Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,8

front door in nothing but a t-shirt, a tutu, and leggings. The girl does not listen to me about running outside like this when it’s freezing out.

I park the truck and hop out to grab the little cannonball running toward me at warp speed. “Dad!” she shrieks.

“You are going to freeze your little butt off, missy. Why are you out here with no coat or shoes?” I ask, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. “I missed you so much.”

“I’m happy you’re home early,” she coos, squeezing her arms around my neck.

“Me too.” Although the reason I’m home early isn't a good reason. “Pop-pop said you have to go to The Barrel House for a little bit today. Is that true?”

I press my forehead against Parker’s and screw my lips to the side. “Yeah, princess. I have to go help out over there for a bit, but tonight, I’m taking you out for pizza and ice cream. How does that sound?”

Parker’s weakness is pizza and ice cream. If that can’t make her happy, I’m out of ideas, but after being gone a couple days, I’m going straight for bonus points here. “Yes!”

“Okay, let’s get you inside before you turn into an icicle.”

“Dad, it’s like forty degrees. It’s not icicle material.”

Parker has been arguing matters of weather with me since she was three. If she had things her way, she’d be running around in a bathing suit in negative degree snowstorms. She’s kind of like her mother, Abby, in that way. Neither the cold nor the extreme heat ever seemed to bother her. I couldn’t understand it, but I was jealous, especially during short deployments to the mountains or desert for cold and hot weather training. It sucked.

I carry Parker inside the house, hearing Mom belt her name out from upstairs. “I’ve got her,” I reply.

“Parker Lane Pearson, were you outside without a jacket again?” Mom shouts.

“I didn’t have shoes on either,” she says with a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Where’s Pops?” I ask Mom.

“Oh, he’s in the garage fixing God knows what.” Mom takes Parker from my arms. “Let’s go get you packed up to head home, you crazy girl.”

After the conversation I had with Pops last night, I’m curious about his current mood. He was upset, and it takes a lot to get him to that point. This is understandably a circumstance that could knock anyone off their feet.

I make my way through the kitchen, inhaling the comforting scent of fresh bread. I don’t know how Mom has the energy to make bread from scratch three times a week, but she never misses a beat. The door to the garage is stuck as usual, but I yank with just the right amount of force to pry the thing open. Pops fixes everything in this house but will not grease up the door. One of these days, I’m going to do it for him. I think he prefers the door being stuck, though. It gives him a loud warning when someone is entering his territory. Why he needs a warning, I’ll never know, nor do I want to ask.

“Who goes there?” he shouts, jokingly. He probably assumes I’m Parker.

“It’s me, Pops.”

I hear a wrench, or whatever metal tool he’s holding onto, fall to the cement ground. “Brett, you’re back,” he says, making his way around a stack of storage containers.

Pops throws his arms around my neck for a hug as if I had been gone for a year. He slaps his palm against my back and squeezes me. “Thanks for coming home so fast.”

“Anything for you,” I say.

“My heart is broken, Brett. I can’t imagine going on without Harold. He’s my closest friend. It isn’t supposed to be this way, you know? We’ve been friends since we were Parker’s age, for Christ’s sake.”

Hearing how long he and Harold have been friends puts things into perspective a bit more. Not that I didn’t understand where his pain was stemming from, but fifty some-odd years is a long time to be friends with someone, and then forced to say goodbye too soon.

Abby and I; we were what I’d refer to as best friends, but it was only for four years. Though, it felt like a lifetime when she was no longer there with me.

“I’m not sure what to say, Pops. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“The bastard called me and told me through a joke. Would you believe that?” I can believe it. Harold and Pops rarely exchange