Epilogue
Bryan
Truittism No.1: The thing about always getting what you want is that you don’t always know what you want…until you get it.
“Can’t you drive any faster? We’re going to be late,” she whines from the passenger seat.
“We won’t be late,” I assure her, grinning like an idiot.
I do a lot of that lately. The fact is, I just can’t stop smiling. For the last two weeks I’ve gone to sleep with this woman and woken up with her. She’s been by my side almost every moment of every day. I even paid to have Walker’s Jeep shipped back up to Mayhem so that we could make the drive up from St. Paul together in her car.
Spring seems to have finally arrived in Mayhem, melting away all but the most stubborn clumps of snow, and I’m shocked to see how different the town looks as we roll down Main Street. There’s a line out the door of the Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop, and I spot a shadowy figure in long skirts and wild hair in a scarf flitting around inside. A few doors down, three cats are basking in the sun of Kelly’s Books, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, they’re wearing matching yellow sweaters.
As we pull up to O’Halloran’s Pub, a sign posted in the window reads:
CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY
I park around the corner and we walk to the front, hand in hand. When she pulls the door open, the bell jingles, and a long tableful of friendly faces looks up, shock and delight filling their expressions.
Jameson jumps up and rushes to embrace first Hennessy, then me.
“We were beginning to think you’d absconded back to L.A. with Henny!” she chastises me, giving me a playful smack on the chest.
“Well, I’ve brought her back to you now,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.
We repeat the process with Bailey. Even the dark and brooding Walker O’Halloran deigns to give me a fast, noncommittal embrace.
“Glad you came back. And thanks for getting all that stuff fixed on my car,” she mutters and slips away before I can even offer a “You’re welcome.”
Hennessy grabs a couple of glasses of wine and pulls us closer to the crowd. I realize that someone has pushed several smaller tables together to make one long one, and it’s overflowing with food from end to end. I spot Father Romance, who gives me a discreet nod and a thumbs-up.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting your office back then?” King Colby calls out.
“I would. And I’ll need a space for Helen.”
“Who on God’s green earth is Helen?” he asks.
“Our new office manager, King. She arrives in two weeks, and you’d better get ready, man, ’cause she’s gonna kick your backside into the twenty-first century, whether you like it or not!”
King scowls. Or maybe it’s a smile. It’s hard to tell with him.
Sitting quietly at the farthest end of the table is Big Win. He’s cutting a piece of ham for Jackson, who’s seated in a high chair next to him happily singing bits and pieces of the alphabet song. Until he catches sight of me, that is. The little guy’s green eyes grow huge, and he gives me a gummy, slobbery grin, pointing at me with one chubby finger.
“Brybry dooooooooosh!” he yells so loudly and so clearly that everyone stops and looks at us.
Suddenly the room erupts with laughter.
“Okay, okay, listen up, please,” Hennessy says, trying to get everyone’s attention.
When Walker grabs a spoon and starts to tap on a wineglass, the room quiets again, and Hennessy takes over.
“Well, clearly Bryan was successful in his search and recovery mission,” she jokes, looping her arm through mine. “And I’m thrilled to report that Mr. Bryan Truitt…and I…are both returning to Mayhem. Permanently.”
The applause that follows this statement is much louder than I’d have thought possible from a small crowd like this one. As they show their enthusiasm, I feel a wave of well-being wash over me.
“The Truitt Group is going to reopen its headquarters here, offering a different kind of service,” Hennessy explains. “The development of new properties that fit the aesthetic of the community. Small, old-time movie theaters instead of multiplexes, supermarkets that look like quaint country stores, and a commitment to solid infrastructure with environmental considerations as a top priority.”
When they start to hoot and holler, I feel my face redden. This is all her. Countless hours of late night brainstorming over wine, building a wish list of what we’d accomplish if we had the time and the resources. Now they’re going to be a reality…and she’s going to be there, by my side, to see them come to fruition.
Hennessy nods and smiles, holding up her hand one last time to quiet the ecstatically unruly crowd.
“And finally, as we’ve all heard by now, the anonymous purchaser of this building has put it back into our family’s hands, and we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the man who saved our father’s legacy. He could have loaned us the amount we were short. He could have maintained a controlling interest. He could have sold the darn thing out from under us for a profit. But he didn’t.”
“Yeah, Bryan!” Bailey yells out, while Walker hoots loudly. They obviously think I was lying when I told them it wasn’t me.
Hennessy continues, ignoring the outburst.
“He purchased the pub before it could go to sheriff’s auction, and then he turned around and gifted the deed back to us, the Whiskey Sisters.”
Another outburst of clapping has Hennessy smiling and rolling her eyes while she tries to wrangle everyone back.
“Hold on, hold on! I’m almost done.” She laughs. “My family, my friends, my…love.” She leans over and gives me a quick kiss when she says that last word. “Please, join me in raising a glass to the man who saved O’Halloran’s Pub, who will forever be a part of our family, who gave so generously and humbly under the cloak of anonymity. Until now…”
They’re all looking at me, grinning and nodding appreciatively as they prepare to toast me.
“Our thanks and our love and our hearts go out to… Mr. Winston Clarke Senior. Cheers to you, Big Win!”
There is a moment of absolute stillness and silence. Not so much as a breath can be heard as a very uncomfortable looking Big Win finds a dozen pairs of shocked eyes on him. And then it all explodes. Everyone is talking at once, and rushing to embrace the older man. The girls are fawning over him and pressing kisses to his scarlet cheeks. He looks embarrassed and happy at the same time.
Win Jr. appears to be irritated at first, likely with the dawning realization that his father has shown him up—and that all of these accolades could’ve been his had he done the decent thing in the first place. But even he can’t scowl in the face of his father’s reluctant joy at this moment, and he gives his old man a begrudging slap on the back.
Now that the attention has shifted away from us, I pull Hennessy to me, her back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her from behind. She smells of lilacs and snow and sugar cookies…and everything warm and good that a person could wish for. I lean down and put my cheek against hers, watching what she’s watching, taking in the beautiful, loud, chaotic scene unfolding all around us.
“I love this,” she whispers so only I can hear.
“What?” I ask, wondering which part of it has imprinted itself on her heart.
She turns her face toward mine, and I follow suit. We’re so close that I can feel her warm breath on my face when she whispers her reply.
“The mayhem,” she breathes, as her sweet lips find mine.
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