Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,22

care of her, which is my biggest fear.

“You won’t even feel it. Let me just fix it while you’re eating. You can watch a video on my phone, okay?”

Parker sneers at me with her nose scrunched up and her eyes pinched, a face Abby made whenever she was jokingly angry with me. “You look like your mom when you do that,” I remind her.

“Good,” Parker says.

I place my phone down onto the table next to the bowl of cereal and Parker reaches for the bait, scrolling through my apps looking for Netflix. It’s my moment of opportunity before she screams about the knots. I spray in the detangling conditioner and pull the brush through, squeezing my hand around the roots to lessen the pull. I got a slight groan out of her but worked out all the snarls without the normal scream. Knowing the worst part is over, she ignores the rest of the process and focuses on the movie she found.

After knotting the second braid, I wonder how I got to a point in my life where I consider myself talented for being able to braid Parker’s hair. I don’t recall learning, just doing it out of necessity as her hair grew out.

“Okay, whenever you’re ready, we have to get moving.” The morning blues seem to have disappeared now that she has eaten, and my sweet daughter has replaced the grump that was sitting here a few moments earlier.

Within just a few minutes, we’re in the truck and heading to The Barrel House.

“It’s still dark,” Parker says.

“I know, it’s early, but Mr. Quinn needs our help, so we’re helping, right?”

“Why does he need our help?”

It was a question I intended to avoid but forgot without the proper amount of caffeine pumping through my blood at this ungodly hour. “He can’t be at work today, that’s all.” I wish that was all.

Bringing Parker anywhere is easy so long as she has a favorite book to read. I settled her in a nook by one of the machine’s downstairs in The Barrel House, but the sounds were too loud, so she moved between a row of barrels.

I need to start up the mash tub to mix the corn, grains, and water. Once I get everything going with this, I can take Parker to school while it starts up. There will be some cleanup when I get back, but hopefully not too much.

As I tear open another bag of kernels to pour into the machine’s mouth, I notice a distracting motion out near the stacked barrels. I glance over, finding Melody who appears unamused, and she’s with whom I assume to be her sister, Journey—the one trying to get my attention over the noise.

After a quick check to make sure the kernels have all made their way down into the tub, I walk toward the ladies since I can’t hear much over the sound of the machine.

“I thought you weren’t coming in until ten?” the other girl asks. It has to be Journey, but she looks different. Her hair is jet black and she kind of looks irritated at life, or possibly not feeling well. If she is Journey, I can understand the reason for the attitude because of what they’re going through with Harold. “Yeah, I thought I’d pop by for a few minutes, but I have to leave soon. I knew we had to get these kernels cleaned today and wanted to get a head start.”

“Oh,” Melody says. Her cheeks are red and she’s avoiding eye contact. I must have mortified her yesterday, but she sent that friend request too. I don’t understand.

I reach my hand out to the other girl. “Journey, right?”

Journey seems amused by my question, rolling her eyes for good measure. “Yeah, we spent some time together when we were younger,” she says with a smile filled with mischief.

“Sure, I remember you.” How can two people change so drastically over ten years? I’m still trying to understand how I didn’t recognize Melody at first. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Could be it. Melody’s insecure demeanor becomes more pointed as her eyes narrow in on me as if I said something wrong. Did I? “Well, we have an incoming shipment of water due around noon, so I might need a little help to get the path cleared. Things seem a little out of sorts here.” I don’t mean this as any offense to Mr. Crawley, but I know Harold keeps a tight ship, or so he likes to