The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Hannah pulls her knees into her chest, hugging her arms around her ankles. “I’ve been thinking a lot since you took me to the cemetery a few weeks ago.”

  I don’t like her statement. It makes my insides ache with numbness.

  “What do you mean? What have you been thinking about?”

  “You, Dad. You’ve spent my entire life worrying about me when you’ve been carrying around this burden. It took you seventeen years to talk to me about it, and the fact that it’s still in your thoughts means you live with it all the time, right?”

  “Some things never leave you, kiddo. Memories become scars, and hard life lessons become repetitive nightmares. It makes us who we are, I guess. The more we survive, the stronger we are, and the stronger we are, the more we can help others around us. It’s how I see things.”

  “But no one helped you through this,” she says.

  “That’s not true,” I correct her.

  “No one talks about it. No one seems to know about it. There are rumors that you were a troublemaker between the ages of twelve and seventeen or something, and I don’t know where those rumors even came from,” Hannah says.

  This town is too damn small. “I don’t know where the age of twelve came into play because nothing happened until I was sixteen, but you know how rumors start. Uncle Brett plays along with the rumor to spite me, but he knows the truth, and so do Grandma and Grandpa. Grammy Quinn knows. Journey knows, and you know. I don’t think anyone else needs to know.”

  Hannah shrugs as if she’s debating whether she feels the same way. “But, you’re the only one who still suffers.”

  “I don’t suffer,” I correct her.

  “I know you better than anyone in the entire world, Dad, the same way you know me. You’re able to mask your pain better than me, so most people don't know the truth, but I do.”

  I wrap my arm around her, squeezing her into my side. “I don’t know when you became so mature or smart, but I love this side of you, Hannah.”

  “You know, when I decided to stop seeing Mom and the dust settled after the court case, I did something that made me feel better. I don’t think anyone will ever understand why it made me feel better, but it worked.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, staring out into the stars reflecting over the water.

  “I took a picture of Mom pulling out of the driveway when she moved out. I used that bulky polaroid camera I begged for on my eighth birthday. As I got older, I pulled out the photo from time to time and wondered if I was too hard on her, but in the end, it reminded me why I had a right to be angry at her.”

  “I had no idea,” I say. For someone who has been going through my daughter’s room for as long as I can remember, how did I miss this photo? Clearly, she doesn’t get her forensic skills from me.

  “Anyway, when the custody change was made and I knew Mom was just as satisfied with the outcome, I needed to do something so I didn’t have to be reminded of her. I lit the hone on fire in the backyard."

  “You were playing with matches at fifteen?”

  “Dad.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, I watched it burn, and as the photo turned into dust, so did some of the pain.”

  “How did you come up with that idea?” I ask her.

  “Well, my therapist said I should write her a note, then throw it away, but it didn’t seem like enough at the time, so I took it a step further.”

  “Of course you did. You’re Hannah Pearson, you always take everything a step further,” I say, nudging her in the side.

  She rests her head on my shoulder. “I think maybe you should do something like that. It might give you some peace.” I don’t know how she knows that Pete’s death weighs heavily on me, but she seems far more intuitive than I’ve given her credit for.”

  “I’m not sure where any of our old photos are, to be honest.”

  “Check your pocket,” Hannah says.

  I reach into my coat pocket and run my fingers across a rigid piece of plastic. I wrap my fingers around it and pull it out, then uncurl my fingers to confirm what’s in my hand.

  My fingers fold back over the pager and lean back into my elbows. “Journey knew about tonight, didn’t she?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I know what a pager is?” Hannah asks.

  “No,” I say with a laugh.

  “It was my idea. I told her what I just told you. Then she pulled this out from your nightstand and slid it in your coat pocket this morning when I was leaving for school.”

  “You two are ganging up on me, and I don’t know if I like it,” I say.

  “Soon enough, Isla will be old enough to join us, and then you’re kind of screwed,” she says.

  “You’re telling me.” I look at the pager again, realizing I haven’t touched this thing in years.

  “Keeping that useless thing is a reminder of what happened, isn’t it?” Hannah asks.

  “It’s all I have as a reminder,” I reply.

  “You just told me your memories are scars, although not all scars are bad, right? Some are pretty cool if you did something wild to earn them.”

  “I don’t like hearing you talk like that. No scars for you.”

  “Ugh, you’re ruining the point of my lecture.”

  “And now you’re lecturing me. I thought I was the parent?”

  “You are, and this is the part where you teach me that objects aren’t memories—they’re reminders of a moment in time. This wasn’t a good moment in time for you.”

  Words like Hannah’s have never been spoken to me, not by a therapist, Mom, Dad, or Journey, yet it makes more sense to me than any piece of advice I’ve received over the years. If I let this object holding the bad memories go, I can focus on the good stuff. I get it. It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t figure this out myself. It’s ridiculous that I’ve held onto this damn dead pager all these years. The last numbers to scroll across the top were 9-1-1. I turned it off and never turned it back on after that night. It’s been like a black hole sitting in my nightstand drawer all these years.

