Page 20 of Blame it on the Bet
“And what do you think I’ll hear?”
“The Lord’s will,” says Father Romance. “The Lord’s will is what you’ll hear, and the Lord’s will is what’s going to happen, Hennessy. Good, bad, ugly. It’s all a part of His plan.”
I blow my nose and dry my face.
“I don’t suppose you have any…inside…information about what, exactly, God’s will might be?” I ask, smiling through the last of my tears. “You know, just a little heads- up?”
He throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, dear child, if I did, you can bet I’d be at the track right now, playing the ponies!”
“Now that would be some helpful information,” I agree. “A few well-placed bets and I’d be out of this mess in a jiffy!” I giggle.
“It’s all going to be fine, Hennessy. Whatever comes to pass.”
I give his hand a pat and pull away, getting to my feet. “I hope you’re right, Father. I hope you’re right.”
…
I decide to take my time and walk to the bank. It’s cold, but there isn’t so much as a breath of wind, and the sky is a cloudless, bright blue. When the sunlight glints off the fresh snow-cover, I’m suddenly surrounded by twinkling, sparkling mounds. I breathe deeply, taking the crisp air into my lungs and then watching it escape my lips in puffs of white mist.
It’s quiet in Mayhem on this Wednesday morning as I pass the storefronts that have lined Main Street for as long as I can remember—like Kelly’s Books with its shelves that run from floor to ceiling, and big comfy chairs scattered all over the massive space so readers can sit for hours, perusing. A few doors down is Annie’s Candies, specializing in a dozen different kinds of fudge. Once you’re inside, a separate— and well-monitored—side door takes you into Andie’s AnneXXX, where consumers over the age of eighteen can check out the “penis pops” and chocolate-covered strawberry “nipples,” among other racy delights.
Just a block from the bank is one of the hottest spots in town, the business run by a New York transplant named Janet Lahti, The Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop. For years people have come to Mayhem from all over the Midwest to visit the café. But they’re not just seeking a good piece of pie. They’re looking for some insight into the future. Janet is something of a mystic, predicting the future and communicating with the dearly departed. And, while others of her ilk find their predictions in the bottom of a teacup, Janet finds hers in the bottom of a pie tin. Her rare gift lies in reading pie—interpreting the selections people make and the slices they choose. I’m almost past the storefront when I hear the tinkling bell of the door behind me.
“Well, well. Is that you, Miss O’Halloran?”
That. Voice. I feel my blood pressure spike, even as I plaster on an impassive expression and turn to face him.
Bryan Truitt is, once again, completely underdressed for a Minnesota winter. A trench coat is the closest thing he has to outerwear, and his shoes are so smooth and slippery, he might as well be wearing ice skates. Still, he does look good in his navy suit, And with the hair. And that jaw… Jeez! What is it with this guy’s jaw and me?
Stop it, Hennessy! Stop it right now.This is your adversary, not some hottie who’s just rolled into town. Right?
He’s eyeballing me curiously as I chide myself internally. “Did you have any pie, Mr. Truitt?” I ask.
He looks blank for a moment.
“Oh no. I was hoping to just grab a cup of coffee to go, but they’re pretty swamped in there right now. I figure I’ll try back later. Really, I was curious. I’ve been doing a bit of exploring here in town.”
“Huh. I’m surprised you’re interested.”
He shrugs, seeming unbothered by my snark.
“I am, too, honestly. But it seems as if there’s a lot of local charm here in Mayhem. Anyway, where are you off to on this fine, frigid morning?”
I consider lying to him, but really, there’s no point. Father Romance is right. I need to let go and just have faith it’s all going to turn out right. Unfortunately, that’s easier
said than done.
“Me? Oh, I’m headed to the bank. I have an old friend who’s a loan officer there. He’s going to help me refinance the pub,” I inform him with an air of confidence that I don’t have.
“Good for you,” he says with an easy grin. I almost believe that he’s happy for me. “You know, I was headed
that way myself. Mind if I walk with you?”
I glare at him, hoping he’ll take the hint and shrivel up. He doesn’t. He just keeps that stupid smile on his face and waits expectantly for my answer. This guy’s not an idiot. For God’s sake, he must know I want to push him under a snowplow.
“Actually, I’d rather be alone, if you don’t?—”
He closes the distance between us and cuts me off before I can finish my rejection.
