Chapter Seven
Hennessy
“Oh for God’s sake, what are you holding out for? Just sell it already,” Win says through a mouthful of steak.
“Sell it?” Jameson squeaks at her husband. “The pub is older than we are. It was our parents’ dream…”
“Then your father should’ve taken more care with it, don’t you think?” he challenges.
What. A. Jerk.
I think about how satisfying it would be to wrap my hands around his neck. But I don’t think Jameson would let me do it in front of Jackson. Or Win’s father, Big Win, for that matter. Dinner at my sister’s house is, perhaps, not the best place to contemplate murdering my brother-in-law. Instead, I take a deep, slow breath and will my pounding pulse to settle.
“Hennessy,” Win says, sending me into tachycardia again, “if you take the deal this guy…what’s his name?”
“Truitt,” I grit out. “Bryan. Truitt.”
“Right. If you take the deal this Truitt guy is offering, you can pay off the loan and have cash left over. Bailey’s got college next year, too, don’t forget.”
How could I? That’s been one of my biggest concerns since this all blew up. I consider the jerk carefully. He’s not wrong. For once.
“You make some really good points,” I say begrudgingly.
He nods as if to affirm what he’s known all along.
“But Mama and Pops worked their whole lives for that place. There must be another way,” Jameson interjects.
Win turns toward his wife and cocks an eyebrow.
“And who, exactly, is going to run the pub, even if you do manage to find the money? You’ve got the baby, Bailey’s in high school, Walker’s in college…”
“What about me?” I pipe up before I can stop myself. “I could run it.”
“Last time I checked, Hennessy, you don’t live here. So how are you planning on helping out?” Win’s question isn’t so much curiosity as a challenge. “Or were you thinking you’d play barkeep for a little while and then run away back to your real life—your real job—when you get tired of doing inventory and washing glasses?”
I’m about to respond to his snarkiness when his father intervenes in the most unexpected manner.
“Enough!”
We all jump at the uncharacteristically harsh sound of Big Win’s voice…and then we all gawk at him. Even little Jackson has put down his fistful of mashed potatoes to look up at his grandfather with wide, green eyes.
“Dad, you don’t need to get involved in their family business,” Win says, assuming that his father is frustrated by Jameson and me. But my brother-in-law has assumed wrong.
“Winston,” Big Win begins, “Jameson and Hennessy are family, and you’d do well to remember that, son. And considering you just took over my law practice not six months ago, I’m surprised you can’t empathize with the dilemma your wife and her sisters are facing.”
Holy. Crap.
Winston Clarke, Sr., is a big, beefy man with a fringe of hair around the sides of his head and a bald spot up top. He’s a man of very few words. You’d think that might be a problem for an attorney. Not for him. For forty years he used it to his advantage, wielding awkward silence in the courtroom like a ninja might wield a sword. Now, Win the younger’s eyes drop down to his half-eaten plate of food as two bright scarlet patches form on his cheeks. He doesn’t respond to his father’s words.
“Hennessy,” Big Win says, catching my eye across the table. “Win is rude and inconsiderate…but he’s not wrong. It’s easy to say ‘keep the bar open’ until you think about how to keep it open. I’m not saying it’s impossible; I’m just suggesting you take some time to consider the reality of this situation. Your father was a good man, a dedicated man. That pub was his life, apart from you girls and your mother. But, as much as I’m sure he’d love to see you carry on, he’d never want you to suffer for it.”
“Thank you, sir.” I give him a respectful nod and watch as he gets to his feet.
“Dad, you’re not leaving already, are you?” Jameson asks her father-in-law.
“Afraid so, my dear. This old man’s going ice fishing tomorrow, and I mean to be on the road before dawn.”
He leans over to give Jackson a kiss on the head.
“Goppa!” my nephew exclaims happily.
Big Win says his good-byes and then makes his way through the living room and out the front door.
“We could do it,” Jameson says, so quietly that I think I’ve misheard her.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“We could pay off the loan. Like investors…taking repayments once the pub starts to turn a profit again.”
Win puts his fork down and narrows his eyes at his wife. “We who?”
“We! You and I. Us, Win. It’s not like we don’t have the money.”
“Oh my God!” I gasp, suddenly excited by the prospect. “That could work!”
“No.”
Win utters the single word with such finality that I feel as if I’m watching a father with his wayward daughter.
“I’m sorry…no?” she echoes incredulously.
“That’s right, Jameson. No. It’s my family’s money. Money I earn. I will not let you throw it out the window to support some failing dive money pit.”
I cannot believe he just said that, and apparently, neither can my sister, who’s gone very still. Suddenly, I feel as if I’m in the eye of a storm, where an unsettling calm lies while tumultuous destruction roars all around.
“Hennessy, please excuse us. Win and I are going to speak in the kitchen for a moment.”
“What? But I’m not done eating…” he whines.
One sharp look from my sister and he’s throwing his fork down on the dining room table to follow her.
I get up and move to the chair that Big Win vacated, next to Jackson. He’s looking up at me with that beautiful little cherub face. I pull him out of the high chair and put him on my lap.
“Hey there, sweet boy,” I say, bouncing him on my knee. He smiles, but he’s not his usual playful self. It’s not hard to understand why—the tension in this house is thick enough to cut with a knife.
I can hear snippets of what sounds to be a very intense, hushed conversation not fifty feet away from me. It’s not that I want to listen. In fact, I’m suddenly wishing I’d taken Big Win’s cue and left early. I don’t like seeing Jameson like this—under the thumb of a man for whom she gave up her career. Whose child she raises and whose meals she cooks while he’s out shagging half of Mayhem. I’d like to say that last part is just speculation, but dipstick isn’t especially discreet in his extracurricular activities, clearly believing Jameson to be too dim to figure it out. And, while Jameson is a lot of things, dim is not one of them. She knows full well what he’s up to…though why she doesn’t leave him is a mystery to us all.
“…since when?” I hear Jameson hiss. Then I lose most of his reply, but I do catch the end of it.
“…And if you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”
That’s followed by loud stomping through the other side of the house and up the stairs. I look down at the baby, who’s using his chubby fingers as chew toys.
“Come on, little man. Let’s go see how Mommy’s doing,” I murmur as I stand up and seat him on my hip. When we walk into the kitchen, Jameson is bent over the sink, bracing herself against the counter as she shakes with silent sobs. “Oh, James!” I rush to her and pat her back gently. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t you worry about it…”
“No,” she sniffs, turning to face us. “No, it’s not going to be okay. It’s never going to be okay because I’m married to a horrible human being, Henny.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. She’s right. And I’m not going to blow smoke up her apron just to make her feel better about the creep she’s hitched her wagon to.
Little Jackson reaches out for his mother.
“Maaaammaaaa…” he gurgles.
Jameson abruptly stops crying, wipes her tears with the back of her hand, and pulls her son into her arms.
“Hello, my love,” she coos into his ear as he snuggles in to rest his head on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry, baby boy. Mama’s going to take care of everything.” She puts a hand on my forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure this out. I wish I could say Win will come around, but that’s not very likely, I’m afraid.”
“What a douche,” I mutter under my breath.
“Hennessy, language, please!” Jameson squawks at me.
“Oh, please. The kid isn’t paying any attention,” I assure her. It’s at that very second that the imp pulls his head off his mother’s shoulder, smiles brightly, and yells.
“Doosh! Doosh, Mama! Dooooosh!”
“Yeah…I’ll just let myself out,” I say, gathering my coat and getting out the door as fast as I can.