Speakeasy

  Several women groan, because they just lost their chance to take my blue clothespin.

  I step aside to let others try their luck. “Zach, call me if I need to face off against any other perfect scores.”

  “Will do, man.”

  May has disappeared, and I’m left standing next to Griffin—the wrong Shipley, to be sure. “How’s business?” he asks me, as always. Is everyone waiting for me to fail?

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Giltmaker wants me to invest in their new venture,” he says. “Opening a brewpub.”

  Oh, fuck. “You’re kidding.”

  “Lyle says if I take a share, they’ll stock Shipley Cider exclusively.”

  Something goes wrong in my gut when I hear this. Because now I understand how this will play out. Griffin can’t afford to turn down that opportunity. Of course he’d want to align himself with one of the hottest breweries in Vermont.

  I’m just a middle man that they can shove aside. I’m so screwed. The big guys will just keep raking in the cash, while the little guys scamper around at their feet hoping for scraps.

  “You gonna do it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah. I’m not exactly rolling in cash right now, but I can probably scrape together the cash.”

  “Cool. Good luck,” I choke out. “Excuse me.” Feeling too grumpy for words, I make my escape. Or I try to. Zara’s house is more crowded than I would have thought possible. Ruth Shipley herds Audrey into the den to open some gifts, and I can’t seem to find May.

  Then I spot her near the beverage table. That would be no big deal, except some doofus in a Christmas sweater is making time with her. He’s wearing a big smile, which May returns politely.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t get any grumpier.

  Mr. Sweater does that thing where you touch her wrist as you make your point. Just a light touch, to let her know you’re into her. Then he follows that up with the quick palm to her elbow on his next punchline. My hands are available to touch your body.

  It’s sleazy. I know, because I’ve done it a million times.

  And now I’m seething. Benito is a cop, so I know murdering Mr. Sweater would be a poor life choice. But I’m still considering it.

  I must not be subtle, either, because May shoots me a weird look.

  Maybe it’s the clenched fists by my sides.

  Sweater Guy listens intently while May tells him a story. He’s staring at her like no other girl exists on the planet. He even leans in, as if to hear her better.

  In contrast, I’m the only guy in the room she won’t stand close to. And that’s why I’m feeling so irritable right now. What the fuck is so wrong with me that I’m a big secret?

  The Shipleys don’t pair up with the Rossis, I once told my heartbroken sister. That’s not how it works.

  The joke is on me now. It’s not like I forgot the rules. May and I aren’t supposed to be a real couple. But standing here, watching another dude give her the sneaky arm touch again, I’m unsettled. This is kind of a problem.

  I realize I’m falling for her.

  Fuck.

  Just as this thought settles into my thick head, the tool in the bright sweater leans forward and hugs her. And May wraps her arms around his neck and closes her eyes.

  And it splinters me. That hug should be mine.

  Man down! I’m officially a goner. I’ve just become one of those guys I used to mock—the kind who suddenly decide that spending an evening at home cuddling the girlfriend on the sofa is just as interesting as a night out with the guys. I’m whipped, apparently. And happy about it.

  So this is how the other half lives.

  Before I know it, I’ve already crossed the room to tap her on the shoulder. “Need anything?” I ask through a tight jaw. “A soda? I’m getting something for myself.”

  May and Sweater Guy break apart. And then they both look at me like I’m crazy. As do several other bystanders.

  “I don’t need a drink just now,” May says, giving me an icy look.

  “Well,” the guy says slowly. “It was good to see you, May. I’ll just…” The rest of the sentence is lost as he walks away and then exits the room.

  “What was that?” May hisses.

  “What was what?”

  Her eyes get huge. “The whole caveman thing.”

  “I just offered you a drink. That’s all.”

  May blinks. “You’re jealous.”

  “Maybe a little bit.” More like a metric shit ton. “Is that a problem?”

  “Can we not talk about this right here?”

