Chapter 34 #2
“Not this hand,” Pat says. “Or, not just the hand. He’s folding Dark Horse.”
Way to throw me under the bus, then back up and run me over a few more times for good measure, Patrick.
A barrage of questions and exclamations follow, all of which I ignore. Leaning my head forward in my hands, all the noise becomes an indistinct wall of sound.
I’m cocooned inside of it, completely still, untouchable. Only a high-pitched whine fills my ears, the rest of the sun in the room muffled beneath it. I close my eyes and jam the heels of my hands into them.
It’s not until I feel a soft hand on my shoulder and a voice says, “Jamie?” that I snap back into the room.
Harper is standing just behind me, one hand lightly on my shoulder. Miraculously, she seems to have shut everyone else up, but my head is still buzzing, still overfull. Their faces are a blur around the table.
I rub my eyes. “What?”
“Want to take a walk?” Harper asks gently.
“No. I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair. Yank it through my hair, is more the truth. A few strands come out, and I shake them loose from my fingertips, watching as they fall to the floor.
“Come,” Harper says, lightly tapping my shoulder. When I flinch at her touch, she backs up. “Sit over here with me for a second.”
“I don’t need to—”
“ Come and sit. ”
At Harper’s fierce tone, both dogs jog over and sit down at her feet.
Ignoring the rest of my uncharacteristically silent family, I let Harper somewhat forcibly lead me to Tank’s new chair, a buttery leather one he doesn’t like anyone else to sit in.
Right now, though, he doesn’t say a word.
I collapse in the chair and meet Harper’s eyes as she kneels in front of me.
“There you are.” She gives me a soft smile and pats my knee before thinking better of it and clasping her hands. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Winnie’s face flashes before my eyes. Not her smirk or the fiery anger from earlier when she left. I see the vulnerability when she woke from the nightmare, remember the way she felt so small in my arms. I rub my eyes again until she disappears.
“I messed up.”
I shove a hand into my pocket, my fingers brushing Winnie’s seed. I press it under my fingernail, and the tiny pinch of pain grounds me, reminding me of what I can’t have. I tried to throw the seed away last night when I got undressed for bed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Harper gives me a kind smile, one I definitely don’t deserve. “Nothing you did can’t be fixed.”
I only wish that were true.
“Do you not think you’ll be ready in time?
” Tank asks. He stands from the table and walks over to the living area.
Chase and Collin follow, and Pat flops onto the couch, putting his feet up on the table.
“Because the timeline doesn’t matter. If you’re not fully up and operational by the festival, it’s fine. ”
I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t do it.”
“What do you need help with?” Collin asks. “I could take some time off from the gym if you need me.”
NOW he wants to help. I’m already shaking my head. “It’s too much.”
“It’s too much because you’re trying to do it all on your own,” Pat says. “Just like you always do. Stop trying to be a one-man show. You can’t shoulder it all.”
“Exactly,” I snap. “I can’t do it all, and I’m done trying to hold it together. This isn’t what I wanted.”
Tank frowns. “What isn’t what you wanted?”
I wave a hand, feeling that same rise of hot volcanic pressure I did last night when I exploded on Winnie. “None of this is what I wanted. This town. A big brewery with a bar and events and people.”
All the people. I picture the crowd from Feastivus, imagine trying to pay attention to temperatures and timing and shutting off the right valves while a crowd of people look on. I shake my head.
“I don’t—I can’t.”
“What can’t you do?” Harper asks softly.
I stare down at the worn knees of my jeans, where the deep blue has given way to white. “Any of it. I’m screwing it all up. It’s not what I want, and yet, I can’t fail. I can’t let you all lose everything because you bet on me.”
“We care more about you than we do about the money,” Tank says.
“Speak for yourself,” Pat chimes in. “I care about the money.”
“Shut it, Patty,” Collin says.
“No,” Pat says, getting to his feet. “Superman over here doesn’t get to try and save the day all alone, then torpedo the whole world when he realizes he can’t save it by himself.
He hasn’t wanted our help. Now, he’s realizing he can’t do it by himself, like we’ve been saying all along, and rather than try , he’s walking away.
