She gets me and I get her.
Call me a mama’s boy. I can take it. It’s the truth.
Dale gives me shit about it at every opportunity, but I’m used to it. I think deep down he wishes he and Mom were closer. He just doesn’t know how to get close to her. He’s three years older and has more memories of our natural mother than I do. That’s probably a big part of the issue.
After cake and coffee, Dale rises. “We should go, Don.”
“Go where?” Mom asks.
“We’re meeting Brendan Murphy for a drink in town,” I say.
“Maybe I’ll join you,” Dad says.
Dale gives me a side-eye.
“He wants to talk to us about something,” I say.
Dad takes the hint. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you need anything.”
Dale nods to him. “We will.”
That’s Dad. He knows when to back off, but he also makes sure we know he’s always there for us. I don’t have the first clue what Murphy wants with us, but it’s got to be important. He wouldn’t have asked for both of us otherwise.
“I have to grab my wallet,” Dale says. “It’s at the house.”
“I’ll walk over with you,” I say. “We can go from there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Dale, Ashley, and I walk the half-mile path to the guesthouse, which will be my place of residence once they move out.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your parents,” Ashley says, “but Brendan told me some strange stuff that night he and I had dinner.”
“That night he tried to move in on my woman,” Dale says, only half joking.
Ashley giggles. “He didn’t get very far.”
“What did he say?” I ask.
“Not a lot, just that…”
“What, baby?” Dale asks, his eyes wide.
“That…people seem to disappear when the Steels are involved.”
Chapter Four
Callie
Jesse and his band are rehearsing in the garage. Normally they rehearse in one of the winery sheds, but the fire took care of those.
They’re great, but damn, they’re loud.
My favorite pastime, reading, isn’t possible when the bass guitar is thrumming in my head.
I put away my copy of Little Women. I know the story by heart, anyway, but it’s my favorite go-to when things kind of suck. For some reason, diving into the world of Jo March and her sisters always makes me feel better.
“Cal, I’ve got to get out of here.”
I look up. My sister Rory stands in front of me.
“What’s up?”
“Jess and his band are giving me a headache.”
“You? You sing with them half the time.” My sister’s a trained classical mezzo soprano, but she loves rock and roll too.
“I know, but I’m feeling more operatic today. Plus, they’re doing some of Cage’s music, and he’s way too hard metallic for my tastes. Want to drive into town and see what’s going on?”
“What could possibly be going on in town?”
She laughs. “Nothing. But it’ll be quiet.”
“You really hate Cage’s stuff, don’t you?” Cage Ramsey is our cousin, and he plays bass in Jesse’s band, Dragonlock. The band is mostly old-school rock, except when they play Cage’s compositions.
“Hate is a pretty strong word,” Rory says.
My sister has a lovely voice but never made it in classical performing. Now she works in town, giving piano and voice lessons and sometimes performing with Jesse on nights when they stick to classic rock. She has her own place in town, but she’s home for a while, helping out with the fire fallout. She and her girlfriend, Raine Cunningham, have been together for a year.
“Is Raine meeting us in town?” I ask.
“No. She’s in Denver visiting her parents.”
“Just us Pike girls, then.”
“Minus Maddie.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t mean to. It just happens. I love Maddie. I love all my siblings.
“Your envy is showing, sis,” Rory says. “You, Jess, and I all got to finish undergrad right out of high school. Maddie deserves nothing less.”
“I’m trying, Ror.”
“I know. If it’s any consolation, Mom and Dad feel terrible about law school.”
“Rory,” I say, “that is absolutely no consolation at all.”
We end up at Murphy’s Bar. Pretty much because there’s no place else to go in Snow Creek in the evening. Rory orders a draft, but I opt for Diet Coke. I’m not feeling the drinking thing tonight. I’ve never been big into alcohol. We find a table. Laney Dooley, one of Rory’s friends from high school, is tending bar tonight. She joins us at our table when she takes a break.
“How’s everything going?” she asks. “You know. With the…”
“Fire,” Rory says. “You can say the word. We won’t melt.”
“I’m just so sorry about everything,” Laney says.
I smile and nod. What am I supposed to say? Yeah, I’m sorry too? Yeah, it sucks major dicks?
“We’re dealing,” Rory says.
“Is there anything I can do?” Laney asks.
You can pay my law school tuition. The words hover on the tip of my tongue. I’m not a bitch. I don’t say them. But seriously, why do people ask that question? No, there’s nothing you can do, unless you can regrow grapevines with a snap of your fingers. Laney is a nice person, and yes, she’d help if she could. But she can’t.