He doubted any of them knew jack about beer.
There were tears in Georgie’s eyes, which made his stomach wrench a little. Beau’s son and grandson were obviously blowhards—well, Junior, at least—but the granddaughters seemed okay. Still, he felt worse for the guy sitting next to him. The secret son. For everything that had been said around and about him, he hadn’t said a word. He’d just soaked it all in like he was used to listening, to reacting rather than acting.
River knew what it felt like to be the kid who got left behind—literally, in his case—and it sucked. Now, this guy had become the sideshow in this hoity-toity circus, through the mere act of being born. The look in his eyes said he could take it, though—that maybe this was something he’d been waiting for, his chance to claim whatever piece of the Buchanan pie he felt he was owed.
In this case, a fourth of Beau’s estate.
It was time for the rest of them to leave.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” he said, to which all of the other non-Buchanans eagerly nodded. “Give the family some space. You’ve already addressed the parts of the will that relate to us, right, Henry? Any reason for us to stay?”
Henry gave him a panicked look. His handkerchief was as wet as if he’d soaked it in one of Aunt Dottie’s water pitchers. He clearly didn’t enjoy the thought of being left with the Buchanans, and really, who could blame him.
“Good idea, dear,” Aunt Dottie said. “But if I remember correctly, I’m supposed to stay until the end.”
Adalia had picked up the crystal his aunt had given her and was turning it around in her hand as if she might hurl it at someone—who the target would be was anyone’s guess—but her eyes flew up at his aunt’s comment. “You knew I had another brother before I did!”
Her tone was shrill, and Prescott picked up his glass of water, untouched, of course, and banged it down on the table. “You will stop acting like a child this instant, Adalia. We’ve had enough of your display.”
She’d been saucy enough earlier that River expected her to throw back a comment, but she didn’t. She just sat back in her chair, her mouth in a thin line, like she was forcing herself to hold back all the things she wanted to say. Or maybe she was just trying not to cry. With her short curly hair, she looked every bit the part of the little sister. Somehow that made it worse. He didn’t think much of men who intimidated women.
The door closed, and River realized Rita had already left the room. Smart lady.
“See,” Aunt Dottie said brightly, although River knew her well enough to see beyond it, “aren’t you glad I got the glasses? A plastic bottle would never have made such an authoritative sound. You would have crushed it.”
“Who is this woman?” Prescott asked Henry. “Is there any reason for her to stay?”
The words were said with such distaste, River felt the urge to bite back, but this was his aunt’s moment too, and if anyone knew how to stand up for herself, it was Dottie Hendrickson. A man had attempted to mug her once, and she’d reduced him to tears in the space of five minutes, and not because she kept a can of mace in her purse. She’d engaged him in conversation, and he’d spilled his life story to her. She’d invited him home for tea, and he still sent her a card every Christmas. That was Aunt Dottie for you.
“Dad…” Junior said, likely the first time he’d done anything to stand up to his father, but he needn’t have bothered.
“Oh, bless your heart,” Aunt Dottie said. “I’m the woman who’s shared your father’s bed for the last twenty years.”
And that was his cue.
As voices rose on the other side of the room, River nodded to the guy next to him, whose name he still didn’t know. “Good luck, man. You’re going to need it.”
For a second, he wondered if maybe he’d pissed the guy off, but then a corner of his mouth lifted up.
“Thanks, I guess.”
River got up and slapped Tom on the back. “Ready?”
They walked away, River closing the door behind them, but as they left the room, he felt compelled to look back. He met Georgie’s eyes again, drawn to her despite himself, but she looked away as if embarrassed. He couldn’t blame her for that. He had a feeling everyone in that room would be talking about this will reading for years to come.
Once they left the office and stepped onto North Market Street, River turned to Tom. “If they sell to one of the big companies, let me know, man. I can put in a word for you with Finn. No one wants to work for the corporate overlords.”
Tom gave him a weird look. Had he overstepped? They’d always gotten along well, so the possibility hadn’t occurred to him.
Before he could ask, Tom shook his head. “I’ll see how it plays out. I guess we know why Beau never talked about his family much. I feel like we just walked out of a reality TV show.”
River went home to change out of the suit, something he was grateful he had time for before he met up with Finn. Finn had gone to the funeral too, but he’d ducked out afterward, saying something about a business meeting. Although they’d worked together for five years, River was happy to leave that kind of stuff to him. The business angle wasn’t something that spoke to him; brewing was what he loved. There was a certain kind of magic to brewing beer—you never knew exactly how it was going to turn out. Small differences could end up being big in the end. A little more of this, a little less of that, and suddenly you had a new flavor, the kind that kept people coming back.
River didn’t have any official training—he’d never taken any classes—but he’d started when he was a teenager, schooled by Beau, who maybe should have known better. And Finn had taken a chance on him after they met at a local beer festival. Together they’d made Big Catch Brewing the go-to craft brewery in Asheville. And that was something to be proud of.
About a month ago, Beau had invited River over for a drink. They’d sat on the back porch with a couple of brews—some of Big Catch’s stuff River had brought over—and shot the shit. It wasn’t so unusual for Beau to ask him over, even if Aunt Dottie wasn’t around, but something about Beau’s energy had seemed off—and wouldn’t his aunt have had a field day if he’d told her that—so it hadn’t surprised him when the tone turned serious.
Beau had set his beer down and turned to look River in the eye. “Son,” he said, “you’re happy, aren’t you? Working with Finn? I didn’t know what to think of a man named after a fish appendage, but he seems like a good enough sort of fellow.”
A little uneasy about where the conversation was going, River had nonetheless fallen into the joke. “Sure, once I got used to the smell.”
But Beau’s expression had stayed serious, and so he’d responded in kind.
“Yeah, Beau, I’m happy there. Who would have thought I’d have all of this after…well, you know.” He tapped the bottle in his hand. It was their Lake Trout Lager. Given their respective names, River and Finn, they’d gone in hard with the whole fishing theme—a joke that probably seemed funnier after a couple of drinks.
“Good, good,” Beau had said distractedly.
River sat up straighter. “Are you having trouble with the brewery?”