I hear some fuss from Mrs. Quinn about Harold drinking, but I mind my own business and hunt down some glasses for the bourbon.
Speeches are being made—most of them sound like final words, maybe. Tears are falling, and the room full of people are trying their best to put on a brave face, but considering the pain in my chest, I can’t imagine what the Quinns must be feeling. Mrs. Quinn put a stop to the grim moment and told everyone to eat.
Melody’s back is toward me, and Journey appears to be consoling her as she pulls her sister toward the room’s exit.
At the same time, I see Harold waving me over. I’m not sure it’s me he’s looking at, but when I turn around, I notice I am standing in the area alone. A few calming breaths are all I can manage while walking across the room to stand in front of Harold.
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“Sir? We’ve been over this,” Harold says. “You call me Harold, and that’s it, you understand?”
“I’m sorry, old habits …”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harold jokes. “Look, I wanted to tell you that you’re doing a fine job with The Barrel House. I can’t explain how grateful I am that you’ve stepped up and are handling things so flawlessly around there. Mr. Crawley has been raving about you for days.”
“I’m doing my best. I wouldn’t want to let you or the shop down.”
“Brett, I have another favor to ask of you, but if it’s too much, I understand and will find another way—”
“What is it? You know I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“I know, and that’s why you’re the perfect person for this job.” Harold glances around the room as if he’s searching for someone, but then glances back at me. “There’s only one benefit to knowing I’m going to die before it happens. It has allowed me a little time to finalize some things.” “Of course,” I respond, not sure what he means.
“My girls are going to have a tough time after I’m gone, and I hate to be the one causing them pain, but it’s out of my control. Anyway, I’ve spent some time writing them letters they can hold onto after I pass,” he says, taking in a deep breath. “You see, a few years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer the first time, I thought the world was ending right then and there, so I had these personalized bottle labels made up and stuck them to some of my favorite years of bourbon. Each bottle has a special message for each daughter, and I want them to receive the bottles throughout their lives when the time is right. Marion knows which bottle should be given at what time, but I was wondering if you could deliver the bottles to Melody when necessary?” My first thought is about what would happen if Melody doesn’t want to see me anymore. But the thought must have already crossed Harold’s mind. “I know what you’re probably thinking. You just reacquainted yourself with her this past week, and it’s been years since the two of you have talked, but I want you and Brody to be a part of my girls’ lives. I don’t know how or if it could work, but I trust you boys can look after them for me in whatever capacity you find suitable. Journey will be a little tougher to get through, but Melody, my sweet girl, needs a good messenger. I know this is asking a lot, but if there’s any way—”
“Harold, whether Melody wants to see me or not, I will make sure she somehow receives those bottles when the time calls. I’ll keep an eye on her. I can be like a brother if need be,” I offer.
Harold places his hand on my shoulder, pulling me toward him. “Melody doesn’t need a brother, son. She needs a good man. I will not interfere in her life or yours, but a dying man just knows some things and maybe those things are caused from the ridiculous medications I’m on, but something in my heart tells me there’s a place for you in her life … if you have the space in yours, of course. And I don’t mean that with any pressure. I’m just putting the idea out there.”
I’m at a loss for words, feeling like Harold is asking me to pursue Melody in a way I wouldn’t have expected him to do. She may not have any interest in spending more time with me, never mind anything else that could come from our messy, old friendship. However, if the opportunity to be with her were to come up, I would jump through hoops of fire to take the chance. I’m sure our parents have spoken, and I can only guess Pops has told Harold that I’ve always had a thing for Melody, but so much life has happened in between then and now. I don’t know how things might fall into place or if they ever will.
“However things work out, I will make sure she receives the bottles with your messages. I can promise you that.” If Melody finds a man to marry, and she’s happy, I’ll make sure he has those bottles and the instructions. If Melody has space in her life for me, I’ll be on the front lines, handing those bottles to her. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Harold says with a wink. “And if the situation arises when you and Melody find a kinship, just know you have had and always will have my blessing. Again, I mean that with no pressure or guilt. I’m just covering my bases.”
Despite the discomfort of a conversation I have little control over, as well as the outcome, I’m flattered by his thoughts and words, and if the choice is mine, I’d take his blessing and do whatever it takes to make Melody’s life as perfect as possible.
“Thank you, sir—I mean, Harold. I’ll remember your words.”
Pops slaps my back from behind and pulls me in around the neck. “Are you giving my boy all the trade secrets of bourbon?” he asks
“All of them,” Harold enunciates.
“I’ll let the two of you chat,” I say, taking a few steps back. Their conversation commences, and I turn around in search of Melody, knowing I need to talk to her about something other than what Harold just said to me. At the same time, I’m more aware now that there are moments that can’t be wasted.
I spot Melody and Journey by the exit and make my way over to them. “How are you both holding up?”
“Melody is in la-la land, and I’m trying to figure out how to walk out of this room tonight in one piece,” Journey says, answering for the both of them before walking away.
Melody’s face is flush, and I wish I could say the right thing to comfort her, but there’s no such thing as comfort at the moment.
The light chatter flows effortlessly between us until we notice our mothers chatting in the corner, looking at us as we look at them. “I guess a distraction is easier to focus on right now,” Melody says.
“Yeah, our moms seem to have a hidden agenda for the two of us, but—”
“The timing is ah—” Melody says with a blush of pink staining her cheeks.
“It sucks,” I say, finishing her sentence. We’ve already determined the timing thing, and it isn’t about to change. “I wish I could make this easier for you but—”
