“You’ve absolutely nailed him,” Harriet said.
For the next fifteen minutes, Cara listened to Harriet recount her less-than-happy tenure working with Bruce Colyard.
“The only reason the man hired me was because I had experience with state audits and he knew that Fuzzy Davenport was in the crosshairs. I appreciate that he recognized my experience, but I never felt he valued me beyond that. I had to work hard to get my own clients other than the few boring collections cases or traffic tickets he dumped on me. Eventually I developed a really good divorce practice, but no thanks to him. And he rarely if ever acknowledged my hard work in developing a client base for the firm.”
“I remember him mostly from when I was in private practice doing probate work myself,” Cara said. “We ended up on several cases opposite each other. I can’t say I look back wistfully at those experiences.”
“Meaning?” asked Hannah.
“Much like Harriet has reported, I never thought he had much respect for me as an attorney, and that was directly tied to me being a woman. Did he treat Jon differently than you?”
Harriet confirmed that he did and gave a few examples of where Jon got better cases and thus better fees.
“He’d always claim that Jon had more experience in whatever it was, but it was such a crock. Jon liked the money well enough, but I know that the favoritism embarrassed him.”
“So what does this mean for the campaign?” Cara asked.
Harriet popped the last bite of her bagel into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Easy. Wait for him to do something stupid.”
“Wait for something that may not happen?”
“Oh, it will happen,” Harriet confirmed.
As she did so, Cara silently remarked to herself how very different Harriet seemed than her husband, Goose. The lady and the rowdy guy. Cara remembered Goose from his wilder days as a deputy sheriff and then city police officer. When she’d originally heard from CiCi (of course) that Harriet was dating him, she first thought it was a joke. Yet they seemed quite happy; she’d heard a description of their unique wedding from Jorrie.
And upon thinking about that little tale, she immediately became sad. Because apparently she wasn’t going to have one of those anytime soon.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” Hannah asked.
Cara blinked, pulled back into the present. “Sorry, what?”
“We just asked if you wanted to take a few Applejack Garnets for yourself and Drake.”
She’d never thought the mention of what was essentially boozy milkshake would reduce her to tears, but it did. No sooner than Drake’s name had left Harriet’s mouth, Cara began to cry.
Harriet leapt from her seat and snatched a box of tissues from the coffee service table as Hannah put an arm around Cara’s shoulders.
She was blubbering but coherent enough to convey the misery of her situation although not the specifics. It had been so long since a man had made her cry—and she never thought Drake Mercer would make her do it.
After a minute, she emerged from her weeping into a shaky, teary state with Harriet and Hannah giving her vague reassurances.
“You tell me if this is too personal, but since we’re here about it, I’ll ask. Did what happen have anything to do with the campaign?” Hannah asked.
Cara nodded. “He… he… got tired of waiting on the judicial complaint. And—we fought about it.” No way was she going to reveal Drake’s proposal and her angry rejection.
“Maybe it’s just a temporary thing,” Harriet tried to reassure her. “Some men do have a lot of patience… more than we ever realize.”
“Well, he wasn’t very patient on Thanksgiving,” Cara said in a raspy voice, dabbing at her eyes. “That damn complaint.”
“I guess I understood why you two kept your distance until you got the appointment. But do you really need to keep it up?”
“Yes, because I want to keep my seat. And you just told me what an asshole Bruce Colyard can be. Sounds like he’d be the first one to use the pending complaint against me.”
“Indeed he would.” Harriet agreed.
“So what do you do in the meantime?” asked Hannah.
“Be miserable.” Cara sniffed.
“So we still can’t tempt you with an Applejack Garnet?” Harriet asked tentatively.
Cara shook her head.
“Well, you’re not leaving here empty-handed,” declared Hannah. She pushed away from the table and rose from her chair. “If an Applejack is too full of memories, how about a pint or two of Cinnamon Garnet? We’ve got plenty in the café. And don’t worry, Harriet. I won’t tell your husband we’re giving his babies away.”
Hannah turned toward the door and didn’t see Harriet’s cheeks turn a deep red and smile as her mouth dropped open slightly. Cara caught her eye, but Harriet put her forefinger to her lips and shook her head. Cara smiled, nodded in understanding, and winked at her.
“Follow me to the café, and I’ll get you a few pints,” promised Hannah as she exited the conference room.
Cara asked to meet her back in the lobby, saying she needed to go to the restroom, as did Harriet. Hannah understood and said she’d probably return by the time the bathroom break was over, then trotted out of sight.
“Don’t tell a soul,” Harriet implored as the two reached the bathroom door. She looked over her shoulder as they entered, almost like she was expecting Hannah to be following them.
“No worries there,” Cara promised, thinking about a very similar conversation she’d had with CiCi not too long ago. What was the deal with the women of Old Garnet lately? “You feeling well?”
“Yes, great. But it’s still early. I’m less than two months along.”
Cara did the math and figured that Harriet and Goose would become parents, if all went well, in summer the following year, perhaps around the same time with CiCi and Walker. “So the Davenport cousins will be expanding their playgroup,” she said as the door closed behind them.