  “But what’s wrong with right here?” I know I’m not a catch. But I don’t have Ebola, either.

  We stand there for a long minute glaring at each other. We don’t stop until something small crashes into my legs. The projectile turns out to be my niece, Nicole.

  I lean over to pick her up and spot Zara in hot pursuit. “She doesn’t want to go to bed.”

  “Book!” Nicole demands.

  “I’ll read you a book,” I say immediately. I should go tend bar, but Zara looks frazzled, and May is glaring at me. Nicole likes me more than the rest of the women in the room right now.

  “Would you?” Zara sighs. “I’ll give you free coffee tomorrow.”

  “Deal.”

  “Ack!” the little tyrant addresses me. “Mine,” she says, reaching for the clothespin on my shirt pocket.

  “Okay, baby,” I say, and then kiss her soft little cheek.

  May’s expression finally softens. I like the way she’s looking at me a hell of a lot better than she was a minute ago.

  Not that I can say so, of course. Because that would break a rule that I no longer understand.

  So I carry Nicole out of the room and up the stairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  May

  I watch Alec go, his long legs eating up the stairs two at a time, and I feel simultaneously irritated at him and disappointed that he’s gone.

  That’s pretty much the theme tonight. The moment he walked through the door, I felt heat rising off him and directed at me. And I loved it. The way Alec looks at me—the way he treats me—is flattering.

  But it’s not real.

  When Alec looks at me he sees his sexy hookup buddy. He doesn’t see the other, more complicated parts of me. He missed the drunk-and-in-denial years. And he can’t see how freaked out I feel inside—about my job, my life.

  And about my sobriety, which sometimes feels as sturdy as a strand of spaghetti.

  I can’t even guess why he got so weird about the perfectly nice guy with questionable taste in sweaters chatting me up. It’s not like that happens to me very often, either.

  From the start, Alec has been very clear about the terms of our temporary little arrangement. He’s not the relationship kind, he’s told me. He’s allergic to commitment.

  I’m perfectly fine with that. But if he causes a scene, that’s not okay.

  Lark sidles up to me. “Okay, I don’t mean to pry.”

  “But she’s about to,” her fiancé Zach adds. Then he laughs.

  “Alec didn’t seem to like it very much when the guy in the sweater hit on you. What’s up with that?”

  “I’m really not sure,” I answer, because it’s true up to a point.

  “How do you know Officer Friendly, anyway?” Lark asks. Then she giggles. “Officer Friendly Hands. He was hitting on you.”

  “No he wasn’t! Jeez. He helped me out once.”

  “I think he wants to help you out some more,” Zach says.

  “Yes.” Lark high-fives her boyfriend. “Tell us how you know him. Weave the tale.”

  “Well…” I’m not sure she’ll enjoy hearing this story. “About a year and a half ago I was really struggling.”

  As I predicted, Lark pales immediately. A year and a half ago was when she was fighting for her life on foreign soil. It’s taken her a long time to move past that. There are certain things I try not to bring up
, because I never want to trigger her PTSD.

  But this story is about my perils, not hers.

  “I was drinking a lot, and my family finally caught on. They started confronting me about it. I hated that. One night they were surrounding me, trying to launch some kind of intervention…”

  Zach winces, because he was living with us then, and he probably remembers the yelling.

  “Anyway, I didn’t like what they had to say, and I wasn’t ready to admit I had a problem. So that night I actually went outside and got into Griff’s truck and drove it off our property. Drunk.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Lark says.

  “Hang in there—this story doesn’t end so badly. I was pretty messed up at the time. I didn’t even have a destination in mind.” But I’d needed to get away from my family even though I knew they were right. I’d been just plain mad. Drinking was the only thing I looked forward to, and I wasn’t going to let them take it away from me.

  So there I was, crying and carrying on like a crazy person behind the wheel of my brother’s truck. I’d known I shouldn’t drive, but I wasn’t in the mood to care, and there’s never anyone on our dirt road, anyway.

