Page 60 of Blame it on the Bet
“Son, I think you’d best take it down a notch,” advises Big Win in a calm, deliberate tone from the other side of the table.
“Dad, I think you need to stay out of this,” Win II spits at Win I.
Oh my. Things just got really interesting.
There is a long, very pregnant, very awkward, very disturbing pause.
“I suggest you check yourself, Winston,” Big Win says in the same quiet tone. “You’re out of line, son. Now, what say we enjoy this wonderful meal that Jameson has made for us and talk about something more pleasant? Why don’t you tell Bryan about the murder case that you caught last week.”
Yes, please, dear God, let’s talk about the murder. A much less thorny topic, for sure.
The son sniffs like a petulant teenager but begins, begrudgingly, to tell us the bizarre story of the woman he’s defending. She’s been accused of killing her husband with a frozen turkey then cooking the evidence and serving it to her in-laws.
“Wait, wait, wait.” I stop him, shaking my head. “Isn’t that the plot of an old movie? It sounds really familiar…”
Big Win grins and points his fork at me.
“Good memory, Bryan! It was an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. I suppose she figured it was old enough that no one would recall and suspect anything.”
“Holy shh…sugar!” I catch myself before I can give
little potty-mouth any more ammunition to use against me.
“Nice.” Hennessy smiles appreciatively. “Glad to see you learned your lesson after the whole douche thing—” She stops cold, immediately realizing her mistake. We all do, including little Jackson Clarke, whose little laser focus is on me an instant before he yells: “Doooooosh! Brybry dooooosh!”
Which comes an instant before he hurls a fistful of potato mush into my hair.
The entire table erupts at once. Hennessy slams a hand across her mouth just as Jameson throws her fork down on the table in exasperation. Bailey is literally falling out of her chair while Big Win shakes his head and chuckles. Even Win is having a hard time keeping the corners of his scowl from tilting up into a smile.
Out of the mouths of babes…
Chapter Twenty-Three
HENNESSY
While I didn’t mind the idea of riding with him to Jameson’s, now I’m faced with the awkwardness of the ride home with Bryan after our earlier car conversation. Not to mention the very spirited luncheon discussion. Between Win and Jax, I don’t think the poor guy got a mouthful of food down.
“You must think my entire family is nuts,” I say at last, breaking an especially long stretch of silence.
“I think every family is nuts,” he assures me with a grin and then seems to think of something. “He’s not all that bad, you know. Win, that is.”
I take a long deep breath.
“I know it must seem that way to you. But there’s a lot of water under that particular bridge.”
“He loves his son,” Bryan points out.
“He does,” I agree. “But he could love his wife more and the rest of the women in Minnesota a little bit less.” It takes him a second to get my meaning.
“Oh. So he’s…fooling around on her?”
“Yeah, afraid so. And he’s not very discreet about it. But you know what the worst thing is? I believe he really does love her…just not enough to be faithful to her. And, my God…” I pause, my voice catching. “It just kills her. It hurts her more than anything he could ever possibly do to her. He’s promised to stop. They’ve gone to therapy, even, but he just can’t seem to help himself.”
Bryan nods slowly as he processes what I’ve told him, glancing out the passenger’s side window as I navigate the back roads toward Mayhem. After what feels like a long time, he speaks again.
“You know, Hennessy, men cheat or sleep around for different reasons. Some like the thrill. Some are hooked on the sex. Others just don’t give a damn about their wives. Still others feel justified because they don’t think they’re getting what they need at home. And then there are guys who screw around again and again and again because it makes them feel something—even if it’s just for an hour. They feel some approximation of love…”
“But she does love him,” I object but he holds up his hand to stop me.
