Chapter 7
“Come back again,” called Sam to the foursome who’d come all the way from Amarillo to see for themselves what all the fuss was about the Willamette’s wines.
“Thank you kindly.” The Texan in tooled boots held up a parting hand, then used it to hold the door for Manolo, on his way in.
Manolo saluted. “Lieutenant.”
Sam dried his hands before clasping Manolo’s. “Appreciate you taking time.”
“Least I can do.”
Sam had met Manolo in Iraq after dropping out of college in the middle of his freshman year.
Manolo had joined the Army as an alternative to taking over his family restaurant, just outside New York City. Lost and disoriented in a foreign land, the two had bonded instantly.
Despite acting nonchalant about it with Red, Sam took his best man responsibilities seriously. Last time he and Manolo had talked there’d been some confusion as to who on the groom’s side was going to show up for the wedding. His mom was having some health problems, and he didn’t get along with his dad.
Sam knew all about difficult fathers. The details weren’t important. He and Manolo shared their stories on a need-to-know basis. Didn’t hurt so much that way.
There was probably still time before the nearest motel sold out of rooms, but he couldn’t risk failing at one of his tasks; risk disappointing his friend.
He poured a glass of the good stuff he kept under the counter, slid it over to Manolo, and rested his folded arms on the bar. “Wanted to touch base with you on the rooms. You got a final headcount yet?”
“My sisters still don’t know what to do about letting my mom travel by herself since the knee replacement,” said Manolo, scratching his head. “She insists she’s okay, but they found out she was lying about still using her walker, so they’re talking about one of them flying down to Miami first to get her and then flying out here.”
“Family. Always got to be some complication.”
“Tell me about it.” Manolo took a sip of wine.
“That mean your dad’s definitely a no-show, then? Can’t be because he disapproves of the bride. They don’t come any better than Junie Hart.”
“Hard to disapprove of someone you’ve never met. No, it’s not her he disapproves of.” He looked down at where he cradled his glass. “It’s me. Last I heard, he denies even having a son.”
“That’s rough, man.”
There was a heavy pause.
“What about your dad?” asked Manolo. “What was it you used to call him?” He snapped his fingers and grinned. “Psychodad. That’s right.”
“Until just last week he was still living in the old homestead, out in the middle of nowhere. Seventy-seven years old and still chops his own firewood, even though I had the fireplace converted to gas when I got back from the service. Thought I was doing him a favor. Making it easier on him. But the numbskull won’t stop.”
“Seventy-seven? Christ! He had to be, what, late forties when you were born?”
“Let’s just say I was a surprise, an unpleasant surprise. Luke, my brother, was fourteen, and Cindy was eighteen and on her way out of the house. Anyway, last week Psychodad earned his nickname.”
“What’d he do?”
“You’re not going to believe it. Piled real kindling on top of the gas fireplace logs.”
“Aside from the obvious, it’s July,” said Manolo, his face screwed up with confusion.
“Musta caught a chill.” Sam smiled drolly. “If I hadn’t happened to go out there to check on him that day, they’d be finding pieces of that house in Portland. It’d be like Mount St. Helens all over again.”
“There’re public gas lines out there?”
“The fireplace runs on an above-ground propane tank. The place isn’t exactly falling down, but he refuses to part with enough money to keep it properly maintained. And every time I’ve sent people out to look at the roof or clean the gutters at my own expense, he’s sent them packing.
“It’s frustrating as hell, man. Sometimes I think all it’d take is one shot from my Winchester into that propane tank, and—” He raised a pretend rifle to his shoulder. “Peeeerrrr.”
“Right,” drawled Manolo. “And what are you going to say when the fire department shows up?”
Sam spread his palms. “Who’s gonna call the fire department? It’s the only building for miles. The O’Briens moved to Hood River years ago.”
“The place must be worth something. Sell it. That’s my advice. Take the money and don’t look back.”
“The O’Brien place is still on the market. Nobody wants it.”
“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, the authorities did come, catch you in the act.”
“I’d tell them to let ‘er burn.”
“I believe there’s a word for that.”
“It’s not arson if it’s my own property. It’s not like I’d file an insurance claim. And I could still sell the land any time I want. Come to think of it, the land’s probably worth more without the house. Anyone who’d want it would only raze it and start over, anyway.”
Manolo shifted uncomfortably. “No sense talking about something that’s not going to happen, Samuel, my man. What about your Dad? Goes without saying he can’t be left unattended after that.”
