Page 1 of Blame it on the Bet
Chapter One
HENNESSY
The paper is thick and creamy, the typeface a perfectly neat and neutral Times New Roman. I’ve examined documents like this hundreds of times, but I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around what I’m looking at as I flip through page after page of legalese. I mean, I am, after all, a lawyer. I understand the terms. I understand the law behind the terms. What I don’t understand is how these terms of the law came to apply to my father. Or, more accurately, to his estate.
“And you found this where?” I ask my sister Jameson. “At home. In Pops’s sock drawer. We were packing up
some of his clothes to bring to the Goodwill, and there it was, in a file folder.”
“Well, I guess that explains why we didn’t come across it with the rest of his files in the office,” I mutter.
It’s been about a month now since my father was felled by a massive aneurysm, and I’m still reeling. We all are. These things, by nature, happen quickly—no symptoms, no warning. No chance to say good-bye. Pops was dead before he hit the floor, and all I’ve been able to think about since then is what I should’ve said. What I should’ve done. Because here I am with a head full of memories, a heart full of regrets, and a hand full of papers that reduce his life’s work to a few paragraphs of legalese.
We thought the pub was free and clear. Our parents paid off the mortgage when I was a kid. But apparently— unbeknownst to my three sisters and me—our father had been borrowing against the equity in the business. Now, as I sit at my sister’s table examining the particulars of his loan activity, I see the cost of our lives unfold before me. Ten thousand here, thirty thousand there. Each five-figure withdrawal coinciding with a major life event for one of us. I see what can only be my law school tuition…and the cash he gave me to get settled in the Twin Cities. I’m comparing the math and the dates that match Jameson’s nursing degree and subsequent wedding. Then there’s tuition for my sister Walker and braces for Bailey. There’s also a substantial withdrawal dating back to a little over a year ago, when Pops insisted on paying for his first grandchild’s nursery. In all, it’s more than a hundred thousand dollars.
“Holy. Crap.” I flip from page to page, shaking my head in disbelief. “How did this happen? Why wouldn’t he tell us?”
“Because he was a proud man, Henny,” Jameson says. “He’d never ask you to take out a school loan. And he’d sooner have died than let the Clarke family pay for my wedding. And then when little Jackson was born…”
Before she can even finish her sentence, Baby Satan is in action. I don’t even see the wonton as it comes hurtling across the table, hitting my cheek and sliding down my neck. It leaves a slimy trail before it splats to the floor. I can’t move. None of us can. Bailey is the first to laugh. She slaps one hand over her mouth and points to me with the other, howling behind her fingers. Walker is right there with her, trying desperately not to spit her mouthful of wine all over the table. Jameson is the only one who is not amused.
“Jackson Winston Clarke!” she shrieks at my nephew, the dumpling-flinger.
His entire little body is shaking with a deep belly laugh, and he’s already reaching into his Winnie the Pooh bowl for something else to toss my way.
“Win!” Jameson calls over her shoulder. “Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!” “What the hell, James? Dad and I are trying to watch Jeopardy!,” my jerk of a brother-in-law says when he deigns to enter the kitchen where my three sisters and I are all sitting around the table, eating Chinese takeout.
Oh, he’s handsome, all right. Win Jr. is your typical Minnesota hottie—tall, blond-haired, and blue-eyed. But the attractive qualities stop there.
“Win, Jackson is done with his dinner. Please take him up and give him his bath. I’ll come and tuck him in when you’re done,” my sister instructs, hauling the little felon out of his highchair and holding him out toward his father… who’s already shaking his head.
“No, no, no. Sorry, James, but I’m beat. I’ve had a long day, and I’m in no mood…”
He stops as soon as she gives him “the look.” The one that says “do this now, or you’ll pay for it later.” I know that look very well, and judging by how quickly Win snatches his son from his wife’s arms, he does, too. I can still hear him grumbling under his breath as I swab the remnants of the wonton from my cleavage.
Walker is still snickering as she pulls the guts out of an egg roll.
“I’m so sorry, Hennessy,” Jameson apologizes as she kneels to wipe the food from the floor. When she looks up at me, I can see the dark circles under her moss-colored eyes and…could that be the start of crow’s feet? God, Jameson’s only twenty-five, a year-and-a-half younger than me, but you wouldn’t know that to look at her. Even her beautiful auburn hair seems tired, pulled back into a wilted ponytail. I reach down and put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not a big deal, really. He’s just excited to see me. It’s been a while since his favorite aunt was in town.”
“Oh, puh-leeeeeeease.” Seventeen-year-old Bailey groans as she rolls her perfect blue eyes and tosses her perfectly straight, perfectly golden-blonde tresses. “If anyone’s Jackson’s favorite, it’s me. I’m the one who babysits…”
“Yeah, well, you’re not my favorite,” Jameson chimes in, returning to her own seat. “You’re the one who lets him eat enough sugary crap to keep him up for twenty-four hours straight.”
“I haven’t got all night, you know,” grumbles Walker, suddenly less amused and more irritated. “Can we please just get on with it already?”
It’s been a long-ass day, and I’m tired—exhausted, really—and I have no patience for Walker’s signature snark.
“You know,” I begin, dropping my voice and leaning across the table toward her, “I had to convince my boss to give me some time off—and right in the middle of a big case. I threw a few things into a bag and drove the three hours up here because you guys said something was really wrong and that you needed me. So, here I am—and don’t you dare tell me you’ve got ‘stuff to do,’ Walker.”
“Hennessy’s right,” Jameson says soothingly. She’s good at that, calming the ever-churning tension among the four of us. “She dropped everything because we asked her to come. The least we can do is show a little gratitude.”
Walker’s turn to roll her eyes. Unlike the blue and green shared by most of our family, hers are the color of gray flannel.
“Fine,” she spits. “Because, you know, the earth doesn’t spin without Hennessy O’Halloran. And, just for the record, I thought we could sort it out on our own.”
Jameson is rubbing her temples now, and I can see she needs this like a hole in the head. I’ve got to get this thing back on the rails, or we’ll be here all night long. I draw in a long, deep breath and take another stab at diplomacy.
