Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jameson

“Dad! What are you doing here?” Win demands. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone out of the hospital!”

Big Win shakes his head and comes toward us on slow, shaky legs. Bryan rushes over to help him reach his destination—us. “You…will…not…th-threaten…her…again,” he says, his halting speech making the words all the more effective.

“Dad, this is none of your business. Now come on, I’ll take you back to the hospital.”

Win tries to grab his father’s arm, but the older man wrenches himself free with surprising strength.

“No!” he hisses. “I will rep-represent her against y-you! I know more j-judges than you’ll ever know and I. Will. Win!”

We’re all staring at him now, stunned into silence. Finally, Win clears his throat and lowers his volume so only we can hear him. “Playing favorites again, Dad?” he snarls. “What do you suppose the town would think—what the bar would think of your behavior…oh, I don’t know…maybe thirty-ish years ago or so? When you brokered a deal to buy a child?”

I gasp out loud. He wouldn’t! Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he would.

“Win,” I grit out, “your father’s in no state for this kind of thing—”

Big Win cuts me off by shaking his head from side to side emphatically.

“Go. Ahead,” he huffs. “I saved you, and I’d do it again. Even if y-you did t-turn out to be an ass.”

Never, not once in my entire life, have I ever heard Big Win use even the mildest profanity, so when it comes, it sounds harsh. And fierce. And jarring to everyone—including his oldest son, who’s just staring at him.

“Tell them!” Big Win demands in a soft tone that somehow carries more weight and force than a foghorn.

Win’s face is turning red now, and he keeps breaking eye contact to look down at his feet. Suddenly he’s not so sure of his stance.

“Tell. Them!” his father repeats.

“I…uh…I told Scott that if he didn’t leave town tonight, I’d find a judge to give me full custody of Jackson.”

I suck in a long, harsh breath. It burns my lungs almost as much as the tears burning the lids of my eyes. I loved this man. I had a child with him. And all he wants to do now is hurt me—to see me miserable and desperate. I’m so overwhelmed by this thought that I start to sink to the floor in a puddle.

“Shhh, shhh,” Father Romance says, helping me up and wrapping me in a tight embrace. “It’s all going to be fine, Jameson. Just fine, you’ll see.”

“Hey, hey, hey—no need for that,” I hear Win say in an alarmed voice. And when I peek, I see Walker coming toward us with the baseball bat she keeps behind the bar.

“Oh, now, Walker, love, that’s perhaps a bit heavy-handed, don’t you think?” When Father Romance speaks, I feel the rumble in his chest.

After a moment, I force myself to stand on my own feet, and I put a hand on my sister’s arm. She looks murderous as she stares Win down.

“Get. Out.”

Win looks at me, and I see something different in his face. Fear, certainly—because Walker isn’t messing around—but also a tiny slip of regret.

“I…uh…I’m sorry, James,” he whispers.

“Just go, Win. Please,” I murmur.

He nods and turns to leave.

“I really wish you would’ve let me get one good whack at him,” Walker mutters when he’s out the door at last.

“I’m so sorry I ruined your engagement,” I sniff at Henny, who’s come to bring me a fistful of tissues.

“Please. You didn’t ruin anything.”

I nod and blow my nose loudly.

“Well, that’s real attractive,” Walker snorts and nudges me, trying to get me to laugh. But I’m not biting. Not today. I just blow my nose and shake my head. “Oh, Big Win. I’m so grateful, but you have got to get back to the hospital… Wait, how did you even get here? You didn’t drive, did you?”

“Uuuu-b-ber,” he says with some difficulty. “I came to g-give y-you this.” He’s trying to pull something out of his pocket. A picture—which he hands to me with a shaking hand.

I wipe my eyes again and lean in for a closer look. There, in a slightly faded, sepia-tinged photo are two small children holding hands at what appears to be a party. All around them are the taller bodies of adults, cut off by the photographer who was focusing on the little girl with the red hair and the little boy with the caramel-colored eyes.

“Oh my God…that’s me. And…”

“Scott,” Big Win huffs out hoarsely.

I close my eyes, and I nod, trying to recall the circumstances. The children, the games, the music, the cake…

“It was your christening, Bailey,” I murmur, looking at the picture once again and rubbing it gently with my index finger.

“Well, well! I remember that day clear as a bell,” Father Romance pipes up. “Margie Clarke held you, Bailey, so your parents could have a spin around the dance floor, as I recall. They were so very grateful for their girls. And so very much in love.”

In a split second I’m back there—but it doesn’t unfold in real time. The images come to me in a quick succession of flashes, one after another. The baby. My parents dancing. Win cheating at Twister—the mere thought of him makes my stomach convulse with the tension I felt for him as a child but somehow forgot as the years passed. And then there’s Scotty Clarke. He tells me about seeing the world. He asks me if I’ll navigate for him. He suggests we get married. I agree.

I gasp so loud and my eyes fly open so quickly that the people immediately surrounding me look terribly concerned all of a sudden.

“James?” Henny asks, putting an arm around my shoulders. “What is it?”

“The pie,” I whisper.

“What pie?”

“The butterfly pie. I need it. I need to take it with me.”

“What? What are you talking about? You’re not going anywhere,” Henny tells me firmly.

“No, no, you need to stay here and get your crap together,” Walker says.

I’m shaking my head no, but they’re not listening to me. Already I hear Henny asking someone to get me a little brandy while she makes up the bed in the apartment for me tonight.

“No…” It’s a whisper that they all ignore. “No,” I repeat louder.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Jameson. We’ll get you all sorted out,” Father Romance assures me with a smile.

“I. Said. No!”

Everything stops. Everyone stares. Except for Bailey. She races back to the bar and reaches under the counter to pull out the pie with my name written on the top corner on of the box and rushes it back to me.

“Tell me,” she says. “Tell me what you need.”

I nearly weep with gratitude. She hears me. She understands.

“I need to go to the airport,” I whisper.

She nods. “Which one?”

I look to Big Win. “Duluth,” he says slowly. “Eight th-thirty f-flight.”

I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. “Thank you.”

He nods and pats my arm.

“Don’t worry, Jameson, I’ll get him back to the hospital,” Bryan is saying from behind me.

“Come on, we’re running out of time,” Bailey says. “My car’s out back. I’ll take you.”

“Wait, what?” Walker demands. “Are you nuts? You can’t just show up at the airport.” She looks at her watch. “You’ll never make it…”

My soon-to-be eighteen-year-old sister, Princess Mary of Midwestern Dairy and the child who doesn’t want me for a mother, turns to her very calmly and says, “She needs to go, Walker. And that’s all I need to hear.”

“Thank you,” I say as she grabs the pie in one hand and my hand in the other, pulling us past our gobsmacked family and friends, down the back hallway, out the side door, and into her little sedan.

“You see,” she says, when we’re buckled in and turning out onto Main Street, “this isn’t something you do with your mom, James. This is something you do with your sister. I don’t need another mother. I had one that no one can replace. What I need is you.”