"It's not for me. Small-batch liquor isn't my passion. It doesn't wake me up in the morning and keep me going at night. I want to steer my investments toward my passions, as I'm sure you can understand."
"What?" I repeated. Now I was annoyed.
"My attorney is drawing up dissolution papers today. He'll have them out to you tomorrow. Friday at the latest."
Again— "What?"
"As I'm sure you recall from the original agreement, the terms are generous," he continued. "There's a five-year grace period before repayment of the initial investment is required." He paused. Another seagull swooped by. "You have to know I labored over this decision for several months, JJ."
A dry laugh rumbled up from my chest. "It would've been nice of you to mention it sooner." A rough estimate of the upcoming construction and production expenses flashed through my mind. "You're not leaving me in the best position here."
"It's just business," he replied. "Look, JJ. I have another call coming in. Look for those papers from my attorney and—"
I ended the call and turned back toward the village. I swept my gaze over the place I'd hoped to redefine as the impact of losing Barry's investment landed in my gut like a brick. Lacing my hands behind my neck, I glanced up the hill to the ancestral estate where Brooke was undoubtedly approving the funeral reception menu while also moving money around the globe at the same time.
She could help. She could get me out of this mess.
But there was no way I could ask her for help. I wasn't going to add that dynamic to our relationship and I wasn't going to be another in a long line of people who expected something from her. If I intended to open this distillery, I was doing it without her saving the day.
Chapter Thirty-Three
JJ
Current Liabilities: the sum of salaries, interest, accounts payable, and other debt service requirements due within one year.
LayingJudge Markham to rest was a major event in Talbott's Cove. The flags were lowered and the local court closed. The entire town attended the funeral mass, many spilling out the congregation doors and onto the steps despite torrential rain. The firefighters and sheriff's deputies led a procession from the church to the family cemetery on the Markham estate, where he was to be buried alongside Brooke's mother and hundreds of years of ancestors.
Brooke put on an excellent show. She was gracious and genuine as she stood in the foyer of her father's house, accepting condolences from the hundreds, maybe thousands, of townspeople in attendance. She listened to an endless stream of stories, her hands clasped in front of her, and conjured the appropriate expressions and responses. But I knew it was a performance, and I knew she was heading for a crash.
Despite the best efforts of Annette, Jackson, and I, Brooke continued to refuse all assistance. She'd held us off since her father's death and we were running low on solutions. None of us wanted to force a confrontation or push her into a test of wills, but she couldn't keep going at this pace. She worked around the clock, rarely stopped to eat or sleep, and she hadn't shed a tear. I knew grief took many forms but I also knew this show couldn't go on forever.
When the line of visitors dwindled, Brooke stepped away from her post in the foyer. She joined us on the far end of the front porch, her sky-high heels clacking against the weathered wood in time with distant rolls of thunder. She looked regal in her sleeveless black dress, her hair twisted into a conservative knot and a string of pearls draped around her neck. She also looked exhausted and frail and painfully lonely.
Annette pushed a plate toward her, but she waved it off.
"No, I don't want anything." She ran a finger over her brow and closed her eyes for a moment. I rested my hand on the small of her back. "That's not true. The house smells like ham and wet hair, and I've heard the same six stories about five hundred times apiece. My feet hurt, my hair is frizzing around the back of my neck, and"—she tucked a finger under the belt cinching the dress at her waist—"this thing was a terrible choice."
"Okay, so," Annette started, "ham, shoes, people, and that belt. Anything else bothering you?"
"Many, many things are bothering me," she said, glancing out at the rain. "Very few of them can be improved."
"Let's start small," Annette said. "I can get you a pair of flats and some bobby pins for the frizz."
"There's nothing you need to do," Brooke replied. "No, that's not true. I want you to send everyone home."
"We can do that," Jackson replied. "Give me ten minutes, I'll shut this thing down."
"Ask the caterers to box up the leftover food," Brooke said, rubbing her forehead again. "Get rid of the ham, the roast, the lemon squares. All of it, I want it gone and I want everyone out. Tell the people whatever you want. It doesn't matter anyway." She cast another glance toward the heavy storm clouds overhead. "I'm going upstairs."
"I'll go with you," Annette offered.
"No." Brooke held up a hand, warning her off. "Thank you, but I want to be alone right now and I need you to handle the caterers."
We watched as Brooke marched away. When she stepped into the house, Annette said, "I'm going with her."
"The hell you are," I replied. "You're on catering duty.I'mgoing with her."
"She needs me right now," Annette argued. "You're great and all, but I'm the one who will get her through this."