“Roger. He’s at the assisted care place being evaluated as we speak.”
“So that’s it? There he stays?”
Sam shrugged. “You know how bureaucracy is. It’ll take a while.”
“What about your mom?”
“She left us a long time ago. Who could blame her? Dad cheated on her with half the women in McMinnville. She found a younger guy, got remarried when I was in high school.”
“You see her much?”
Sam straightened drink coasters that were already neatly stacked. “Aw, you know how it goes. She went from being a cougar to being all caught up raising her step-grandkids.”
“What about your sister and brother? How come you’re the one left holding the bag?”
“Luke and Cindy don’t want anything to do with him.”
“If he’s such a pain, why bother? What keeps you hanging on?”
He shrugged. “Don’t give me too much credit. All I do is stop in every couple weeks, see that he’s got food in the house, keep the weeds down.”
Manolo shook his head.
“Before I forget, Junie got all the RSVPs back but yours and Red’s. She’s not concerned about Red’s. Said Red can be a touch scattered. But knowing you, there’s a reason. You don’t make a move—or, in this case, not make a move—till you’ve covered every angle.”
“Tell her to check tomorrow’s mail.” Sam couldn’t hide his grin. “Doc and I are coming together.”
Manolo’s face lit up. “No shit. So. The lady finally put her foot down.”
“What?” Sam’s shoulders went back and his chin disappeared into his neck. “Where’d you get that? No one tells Sam Owens what to do.”
“Who are you talking to here?” Manolo tapped his chest with the side of his hand.
Sam slouched. “Okay. There may be an outside chance that maybe Doc might have mentioned something about a rela—a rela—”
“Relationship?”
Sam decided he could use a drink, too. He reached above the bar for another glass.
“Well, it’s about time, you old rascal!” Manolo’s hand clasped Sam’s palm-down, angling, locking thumbs. “I was wondering how long you expected her to wait.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You told me you had a thing for Red over a year ago. Remember? It was the same time you warned me to keep my paws off Junie.”
Sam traced the wood grain in the bar with a finger. “Not even I can be right one hundred percent of the time.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t need your permission to date Junie. Back to Red. Did you think nobody else knew about you two? You’re losing your touch, Spidey.”
Sam wondered when he’d gotten careless about his and Red’s comings and goings. If he hadn’t wanted them to, no one would know.
“It’s not all me. Doc wasn’t into the whole going steady thing either. She was cool with the way things are—”
“Were.”
“Until last weekend.”
“Told you how it is, huh?” Manolo grinned wider, and the still-smoldering fire inside Sam at the idea of being controlled flared momentarily.
“A minor glitch.” It would take a special kind of torture not yet invented to get Sam to admit that Red’s plan involved putting the brakes on their sex life. Even to his best friend. Especially to his best friend.
Anyway, that wouldn’t last. With their explosive chemistry? He’d have her hollering out his name in ecstasy again in no time. Maybe as soon as tomorrow night, after their first, real date.
“Hey,” said Sam. “What’s this about Junie and the girls going to see Lumber Jack Hammer?”
Manolo waved away his query. “I heard about it. Some male revue or something.”
“You worried?”
“Me? I’m not worried.” Manolo’s grin waned. “Why. Are you worried?”
“Do I look worried?”
“Junie has eyes for no one but yours truly.”
“At times I forget you’re not from around here. Hammer’s been known to get, let’s say, overly friendly with the women who go to his shows.”
Manolo’s grin didn’t falter. “When a woman’s got this,” he asked, puffing out his chest, “what need would she have to go elsewhere?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You say so. Me? I don’t know why anybody’d want to get married. It’s like enlisting in the service.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ll have to learn how to eat, sleep, shower, and shave all over again.”
“Wait till it’s your turn.”
“That’s going to be a long wait. Nah, I kinda like seeing how many days I can go without a vegetable crossing my lips. Falling asleep to SportsCenter.” Sam clapped his hands. ”So. What about the rooms?”
“Book a suite for each of my sisters and their families, and then one for Mom. If Dad comes, he can stay with her. If not, at least she’ll have a respite from her grandkids. My extended family can get a little rambunctious.”
“I’m picturing a Star Wars bar.”
Manolo brightened. “You got nieces and nephews too.”
“Negative.”
He slumped again. “Your siblings never tied the knot?”
Sam shook his head as he took another swig of his drink. “The Owens clan’s no good at happy ever after.”