I’m not okay with this. Sorry, not sorry. ”
I lumber to my feet, spinning to face Pat even as the blood pounds in my head. “When did you ever offer anything other than opinions I didn’t ask for? All I really wanted was to brew beer and make furniture. A simple, quiet life.”
“The life of a hermit,” Pat says, and the comment barely registers because he just never stops.
“I only wanted this for you.” I sweep my arms out, not even sure who I’m gesturing to.
Because if this isn’t my dream, whose is it?
I’m all tangled up, unsure of anything except my own failure.
“I didn’t want this for me. And now, it’s too late, and it’s too much, and I can’t keep holding things together for everyone else. ”
“No one asked you to hold things together!” Pat shouts.
“No one had to!” I shout back. “But someone had to make sure you all ate, that your clothes got washed, that you got out of bed in the morning and got on the bus. It all fell on me. It always feels like it’s on me, and I can’t do it anymore!”
There is silence when I finish, in the room and, for the first time in a day, in my head. Shame curls up and takes residence where all the anger and pressure had been building.
When I speak again, my voice is a whisper dragged over broken glass. “I can’t do it anymore. I’ve wrecked it all—the brewery, my family, her … I’m done. I’m done.”
I collapse back into the chair, dropping my head in my hands, my breaths heavy and my eyes burning. I’m exhausted. I’m not on edge anymore because I’ve gone so far over the edge.
I’m a disappointment. To myself. To Winnie. To my family.
Not only have I failed everyone in my life I care about, but I just dredged up a bunch of long-buried things and dropped them like a dirty bomb in the middle of a family poker game.
And then there’s the fact that everyone has money on me.
A heavy arm comes around my shoulders, and I can’t help it—I flinch before I relax under my dad’s touch. I don’t pull away, but I can’t manage to unlock my jaw or untense my shoulders.
“Son, I am so sorry. Sorry so much fell on you after we lost your mom. I don’t think I realized how much you had to carry. I was just … grieving.” His voice catches in his throat.
“You were allowed to grieve.”
I’m not looking at him, but I still see his head shaking. “Not at the cost of my children. I didn’t realize how all this felt for you. I was so grateful for you helping—I am so grateful. But James, you were never supposed to pick up all these burdens and carry them around.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter.
“It isn’t fine. You are a caretaker, James. You’ve always been so strong—for yourself and for those around you. Even when you didn’t think anyone noticed. We did. And we don’t thank you enough.”
“Maybe because he’d probably fight us if we tried,” Harper says, but her voice is gentle.
I raise my eyes for just a moment, taking in her soft gaze. She suddenly, more than she ever has, resembles Mom.
“We see you, James. But sometimes we forget that you need help because you’re so capable. I never meant for you to carry so much, son. It isn’t your burden to carry alone. It never was.”
Tank’s words fall over me softly. I am reminded of the one time we went skiing together in Colorado as a family. A storm rolled in, and I paused at the top of a slope, temporarily alone. As the flakes drifted down, it was with a quiet, blanketing hush.
I keep my head in my hands now, remembering that moment, feeling peace settle my restless thoughts like the quiet snow.
“Do you hear me, son?” Tank squeezes my knee.
I nod, because words have escaped me.
“We’ll figure this out. Together. You won’t have to carry this alone.”
“Is that why he’s bigger than the rest of us—because he’s been carrying around so much extra weight?” Pat. Of course.
I shake my head, but my lips twitch with a smile as I stare down at the floor. Some things never change. Like Pat’s big mouth. Even in a moment like this—and there’s comfort and familiarity in that.
“You just don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you, Patty?” Surprisingly, that’s Chase.
“Those are fighting words. I’m shocked.” Collin sounds impressed.
A sigh. “You’ve all rubbed off on him too much,” Harper says.
“Or not enough.” Again, it’s Pat with the big mouth.
I stand, pulling Tank up with me and into a hug. I don’t know why I don’t do this more, because my dad’s hugs have the power to shake everything loose that needs to be shaken loose and put it all back together. It might even squeeze out a tear or two I’ve been trying to hold back.
The sound of a phone taking a picture makes my eyes fly open. I catch Pat, grinning down at the phone in his hand.
“Did you seriously just take a photo?” Collin asks.