  The only person I thought I could hurt was me. Unfortunately, I was all too willing to do that.

  “I drove slowly, and I didn’t get very far before I saw the police lights.”

  “Officer Friendly pulled you over?” Lark guesses.

  “Yeah.” It wasn’t even his jurisdiction. But I didn’t know that. “I was drunk and crying but he was so nice to me. I’m still stunned. He could have tossed me into the back of the cruiser but instead he asked, ‘Did anyone hurt you? Are you in danger?’”

  Such a simple question. But it finally made me see things in a different way.

  “So of course I told him that nobody was trying to hurt me. And he said, ‘There’s two ways this can go—I can give you a sobriety test and you might end up with a DUI. Or I can give you one chance to turn this around. You’re upset and you’re driving Griffin’s truck—and how do you want this to end? I see a lot of bad endings in my line of work. Don’t be one of them.’”

  “Oh, wow,” Lark says.

  “Yeah. So that’s when it all came together for me. When he drove me up the driveway in that cruiser and my mother came running out, I was just done. I went inside and told them they were right that I needed to stop, but that I was afraid.”

  “Wow,” Lark gasps again. “You never told me this part before.”

  “Because it’s so fun to talk about,” I point out. “But tonight I got to tell Officer Nelligan that I haven’t had a drink since that night.”

  Lark wipes her eyes, because she’s an easy crier, too. We have that in common. But mine are dry because I’ve told this story at AA a few times now.

  “So here’s where you fill me in on why Alec got so mad,” she says.

  “Another time, okay? There’s no big story there.”

  My best friend gives me an eye roll. “There totally has to be. Next coffee date, then?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m free tomorrow,” she adds.

  “Some of us work,” I point out. “How’s the wedding planning going?” Every time I talk to Lark, I make sure to ask about it. To demonstrate my enthusiasm.

  “Great,” Zach says. “We found a band. And Lark’s mom is making a string quartet drive up here from Boston because she doesn’t think anyone can play a violin in Vermont.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and Lark turns her head like a flower toward the sun, smiling back at him.

  They’re so stinking cute it makes me feel like a third wheel a lot of the time. I know it’s all in my head, but I just can’t shut it down.

  “We get to taste the food next month,” Lark says. “The Inn will seat us in the ballroom and bring us mini portions of everything, so we can choose the menu. Want to come?”

  “Sure!” I say too quickly. Is there a wine tasting, too? my addiction inquires. I don’t know why this idea makes me want to break out in hives. I eat dinner with Lark and Zach all the time. We had burritos together two hours ago. There’s no reason I can’t survive a meal with them in the ballroom where they’re planning to declare their everlasting, sacred bonds together.

  No problemo.

  “Should we head out?” Zach asks, kissing the top of Lark’s head.

  “Let’s,” she says, squeezing his hand. And I can almost see the thought bubble hanging over both their heads. Let’s go home and put on some mood music and light candles and celebrate our perfect life together.

  “Goodnight!” I say with false cheer.

  She pokes me in the tummy. “Coffee date. Soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They leave, and I let out a deep breath. I don’t really want to tell Lark about Alec. Because she’ll think it’s a big deal. And I’ve been very careful to avoid all manner of big deals lately.

  “Need anything?” Zara asks me as she tidies up her living room. Her hands are full of abandoned paper plates and cups.

  “Let me take some of those, and I have a question for you,” I say, unburdening her.

  “Thanks! How are you these days, anyway?” She grabs a couple of beer bottles off a sideboard and plucks a corn chip off the floor.

  “All right. Well, claustrophobic.” I follow Zara through the dining room and into her kitchen. “I heard you lost your tenants in the house next door and might be looking for new ones.”

  Zara laughs. “That was true until about three weeks ago. But then I rented it out.”

  “Oh, no!” I drop the paper plates into the trash. “I’m too late? By a couple of weeks?”

