In turn, Diane Donner’s distraction had made me very, very happy.
’Til right now.
Jethro placed a hand on my shoulder, redirecting my attention to his. “I've never known you to be unhappy and do nothing about it.”
“Well, you've never known me to be on the precipice of marriage either. In marriage, sacrifices must be made. Compromises.”
Jet’s eyebrows ticked up as his hand fell away. “You? Compromise?” He looked truly flabbergasted.
“I am capable of compromise.” I sniffed, checking to see if the bar had opened for customers. It hadn’t.
“When have you ever compromised?”
“Just wait and see.”
I’d—somewhat cheerfully at the time—resigned myself last year to the fact that the entire wedding would be a compromise, back when Jennifer and her momma had suggested Diane take over. Looking around at the opulence now, I suspected the next few months leading to the actual wedding would be more akin to complete surrender than a compromise.
This chafed like wet pants on a ten-mile hike.
“All right then, start compromising with what you’re wearing. Diane Donner sees us dressed like this, she’ll have a conniption. We got to go home and change.” This last part he said on an urgent whisper.
I made a noncommittal sound. There must’ve been over fifty guests here already, and this thing didn’t technically start for another ten minutes. Soon we’d be surrounded with hangers-on and the grating sounds of snobby southern small talk, which is like Yankee small talk except there’s significantly more “Bless their little hearts” and sharing of recipes.
“Cletus. For the last time, we can't wear what we have on. Look at them—not the waitstaff, Sheriff James and Jackson. They’re in suits, they got jackets. The only jacket I have in my car is a leather one.”
“What? You don't want to look like Indiana Jones during my engagement party?” I didn’t look at the sheriff or his son, not wanting to inadvertently make eye contact with the Deputy Jackson James, an action that might be misconstrued as an implied invitation to join us. I wasn’t in the frame of mind to interact with acquaintances at present.
“Listen, this is what I'll do.” Jethro put his hand on my shoulder again. “I’ll send a text message to everybody on my way out, let them know this thing is fancy dress, and pick up our suits from the homestead. Then I’ll come right back, and you can change.”
“I don't want to change, Jethro,” I said stubbornly. “I've already changed too many times today. I'm not changing again.”
“Come on, Cletus. Be reasonable.”
“Hey guys.” Jackson James’s approaching voice had me lifting my eyes to the ceiling after Jethro mouthed the words, Be nice.
I didn’t get a chance to mouth back, Or what? before Jackson drew even with us, asking, “Where are your jackets? Folks are arriving.”
For the love of all tarnation—
“I’m on my way to go grab them,” Jethro cut in, locking my eyes in a death stare. “We just finished helping with the setup. And so now I'm driving back to the homestead to go get our suits. Goodbye.”
With that, the eldest of my brothers turned on his heel and marched out of the faux-barn toward the parking lot, leaving me with Jackson and his skinny tie.
I looked him down and up, not hiding my perturbed hostility. “Where and when did y’all get the suit memo?”
“Pardon?”
“How did you know to wear a suit?” I spoke slowly, carefully. If I had to repeat myself a third time, I was liable to grab his head and shout in his ear.
“Oh, well, I just assumed.” One side of his mouth smiled, the other side communicated wariness, like my question might be a riddle. “I've never known Mrs. Sylvester—I mean, sorry, Ms. Donner—to throw a shindig that wasn't suit and tie required.”
I nodded faintly, considering his words and all the information he’d just disclosed, likely without meaning to do so.
Fact: Jackson had attended one or more Diane Donner “shindigs” prior to now.
Fact: I had never attended a Diane Donner shindig prior to now.
Fact: I had never been invited to a Diane Donner shindig prior to now. But Jackson had.
Fact: The Jameses and the Donner-Sylvesters were friendly previous to the divorce in the sense that they attended parties together, which—I supposed—made sense. Being a shrewd person of business, Jenn’s momma would want to court the sheriff’s good favor as often as possible. Whereas my momma and our family hadn’t any favors to offer someone like Diane Donner. Until recently.
“Plus, you know, Ms. Donner tries to one-up herself. Momma always has to buy a new dress each time. It’s expected. Since this is the first Donner Lodge party in years, I figured it’d be something intense.” He glanced around, taking his time to register all the splendor. “I was not wrong.”
I didn't like the idea of Jackson knowing more than me about anything, let alone Jenn’s family’s customs. Therefore, I offered a terse grunt and looked at the bar again. Finally! Open for business.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping around the blond officer and making a straight line for the promise of whiskey.
“I saw Jenn yesterday at the station.” Jackson’s voice followed me. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know he followed me as well.
“Was she under arrest?”
“What? No.” Jackson laughed between saying hi to the folks I brushed past. “She was bringing bakery stuff to the deputies and staff who couldn’t make it tonight ’cause they’re on duty.”
Upon reaching the bar, I held my thumb and index finger about two inches apart and said, “Whiskey. Neat. And a lot.”
Patty Lee, who sometimes filled in at the Donner Lodge but mostly tended bar at Genie’s, her momma’s place up the road, gave me an apologetic smile. “We’re only serving beer and wine tonight. Ms. Donner’s orders.”
No . . . whiskey?
Beer and wine only?
I made a mental list of whiskey brands I enjoyed in order to calm myself and did my utmost to keep the pitch of my voice steady as I said, “Patty. I can see the whiskey. It’s right behind you.”
She grimaced, looking undecided.
“Put it in a mug and I’ll say it’s tea. No one has to know.”
After another moment’s hesitation, and before I had to threaten her with blackmail, she nodded. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone else. Got it?”
“It shall remain our secret until the day I die.”
Her lips tilted to the side like the solemn vow amused her, but she nodded and turned.
Jackson stepped up next to me, chuckling. “Nervous?”
“No.”
“Okay. If you say so. But for the record, I’d be nervous.”
If Jackson hoped I’d ask follow-up questions, he’d be sorely disappointed. My plan—now that my drink was en route and I’d begun to overcome my initial shock at the grandeur of the evening—was to find an inconspicuous locale, then hover and blend until duty called. I would use the time to drink whiskey and ruminate. A solid plan.
But before I could grab my drink and dash, my brother Billy’s unmistakable tenor reached me just as he did. “There you are.” Billy placed a hand on my shoulder after giving Jackson a quick nod of greeting. He then lowered his voice. “Where’s your jacket? Do you need a jacket? I have an extra in the car, and a tie.” Of course Billy wore a suit. He always wore a suit these days.