  I sit up straight and look over at Hannah. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I say, repeating the words she told me a few weeks ago at the cemetery. I chuck the pager as far as I can into the center of the bay, letting the past go, and I immediately sense a weight lifting off my shoulders.

  Hannah was right.

  * * *

  23

  There isn’t a pause button, and I’ve been desperately looking for one for years. My grandmother always told me that the older we get, the faster life flies by, and it’s important not to take a single moment for granted. I’ve tried to live by this advice, but sometimes I stop and wonder how I’ve ended up where I am—how many different paths had to cross at just the right spot to bring me to this place I’m standing. More importantly, why did I land here in this particular spot—why am I so lucky?

  It’s about eighty degrees. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and we got third-row seats. Journey’s knees are bouncing faster than mine, but maybe it’s to keep Isla from shrieking at whatever sparks her attention. The little one likes the sound of her voice and would like everyone else to enjoy it as well. I’m almost positive she’s destined for Broadway. She’s not even two and walks around like her life is a musical.

  I don’t remember if Hannah ever had days of sunshine radiating out of her eyes as if she only sees rainbows, cupcakes, and unicorns, but I know we’re past the days of everything being shitty or sucking. Thankfully.

  “They were supposed to start five minutes ago. The kids are probably sweating to death up there.”

  “Yeah, I wonder what’s holding them up?”

  “Birds!” Isla screams, pointing into the sky.

  “Shh,” Journey and I hush her. “It’s sissy’s big day. You have to keep quiet.”

  “But there are birds!” she screams again.

  The parents around us are stifling their laughs. It’s hard to get m
ad at a little girl in a flowered sundress with two fire-engine red curly pigtails.

  “You’re nervous,” Journey mutters to me.

  “No, I’m not. There’s nothing to be nervous about,” I reply.

  “I can see it in your face,” she continues. “She’s not going to trip and fall.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry we’re late,” Brett says, climbing over my legs.

  “I’ll move,” I tell him. We were able to save the row, thankfully.

  “It’s fine, don’t get up,” he says, being obnoxious.

  Once Brett has moved by us, I stand up to let Melody, the kids, and Mom and Dad by. I get four kisses on the cheek and a slap on the back. “I’m proud of you, son. Look what you did?” Dad says.

  “I didn’t do this. She did,” I reply.

  Dad isn’t concerned with blocking anyone’s view behind us, especially since nothing has started yet, but he grabs me by the shoulders. “Look at me, Brody,” he says. “You … you did this. Be proud of yourself and her. I’m damn proud of you, son.”

  I’m trying to keep my emotions in check. God help me if I leak a tear today. Hannah will not talk to me for a year. Thank goodness for sunglasses. That child has torn away my ability to turn my emotions off since the day she was born.

  Just as we’re all seated, the principal makes his way to the podium to announce this graduating class. I’m about to have a high school graduate. It doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only yesterday, I was standing where she is now.

  The principal goes on and on about the unique qualities of Hannah’s graduating class, dragging out the ceremony just long enough to make my heart start racing. It’s bad enough our last name begins with a P, and I have to wait until three-quarters of the alphabet is finished before it’s Hannah’s turn.“I’d like to introduce this year's valedictorian. With a straight-A grade average and the leader of several community projects and secretary of this graduating class, I would like to introduce to you, Hannah Pearson—a young woman who has shown continued growth in all paths of her high school career. We couldn’t be prouder of Hannah as she sets off for Brown University in the fall to begin her journey toward a degree in child psychology. At the risk of repeating myself, Hannah, keep reaching for the stars.”

  I’m not sure if my heart has stopped, I’m hearing things, or I’ve lost my mind, but Hannah never mentioned a word about being this year’s valedictorian. I’m baffled, shocked, star-struck if that’s the right way to describe my feelings.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t she tell us?”

  “Hannah?”

  “Oh my God.”

  The row of my family members clearly feel the same way as they mutter the same questions and thoughts going through my head. My Hannah is the valedictorian.

  “You did this,” I hear Dad mutter again.

  Hannah elegantly walks up onto the platform, her long caramel waves bouncing against the navy blue gown. Her eyes are bright—happy, and her teeth are glowing white from the pink shade of lipstick she chose. Hannah reaches the podium and shakes the principal’s hand before adjusting the microphone. She stares directly at me because she knows I’m in shock, and I believe she’s enjoying this moment by the smirk on her face.

  “Good morning, parents, families, and friends of our graduating class,” she begins. “I’m Hannah Pearson, and I was honored by the invitation to be this year’s class valedictorian. I’ve never been big on public speaking, but this opportunity only comes around once in a lifetime, so I decided to get over my stage fright for this occasion. In doing so, I decided to add an element of surprise to my loving family sitting over there in the third row. You see, I failed to mention the part I would play in my high school graduation. So, surprise!” she squeaks, throwing us a wave. Journey’s nails are puncturing the material of my dress pants as she squeezes her hand around my knee.

  “How did we not know?” she whispers.