“We can’t wait,” enthused Harriet. They were standing before the sinks. “I don’t know whether I’ve ever seen Goose so happy.”
After exiting the bathroom, Harriet and Cara migrated to the center of the lobby and took seats on one of the large couches adjacent to the bourbon flavor wheel.
“We’re not telling yet because we’re not ready. Miscarriage risk and all that.”
“Going to tell in a few more weeks?”
“As soon as that danger has passed, yes. But I’m not sure I can count on Goose to keep his mouth shut until then. Or keep his plans under wraps. He wants to start building onto our house! It’s small, and we will need more room. But everyone will know something’s afoot if he starts building in the middle of winter.”
Hannah came striding toward them with a large white paper bag, and Cara and Harriet stood to greet her.
Cara was astonished as Hannah thrust the large bag into her hands.
“What on earth do you have in here?” she asked, looking down into the sack.
“A few pints of Cinnamon and Blackberry Garnet, plus two Applejacks. I say they’re too good to make you unhappy.”
Cara nodded and thanked her, then turned to Harriet. “You want any of this?” she offered, shaking the bag in her direction.
“Oh, no, I can’t—I mean—I have plenty of that at home. And I can get an Applejack here anytime I want one since I’m on the grounds every day of my life since I live here.”
Hannah was about to make a remark when her phone rang. Taking the call, she immediately fell into a snit.
“And just why do I have to go out to the bottling house?” she demanded.
“Must be Bo,” Harriet said to Cara under her breath.
“You don’t what? You don’t want to hurt their feelings?” Hannah asked, incredulous. “So I’m supposed to be the bad cop for you?” After a pause, Hannah acquiesced and ended the call. “I remember a time when Bo didn’t give a damn if he hurt someone’s feelings, but now he’s Mr. Sensiti
ve.” Hannah gave Cara a hug. “Don’t be a stranger. And don’t fret so much. Think it out, talk it out. And then work it out,” she admonished her before hastily leaving and heading out of the lobby toward her office.
“She’s right, you know,” Harriet said as they watched Hannah’s retreating form. “As usual. There was a time after Goose and I got together when we broke up. And I thought it was over. But, happily and obviously, it wasn’t,” she said, glancing down at the bourbon flavor wheel.
“How did you get through it?”
“Forgiveness.”
“Doesn’t sound so easy.”
Harriet’s eyes were still fixed on the floor. She slowly walked from where they stood at the edge of the slice marked cinnamon until she arrived at the center of the wheel, where the small red disc was at the hub. Cara followed her and looked down, and for the first time noticed the inscription on the red circle: uisce beatha.
The same words on the Old Garnet logo. Even though she wasn’t much of a bourbon drinker, Cara had lived in Bourbon Springs long enough to know that the words meant water of life in Gaelic.
“Now that I look back on it all,” Harriet said, her eyes still cast downward, “it seems stupidly easy. At the time, of course, it wasn’t. But that’s the benefit of hindsight. We learn, especially when we see what’s on the other side of the problems and resentments we seem to carry around with us.”
Harriet then looked away, almost as if she’d sensed something. Down the hall where some of the distillery offices were, Goose was emerging from the darkness into the tourist-and-light-filled lobby. He beamed at Harriet and gave a polite nod to Cara but quickly brought his eyes back to his wife, a man transfixed.
As was Harriet. She only had eyes for her husband.
Goose, wearing a bright red polo and jeans, strode into the middle of the space until he stood before his wife. After a perfunctory greeting to Cara, he kissed Harriet’s cheek and took her hand.
“And how are you two lovely ladies today?”
“She’s in the know,” Harriet said, saving Cara from feigning ignorance or talking about Drake.
“How did—”
“I blushed and grinned like crazy,” Harriet confessed. “She saw it, figured it out.”
“What made you blush so hard?” he asked.
“Hannah mentioned something about babies,” Cara explained.
Harriet shook her head in the face of her husband’s confusion. “Best not to ask.”
Cara gave the couple congratulations and left them standing together atop the bourbon flavor wheel. As she exited the building, she looked over her shoulder to see Goose putting his hand to his wife’s cheek and giving her a kiss on the lips.
Memories of the last time she’d kissed Drake came back to her, filling her with grief instead of joy. Cara ran to her car, hoping the tourists weren’t wondering why someone was running from the distillery in tears.
Cara stayed in bed late on Sunday morning, courtesy of Nate, who did not wake up until well after nine. She attributed his sleepiness to a lot of excitement over the past two days, including a long Thanksgiving and then spending most of the next day with Vera. So as she savored being a little bit lazy that morning, Cara silently thanked her mother for wearing out her son while she’d spent most of the morning at the distillery.
But her state of contentment didn’t last long.
It hit her that she probably wouldn’t need to prevail upon her mother anytime soon for babysitting services when it came to her personal life.
The only thing on her plate that day was she needed to go to the grocery store, ironically enough, because they actually needed some food in the house. Nonetheless, she welcomed the small excursion and called her mother from bed to confirm she could watch Nate for a few hours.
“No problem. I’ll come fetch him when you call.”