  “Maybe not.” She leans one hip against the counter top. “The person who just started living there is Kieran.”

  “Kieran?” I blink. “My cousin?”

  Zara nods. “He isn’t paying top dollar, but Dave doesn’t really need the money, and I was happy to get someone I knew. We want to travel this summer, and Kieran will watch the place for us.”

  “Oh,” I say, deflated.

  “One thing, though? He needs roommates. He’s got one, but it’s a three-bedroom house. So maybe the two of you could make a deal.”

  “Maybe,” I say slowly. “But the reason I’m looking for a new place is so I can avoid my family.”

  “Say no more.” Zara cackles. “I have four brothers. Can’t imagine why anyone would ever crave privacy.”

  “Right?” The trash bag is full so I grab the bag and haul it out of the bin. “Where does this go? I’ll run it outside.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “It’s really no big deal.”

  “You’re a peach. The cans are right outside the kitchen door.”

  When I step outside, the cold air feels terrific. I toss the bag into Zara’s trash bin and take a deep breath of winter’s chill.

  “Hi,” says a voice in the dark, and I jump about a foot into the air.

  “Jesus!” I squeak as my cousin Kieran crushes a cigarette under his shoe about ten feet away. “You scared the crap out of me. And you shouldn’t smoke.”

  “I know. On both counts.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”

  “Were your ears ringing a minute ago? I just asked Zara the status on her rental house. I need to get away from my family. But you rented a whole house?”

  “That one.” Kieran points up at the white clapboard colonial right in front of us. “Sorry about scooping you.”

  “You should be. They are killing me at home.”

  He smiles, and I see an echo of my aunt Sally in it. Kieran takes after her side of the family. “Have you looked for a place already?”

  I shake my head. “Is it rough out there?”

  “For you, probably not. But I have two part-time jobs and a car that needs replacing. I can’t pay as much as a lawyer like you.”

  “You overestimate my vast fortune.”

  He grins. “Zara offered me a deal. I have a roommate, but he might n
ot stick around. If you can’t find anything, come and talk to me. Although…” He clears his throat.

  “You want your privacy,” I say into the silence.

  Kieran gives me a sheepish look. “I’ve never had any.”

  “Tell me about it. God.”

  We lapse into silence. And now that I think about it, I can’t possibly live with Kieran. My brothers and my cousin Kyle would be loitering in front of the football game every Sunday. The house would just become an annex of the Tuxbury farmhouse.

  “I won’t invade your man cave,” I say with a sigh. “I get it.”

  “Well, if you get really stuck,” he says, trying to be nice.

  “Nah. There’s no reason for me to move other than not wanting to feel sixteen again.”

  “That’s a pretty good reason,” he points out, rubbing cold hands together. “Let’s go inside?”

  By now, I’m hugging myself against the cold. So I lead the way.

  “You almost ready to head out?” Griffin asks me when I locate him. The crowd has thinned, and Audrey is yawning on Zara’s sofa.

  “Sure. Let me say goodbye to a few people?”

  “I’ll do the same.”

  By a few people, I mean Alec. So when Griffin goes into the kitchen to thank Zara, I walk straight up the stairs to find him. The second floor is dark, except for the glow of lamplight coming from a room at the end of the hall. I hear only the low murmur of one hushed voice as I approach on quiet feet.

  Alec sits in a rocking chair. “Goodnight, Moon,” he reads to the drowsy little person on his lap. No—she’s actually asleep. Her eyelids appear to rest atop her chubby cheeks, and she has a thumb jammed into her mouth.

  Rocking gently in the chair, Alec lets his voice drone on for the last two pages, while I feel like the oddest kind of voyeur. The party boy who knows how to put a baby to bed. Now there’s something you don’t find every day.

  They’re so cute it almost hurts me to look at the two of them together. The trusting way she’s relaxed against his arm brings tears to my eyes.

  It’s really inconvenient to be an easy crier.