s stoic façade broke and the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
Janie turned to me. “There is no consensus regarding whether or not sleep deprivation falls under the Geneva Convention as a form of torture. But if it did, our son would be guilty of it.”
* * *
I ended up staying longer than I intended. Shelly was acting funny and I worried about her. Neither Quinn nor Janie had offered to let her hold Desmond, but I caught her looking at the baby a few times with unconcealed longing.
It was giving me heartburn.
However, I had an idea, and that’s why I stayed. Shelly had told me weeks ago that her brother didn’t know about her diagnosis, nor did he understand the nature of her touch aversion. He likely thought she didn’t like to be touched, period.
If I could get Quinn alone for a minute, I thought I could explain how Shelly had difficulty initiating touch, but if the baby touched her first, then she’d be able to hold him. Or, if Quinn touched her first, she’d be able to give her brother a hug.
I kept looking for an opportunity to act on my idea, but no such opportunity presented itself. And this was because every single second was predicated in tension.
Tension between Quinn and Shelly, Quinn and me, Quinn and Janie. The man was angry, it was easy to see. But more than that, he was frustrated.
When he’d move close to his sister, she’d recoil. Now I knew Shelly did this because she didn’t want to accidentally touch him. Or touch Desmond when Quinn was holding him. But her shrinking away only increased his exasperation.
For her part, Shelly seemed to be picking up on Quinn’s mood and I spotted her pressing her thumbnail into her wrist. And that made me tense. Plus, I got the sense she was trying to build her courage, endeavoring to talk herself into doing something important.
I wanted to be there for her, hold her tools and whatnot, but I was at a loss for what to do. So I stayed, trying to lighten the mood when I could.
“I’ve been watching a lot of documentaries about breakthroughs in medical science since I’ve been home with Desmond,” Janie said cheerfully, her voice softer now that Desmond was asleep in her arms. “Did you know Paul Winchell, the voice of Tigger in The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, also invented an artificial heart?”
We were presently sitting at the kitchen table. I’d split Shelly’s pancakes with her and Janie had insisted I try her Italian beef. Glancing around the table, I realized I was the only one who’d eaten.
“And ketchup was sold as medicine in the eighteen hundreds.” Janie gave me a little smile. “Which, I guess if you think about it, is safer than bleed—”
“I have to tell you something,” Shelly blurted, pushing her plate away and covering her face with her hands.
Quinn glanced at his wife, then to his sister. “What?”
“I did something terrible to you.” Shelly straightened in her seat, giving her eyes to her brother. “And Mom and Dad.”
“What are you talking about?” Quinn made a face. “Is this about hugging?”
“No. After Des died, I didn’t go to the funeral. I was in Chicago.”
“I know.” He shrugged, like this was all in the past and he wanted to leave it there. “I was at the funeral.”
“Yes. You were. And Mom yelled at you, said you were responsible for Des’s death, remember?”
Quinn’s eyes darted to me, then back to his sister. “Do we need to discuss this now?”
“Yes. We do. Because I’m having a moment of clarity, and I don’t know how long it’ll last.” Her chin started to wobble, but she stopped it.
“I’ll go.” I stood to leave, to give them some privacy.
But Shelly looked to me and in her eyes I saw her begging me to stay. “You should hear this too, so you know what I’m like.”
“What you were like,” Janie corrected softly. “You’ve changed, Shelly. You’re so different. You offered me coffee and took my bag when we came in.”
“I need to say this.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head quickly. “I lied to you, Quinn. After the funeral, a few weeks after, Mom called me and asked me to get in touch with you. She asked me to help them; she wanted to apologize. And I told her that you didn’t want to talk to her and that you couldn’t forgive her.”
Quinn blinked, like he was startled. His gaze of confusion swiftly became a glare ripe with accusation, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, thick with anger.
“Why did you do that?”
She opened her eyes again and met his squarely, her voice firm. “Because I was a coward. I was selfish and a coward. You finally moved to Chicago after the funeral, after what happened. And I wasn’t afraid anymore. You were like a bridge for me, an escape, a way for me to survive. I was worried that if you talked to Mom, you’d move back to Boston, and I’d be alone.”
“So you lied to me?”
“Yes.”
“And you lied to Mom? And Dad?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were glassy, but she didn’t cry.
“That kept us apart for years. Years.”
“I know.”
“I thought they didn’t want anything to do with me. I thought—” He stopped himself, his gaze growing unfocused, like he was remembering the years away from his parents. As though suddenly realizing something, he brought his wide stare back to his sister. “They thought I hated them?”
“Yes, it was my fault. And I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” He said the words like they strangled him.
“I’m so sorry.” She kept her eyes on him, absorbing his anger.
He stood suddenly, turning away from his sister and pacing to the fridge. “I can’t believe this.”
I held perfectly still, hoping that if I didn’t move, he would forget I was in the room, witnessing this deeply personal family moment.