  I can’t find the words to respond to Journey, so I continue to stare at Hannah’s relaxed expression as she glances down at her notes. “I’m not sure I’m your typical valedictorian. I’ve accomplished different challenges and met unique expectations along the path of my high school career. Classes came easily to me, making me feel very fortunate. But I’ve struggled with other areas of my life. Everybody has something that’s not easy, but I was always grateful for the distraction of my schoolwork. Never experiencing the anxiety of falling behind or struggling to keep up gave me the time I needed to deal with other things … important things. With that being said, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. I am not an athlete by any means, but I am surrounded by some of the best athletes in this state—several them received full scholarships to the universities of their choice. Some of my other fellow classmates initiated projects that would feed entire villages in third world countries by forming non-profit organizations to raise awareness and money. There are at least a dozen fully fledged entrepreneurs who have already secured six-figure salaries by utilizing their technology skills to create start-up companies, which in turn, attracted interested investors. We haven’t even graduated high school yet, but we’ve succeeded in our own unique ways. It isn’t that we haven’t experienced failure, but isn’t that how you learn? When we fell down, we brushed ourselves off and got back up again.

  As for myself, I haven’t chosen a career path yet. I didn’t receive a full scholarship to Brown University, nor have I found a way to save the world. Over the past four years, I have struggled with depression, anxiety, bi-polar disorder, and panic disorder. At first, the doctors thought it was clinical depression, which is not to be taken lightly. I was treated with a low dose antidepressants, which took the edge off my symptoms, but it wasn’t until the beginning of this school year when my dad found a doctor in Boston to take a closer look at my condition that I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. This chemical imbalance comes with a whole host of symptoms that vary from person to person and make it more challenging to diagnose and treat.” My heart hurts. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, and I’m sweating profusely. Hannah never had this kind of confidence to speak up. Everything has changed for her this year. It’s like a prison-cell door was opened, and she was finally released into this beautiful world with open arms.

  “My heart might explode,” Journey says.

  “You were the one who found the doctor,” I tell her.

  “We found the doctor, Brody. We searched high and low. Don’t give me credit,” Journey whispers.

  “This doctor came up with a treatment plan for me,” Hannah says. “It wasn’t just a prescription or three. It was more. There was therapy and hard work involved. There were moments of highs and lows—which is the definition of bi-polar disorder, but after six months of giving the treatment everything I had, I am now looking forward to my life, feeling like I have the tools to handle anything that’s thrown at me. I can grow and finally be the person I’ve always wanted to be, and it’s because of my family—my family who never gave up on me; my dad for hovering, my step-mom—mom who stepped in and became a mother when I needed one more than anything, my grandparents, uncle, aunt, cousins, and even my noisy, baby sister who is literally a walking bundle of energy.

  My life came together for me this year, and today I get to tie a ribbon around everything I have and seal the box that contains the pieces of my past, which in turn creates a future full of opportunity. So, no. I’m not a typical valedictorian, but I’m happy to speak on behalf of my class when I say it’s okay to be different and to have our own strengths and weaknesses. Life would be boring if we were all the same. We started out as a bunch of kids four years ago, and we learned and grew by sharing ideas, hopes, and dreams. Now look at us. We made it to the finish line, ready to venture out into a new world to see what’s waiting for us, and I couldn’t be more proud to be a part of this class. Thank you all for joining us on the momentous occasion today, and congratulations to us!“She called me Mom,” Journey says, quietly gasping for ai
r.

  There isn’t a dry eye in my row, including my own. I feel like I’ve been thrown into the sky, and I’m free-falling into a world I didn’t know existed. Hannah’s world. A world she has created and will take on by herself. I didn’t know what we had accomplished until today. Life happens as each day passes, and it blurs together, day after day, but when the big picture presents itself, it’s clear. She has made it clear.

  We’re all clutching our chests, staring with awe, left without words. The principal is pressing a handkerchief against his eyes as he retakes the podium. “And this is why we chose Hannah Pearson to be this year’s class valedictorian. Success isn’t black and white. It’s always somewhere in between, as this class has proven.

  The minutes between the principal's final words and the list of names being read out loud become a blur until I hear “Hannah Pearson,” called. I watch my little girl walk across the stage with a beaming smile as she shakes the principal's hand and receives her diploma, amongst the sound of roaring applause.

  Then, there’s a moment for me. Just me. She looks over and winks as she flips her tassel from one side of her cap to the other, then mouths the words, “Thank you, Dad.”

  The last few names are called, and the entire class is standing together on the platform, holding their diplomas proudly. “Congratulations to this incredible graduating class. You did it!” the principal announces.

  The caps are thrown into the air, hoots of laughter and cheer fill the air, and I’m completely lost in the moment of the world spinning around me. I didn’t think I was capable of bringing her this far. I doubted myself so many times. It’s hard to take credit.

  Arms swing around my neck as my little girl who isn’t so little anymore jumps on top of me. “I love you, daddy,” she says.

  “I am so proud of you,” I whisper in her ear. “I wish I had the words to explain how I fell right now.”