Cara pulled herself from bed, hoping she had enough time for a quick shower before her son woke. She did and even managed to make it into the kitchen to make herself some coffee before Nate’s sleepy-eyed appearance. She picked him up, hugged him tightly, and felt a rush of gratitude for his existence.
“Can we go see Drake?” Nate asked, his head on her shoulder.
“Why?” she asked back, completely unprepared for Nate’s question.
“I miss him.”
Her stomach clenched, and Cara’s only response was that she wasn’t sure when they’d see Drake again. She fixed Nate some cereal and sat sipping her coffee, feeling lonely and stupid. Why did she alternately feel angry and like a failure?
Because she couldn’t make up her mind.
She kept seeing the whole problem as Drake v. her career, when perhaps she needed to be looking at the bigger picture.
What made her happy?
The truth was that both things made her happy, in different ways. And perhaps she was looking at it as a zero-sum game, that she couldn’t have both things.
That was it.
That was her fear.
But being able to finally pinpoint it so accurately didn’t help her further down the road on solving the problem. There was that word again.
Problem. She hated it.
After breakfast and wrestling Nate into his clothes, her mother arrived to take charge of the tyke. But as Vera stood on the doorstep, a familiar vehicle appeared in the driveway.
“Were you expecting him?” Vera asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
Cara shook her head as she watched Drake get out of his vehicle, wave, and walk toward the door. Two kayaks were atop his vehicle, and he was in a dry suit, ready for action on the water.
Cara told Vera to come on inside, and her mother said she’d distract Nate in his room until Drake was gone. When Cara tried to protest—she was hoping for only a conversation with Drake on the doorstep—her mother ignored her and fetched Nate from the kitchen and hauled him down the hall.
“Cold day to get out on the creeks, isn’t it?” she asked him and then invited him inside.
“I need to get out on the water. Helps clear my mind. Although I might change into another dry suit out at the preserve,” he said, looking down. “I discovered a tear in this one as I was getting out of the Jeep.”
Cara urged him back into the house, and he followed to the family room where they stood awkwardly facing each other. She didn’t invite him to sit down, not wanting him to stay that long and not wanting to invite the intimacy of conversation.
“Sorry I didn’t call, but some things should be said in person,” he said in a rush.
Cara’s chest constricted with those words, and she wondered why he’d done her the honor—or dishonor—of coming back to her house to formally break it off.
“That sound pretty final,” she whispered.
“It wasn’t meant that way,” he said. “I came back to make sure you do understand that the offer stands. And if I’m making that offer again, I shouldn’t be standing.”
He dropped to one knee again in front of her and took her hand.
But right at that special point, the unmistakable pounding of little feet tearing down the hall echoed through the house, and Drake popped back up.
“Drake!” screamed Nate, rushing at the man and holding his arms out wide.
Drake scooped him up, hugging him tightly. “What are you doing, buddy?”
“I want to go to the creek. Will you take me?”
“Not today. Too cold for you,” Drake said.
Vera entered the room on Nate’s heels, full of apologies.
“Sorry, you two,” she said, taking a reluctant Nate from Drake’s arms. “I made the mistake of mentioning you were here, and he escaped. C’mon,” Vera said to her grandson, “Mommy and Drake need to talk.”
After the duo had disappeared back down the hall and the distinct click of a door being shut was heard, Drake again resumed his position to make his plea.
“Drake,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder as he took her hand.
“Please listen
to me, and please don’t talk,” he said in a rough voice. She was shocked to see that he was suddenly teary-eyed. Even though she knew he was proposing—again—she knew that her answer had the power to cause their permanent rupture.
“I want to marry you. And I understand you’re scared. I’m sorry for asking the way I did. Not my best moment.”
“Or mine,” she admitted, squeezing his hand.
“So I’m asking you again today, but I don’t want an answer right now.”
“What?”
“Because I’m afraid of the answer you might give me. I’m afraid you’ll say no or tell me to go to hell after what happened the other night, or I’ll get mad if I hear you say what I expect you to say—that you want to wait.”
She swallowed hard, knowing that was the response that had been on her lips.
“But understand this, Cara,” he said in a more determined tone. “I can’t go through this again—or at least much longer. As much as you won’t like to hear it, this is starting to feel too much like my experience with Selena.”
“Except that I do love you. There isn’t anyone else for me—”
“Please, no words, no arguments, just listen,” he said, now taking both her hands and finally standing. “I can’t keep up this strange situation we’re in and…”
Drake’s eyes wandered from her face.
“I— What is it?” she asked.
“Thought I saw a certain someone in the hall,” he said, still staring beyond her.
She indicated he should stay put and walked to the edge of the hallway. Seeing and hearing nothing, she returned to where Drake stood.
“When do you need an answer?”
“By the new year,” he said, giving her a lot more time than she’d expected. She understood that he was giving her time to think, which she appreciated.
And she also saw the symbolism of the deadline. New beginnings—either together or alone.
“I’m not Selena.” She couldn’t help herself from saying it. To be compared to that woman in any way was too much for her to stomach, and Cara could not stay silent.
“Then show me.”
He turned away and headed for the door.
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