It was my fault.
There couldn’t be an us.
Not then.
1
If someone toldme a year ago, I would be in the state of South Carolina dressed in a suit today, I would have laughed. I would have laughed so hard I might have peed myself because I was sure there was nothing in the world that could make me come back to the Carolinas. Nothing, unless Pops asks me to do him a favor and close a vendor sale. I’m not a sales guy, but Pops doesn’t ask me for many favors, and he and Mom do a lot for me, so I couldn’t say no.
The hallway leading away from the meeting room is concrete, underground, and cold for this part of the country. I’ve seen my fair share of bourbon distilleries throughout my life, but a lot of them offer tours to enthusiasts. I’m almost positive this building doesn’t open up to the public. Their equipment is on the older side, and there’s more or less no sign of life here. Literally. I don’t have a signal on my phone. I only have one bar, but it’s enough to know I have an incoming call from Pops.
I’m sure the call won’t connect, but I answer anyway. “Hey,” I say, rechecking the signal as I walk closer to the stairwell. There isn’t even a sound on the other end. I’m not sure he can hear me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll call you right back. I’m just leaving the distillery. There’s no service down here.” I disconnect the call and find the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. During the long minute I take to get out of the cement structure, I consider what reason Pops would have for calling me while knowing I’m at his vendor meeting. This meeting could have been much longer, but luckily, they were ready to sign when I walked in the door.
As I reach my rental car, I call Pops back. “Hey kid,” he answers after the first ring.
“Everything okay?” I hear a sigh, then he clears his throat. The expressive sounds tell me something is wrong. “Is Parker okay?” I ask with immediate panic.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, Brett,” he says, sounding frustrated.
“What’s going on then?”
I slip into the car, switching the phone from my left hand to my right so I can close the door and turn on the ignition. “It’s Harold,” Pops says.
“Harold Quinn?” I question. I just saw him two days ago when I brought him a shipment of barrels to The Barrel House.
“Yeah,” Pops continues.
“What’s wrong?”
There’s a long string of silence and my thoughts are everywhere. “Stage four cancer,” Pops utters. “It came back. He waited too long and—”
My heart thuds in my chest at the sound of Pops choking up. “Jesus.” I scratch my fingernails along the side of my cheek. The last time a doctor diagnosed Harold, I was overseas on a deployment and had no clue what was going on until I got home.
“I’m so sorry, Pops. What can I do?”
I don’t remember seeing Pops cry more than twice throughout my lifetime. One was when Grams died and the other was when Pop-Pop died. Aside from that, Pops is a man of few emotions. His end of the phone sounds muffled, but I hear heavy breaths. I’m not sure how to console him. I think I forgot how to trigger that simple human function over the last ten years. All I can do is remain quiet and listen.
“I need you to get on a flight in the morning,” Pops belts out. “I know you aren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow night, but Harold needs help in the shop and you’re the only one who knows how to run the place as good as he does.”
I’m not sure when it became second nature to run the shop or those machines, but something clicked the first time Harold showed me the ropes, and I took an appreciation for his passion of distilling bourbon.
“What about his daughters?” I can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. Plus, if they’re at the shop trying to help Harold, I’m not sure they’d appreciate me being there and stepping on their toes.
“Brett, you know neither of his daughters are versed with the mechanics of the distillery machines.” I didn’t know this because I haven’t spoken to Melody or Journey in about a decade, but I’ll take his word. “Journey is at Harold’s side, helping Marion out, but Melody has been living in South Carolina. I guess she’s heading home tomorrow too.”
Melody is living here, in South Carolina. I heard she had moved away to live with her husband or something, but I didn’t realize it was here of all places.
“How are the girls taking this?” I haven’t referred to them as “the girls” since we were kids, but it comes out naturally.
“From what Harold told me, Melody isn’t doing well, and Journey is quietly digesting everything.” I don’t feel like I ever knew them as well as I should have considering how close our dads are, but Journey was always the quiet, moody one, and Melody was like a ray of sunshine; always smiling, giggling, and walking into things. She was also shy and sensitive, unlike her sister.
They’re as opposite as Brody and I are. Although, we aren’t so different now, I guess.
“I’ll get my flight switched and I’ll be home as soon as I can tomorrow. How long do you think he has?” I realize my question is forward for the state Pops is in, but I can’t take it back now.
He pulls in a heavy breath and slowly releases the air before responding. “I don’t know, son. He doesn’t know. ‘Could be soon,’ is all he said to me.”
“I get it,” I say. “Hey, Pops. I’m sorry to bring this up, but can you make sure Parker doesn’t get wind of this?”