He paced back to the table, his tone lethally calm while his eyes flashed. “You are so selfish. So fucking selfish.”
“I know.” She nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth. Taking it.
Watching this unfold was hard, maybe just as hard as watching her face her fears with Dr. West. Quinn hadn’t crossed any lines. His anger was justified. But it was clear he didn’t understand the nature of her disorder.
And it was also clear she had no plans to tell him. At least, not yet. It’s as though Shelly believes she deserves his wrath, his . . . hatred and dismissal.
“You wanted me in Chicago, but you didn’t bother to stay in the city. We had breakfast barely once a week for years, and that’s the only time I saw you. You never stayed. You never came when I needed you, when I needed family. I was on my own. But you wanted me in Chicago, not Boston.”
She dropped her eyes then, and they fell to the table. The urge to go to her was unbearable, to hold her, to take this pain from her. But it wasn’t mine to take.
This was her refrigerator.
“We had pancakes for twenty minutes, and then you had to go. I can’t remember the last time we hugged. Why the hell did you want me in Chicago?”
Her voice was meek, quiet as she said, “I loved you. I wanted—”
“No. Not a good reason. You don’t treat someone you love like that.”
She closed her eyes, nodding again. “No. You don’t. I was wrong. I was manipulative and wrong. And I wish I could go back and be better—for you and for Mom and Dad—but I can’t.” Lifting her chin, she opened her eyes and met her brother’s glare. “I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I�
��”
“Oh no. No, no, no. I’m going to forgive you.” He said this like it was a threat. “You don’t get off that easily.”
32
“When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.”
― Mark Twain, Notebook
* * *
*Beau*
Her brow drew together as she studied her brother. “You forgive me?”
“Not yet. I’m going to be angry for a while. Really, really pissed.”
Janie nodded at that, like she was mentally preparing for what it meant when Quinn was really, really pissed. Other than visible displays of concern for both Quinn and Shelly’s feelings, she didn’t seem too worried about him being pissed.
She didn’t seem afraid or alarmed, like he might take his anger out on her.
If it had been my father, my mother would have hidden all us kids.
But not Quinn.
No.
Quinn was a good guy, it was easy to see that now, even though he was angry. Actually, this moment made me realize I could tell a lot about a person’s character when they were angry. Quinn’s character was serious as shit, reserved, and honorable.
“And you’re going to make it up to me.” He pointed at his sister, his eyes a little wild. “You’re going to come to Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And you’re going to stay with us through New Year’s and we’re going to exchange gifts, so that means you have to go shopping.” He was quick to add, “No online shopping. You have to go to a store.”
Shelly made a face that was something between a grimace, a chin wobble, and a smile. “Quinn—”
“Mom and Dad will be there at Christmas, so get ready to tell them what you just told me.”
Now her face was all grimace but she nodded. “Okay. Okay, I will.”
My heart hurt for her, at the thought she’d have to do this all over again. But in the end, it would be worth it. In the end, she’d be stronger and she’d have stitched her family back together.
“And I want a portrait of Desmond,” Janie put in, glancing between brother and sister. When they just looked at her silently, she explained to Quinn, “I just figure, while we’re making demands, we should get her to paint a portrait. Right?”
Quinn stared at Janie, like he couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth.
But then Janie pointed to Quinn and snapped her fingers. “No. We want a family portrait. A nice one. Not any of that cubist garbage.”
I had to press my lips into a line to keep from grinning at her tangent.
Meanwhile, Shelly’s eyes shone with guilt as she watched her brother. And he continued glaring at her, as though trying to devise additional ways to torture his sister.
Abruptly, he said, “And we want you to be Desmond’s godmother.”
She stiffened, her lips parting in shock. “I don’t—”
“You’re going to do it.”
Shelly looked like she was struggling to swallow and her eyes—large with fear—came to mine. Help me, they said. Help me, please.
I cleared my throat, my gaze shifting from Shelly’s to Quinn’s to Janie’s, then back to Shelly’s.
“So, I have an idea,” I said to Shelly, giving her a small, encouraging smile.
Then I turned to Janie. “Can I hold Desmond, please?”
Janie frowned at me suddenly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Don’t wake him up.”
Not the resounding endorsement I’d been hoping for, but I’d take it.
“I’m good with babies. They love me.” I slipped my hand under his sleeping head, supporting the infant’s body with my forearm. Then I brought the little tyke to my chest. Damn, he was cute.
Standing, I gently swayed as I walked to where Shelly sat, watching me with dawning horror.
“No. No. This is a bad idea. Please, please, Beau. No.” She shrank from me, her gaze growing wild.
“Shh,” I hushed her and the baby, who’d stirred at the tension in his aunt’s voice. “Stand up, Shelly.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, her chin wobbling again. “You know I can’t.”
Quinn took a step toward us. “What are you doing?”
I ignored him, and kept my eyes on her, my voice low and soothing. “Trust me, just stand up.” You love me. Trust me.