“Had to capture this sweet moment for Instagram.”
“Do you mind if I kill him?” I whisper to Tank, giving him a last squeeze.
Dad rumbles out a laugh. “Nah. Chase makes a pretty good replacement.”
“Then with your blessing …” I release Tank and leap over the chair, going straight for Pat.
He screams like the little girl he is and darts to the kitchen, still tapping at his phone even as he giggles. Is he really posting on Instagram? The dogs follow at my heels, barking, as I round the end of the kitchen island, grabbing Pat just as he tosses his phone on the counter.
“Mercy!” he cries as I lift him off his feet, throwing him over my shoulder like a giant sack of rotten potatoes.
“It’s too late for mercy, little brother. You’re getting justice instead. Door,” I order, and without any further prompting, Chase throws open the front door.
I manage to make it down the steps, Pat wiggling and trying to escape. Not this time.
My family follows behind as I cross the street, headed for the warehouse.
“Put me down, you brute!” Pat punches me in the back, and I let go with one hand, long enough to give him a charley horse in the thigh.
He howls. “Tank! Call off your dog!”
Dad only chuckles. “I’d kinda like to see how this plays out. Sorry, son. Your mouth got you into this, but it won’t get you out.”
“Where are you taking me? Why are you so freakishly strong?”
I don’t answer him, because he really is heavy and I’m getting tired. “Collin,” I bark as I near the front gate—and the dumpster. “You get his ankles.”
With a wicked grin, Collin grabs Pat by the ankles just as our youngest brother realizes what we intend to do. His fight intensifies, but now there are two of us on him. Chase steps in to help me get a solid grip on Pat’s wrists.
“On three,” I say, meeting Collin’s eyes.
He nods, tightening his hold on Pat’s ankles.
We start to swing Pat, who gives up the fight, probably realizing the inevitability of it all.
I count, and on three, we let him fly—right into the low, industrial dumpster outside the warehouse.
Pat lands with a muffled crunch on top of the banner and all the garbage bags of food from Feastivus.
The orange cat yowls and leaps out, barely missing Chase.
“It smells like rotten turkey in here!” Pat yells. “Ugh! One of the bags broke and I’m covered in … gravy? I really hope that’s gravy.”
Pat’s head pops up over the side of the dumpster. He has brown goop—and I also really hope it’s gravy—dripping down his cheek. He swipes at it with the side of his shirt.
“And these are my favorite jeans. You are officially the worst brother.”
“Thank you.”
“Is anyone going to help me out of here?”
“No,” several voices chorus at once. The dogs are the only ones eager to help, probably because of all the dumpster food.
Harper nudges me. “Did you say something about wrecking things with Winnie too?”
I stiffen, then drag a hand down the side of my face. “I did. I really did.”
“You’re not going to give up that easily,” Harper says. “Are you?” She raises an eyebrow in challenge, and I feel something stirring in me.
“I don’t know if she’ll want to see me.” I grimace. “I might have … fired her.”
“Again?” Harper asks.
“Again.”
She bites her lip. “Well, looks like you’ve got some groveling and grand gesturing to do.”
Tank comes to stand on my other side as we watch Pat try to wrestle his way out of the dumpster. “Too bad you threw our groveling expert in the trash.”
“Yeah, I’m not helping you now,” Pat says.
I lunge for the dumpster and he squeals, falling back into the trash bags. “You’ll still help me,” I say. “If I need help.”
His laughter echoes from inside the metal dumpster walls. And then he tosses the banner Winnie made out onto the sidewalk. Other than a streak of some unidentifiable food, it looks okay.
“Trust me, brother. You definitely need my help.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter. But at this point, I’ll take whatever help I can get.
“Um, hi?” I turn to see a woman it takes me a moment to place out of context. She’s standing next to a Prius—probably why none of us heard her pull up—looking between Pat in the dumpster and the rest of us.
“Kyoko?”
She waves. “That’s me. Is this a bad time? It kind of looks like a bad time.”
“If you came to see Winnie, she’s not here.”
Kyoko walks over, then picks up the banner by one corner, wrinkling her nose. “Actually, Winnie told me to come. I’m here to apply for a job.”