Gathering a deep breath, she stood stiffly, biting down on her bottom lip and watching me as though she expected betrayal.
“Put your hand out, please.”
She hesitated, glancing from me to Desmond, but then she put her hand out.
I took the baby’s tiny fist, inserted my index finger into it, then placed his little hand in Shelly’s.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to mine and then back to her nephew, her features softening with comprehension.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears. She couldn’t catch them before they spilled over her cheeks.
“Have him hold your finger.”
She did, very gently. The entirety of her focus on the little man in my arms, she slipped her finger into his grip.
Ensuring Desmond’s hand never left hers, I shifted his weight back to my forearm and then finally into her hold. She sucked in a ragged breath, her eyes overflowing with wonder as she sat back down in her seat.
“Hello, Desmond,” she whispered through her tears, smiling widely at his sleeping face, then kissed his little nose. “Hello, I’m your aunt.”
The baby sighed, stretched, and then tucked his fists under his chin, bringing her finger with him. And now I wanted to add another photo to my Faces of Shelly file. Reverence.
At some point Quinn had come to stand next to me, the look on his face told me he didn’t know what to think; shocked and concerned seemed to war with happy amazement.
I grinned, thoroughly enjoying the big guy’s confusion. “Hey there, Papa bear. Looks like you have yourself a godmother.”
Janie also stood and walked around the table to us.
Slipping her hand in the crook of Quinn’s elbow, she said, “Actually, bears make the worst fathers. They eat their young. Or, to be more accurate, they eat bear cubs that might be their young.” She lifted her chin, gazing at her husband with a happy smile on her face, the look so completely at odds with the words coming out of her mouth. “Some biologists think they do this to regulate the size of the bear population. Others hypothesize—since females can have litters of mixed paternity—males kill cubs so a female will come back into estrus and he can impregnate her again. You know, to better ensure passing on his genes.”
Quinn didn’t seem to hear his wife. Or, if he did, her grizzly facts didn’t faze him. Pun intended.
“The best dads in the animal kingdom are red foxes.” Janie brought her eyes to mine, giving me a smile.
“Red foxes, huh?” I got the sense she was trying to communicate more than just facts about the childrearing habits of mammals.
“That’s right.” Her grin widened and she lifted a meaningful eyebrow. “Red foxes make the best parents. And the best mates.”
* * *
The rehearsal was set to take place at the Oliver Chapel in Cades Cove. It was a rustic building, built in the eighteen hundreds, part of the national park, and never used for outside events. But Sienna—being a movie star—and Jethro—being a park ranger and a direct descendant of the Olivers—were able to pull a few strings so they could use it for the wedding.
I arrived five minutes before the appointed time and took my place as a groomsman along with the rest of my brothers. The whole ordeal took about an hour and a half, and mostly we just stood around. It would be a full Catholic Mass, with a bishop or a cardinal or a rook or something like that doing half the heavy lifting. Reverend Seymour would be doing the other half.
It seemed like a good compromise, including both religions. But logistically, getting all the kinks worked out so both would get equal showtime, it took a while.
When we were mostly done, and Sienna’s momma was talking
over the final details with the officiants, Jethro drifted to where Drew, Billy, Duane, Roscoe and I were gathered. We were in a circle across the room from Cletus, giving him dirty looks.
“We’re still mad, right?” Roscoe asked.
“We are,” Jethro confirmed. Then to me, he lifted his chin. “Where have you been?”
“What are you talking about? I was here the whole time.”
“But you were gone all day.”
I brought my hands to my hips, peering at my brother. “Yeah, sorry about that. Something came up.”
“Does this have anything to do with a certain lady mechanic?” Billy asked. His mouth wasn’t smirking, but his voice was.
“Yes.” I pulled my hand through my hair, too tired to hide the fact that I was tired. “Her brother, and his wife and baby came into town unexpectedly this morning. I’ve been over there.”
Drew perked up at this news. “Quinn is in town?”
“He is.” I eyeballed Drew, curious about how well he knew Quinn and whether or not he could help me win the big guy over.
I’d left Shelly with her family and things had been good just before I drove off. Janie was on the floor doing tummy time with Desmond while Shelly and Quinn went to her Quonset hut to look at the statues. But I believed the good was tenuous. Shelly didn’t seem ready to explain the details of her disorder to her brother.
But it was her refrigerator, so that was that.
“Will they be around tomorrow?” Jethro glanced between Drew and me. “They should come to the wedding.”
“I can ask.”
“Go ahead, call them now.” Jethro pointed in the direction of my back pocket. “I know Ashley would like to see Janie.”
“I can try to call her landline. Shelly doesn’t have a cell and I don’t know Quinn’s number.”
“Shelly doesn’t have a cell phone?” Roscoe crossed his arms. “How does she survive?”
“Air, food, and shelter, I suspect.” Billy sent our youngest brother a dry look, making Jethro laugh.
