Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) (24 page)

With a great deal of effort and trying not to move
his pounding head too much, Jackson pried both of his eyes open to
a slit. The six Jesse’s settled into a blurry vision of Jesse, his
brothers James and Jared, and shockingly, his mother, Emma and his
father, John.

“He stinks worse than a brewery.” James said.

“Looks like that old pig we kept out by the mud
hole. How’d he get so dirty?” Jared asked.

“Nan said he walked home from the hospital, Monday
night. Looks like he’s done nothing but drink for two days.” Jesse
added a resounding curse to emphasize his disgust.

“He walked all that way. Damn. Didn’t think the old
buzzard had that much brawn left in him.” James snorted

“Hey, watch it,” Jesse said. “He’s just a year older
than me.”

“If the shoe fits…” Jared muttered.

“I can still whip your ass any day little
brother.”

“Boys!” Emma Weldon shouted. “This isn’t helping
your brother. Let’s get him out of that swing. I do declare, I’ve
never seen such a sorry sight.”

“Looks like a total loss,” John Weldon said.

Jackson winced at his mother’s description. He had
never wanted his parents to see him this way. Had Jesse just
mentioned Nan’s name? Had Nurse Nan called his family trying to fix
his problem? He didn’t want anyone’s pity; he didn’t have a
problem.

“You’re right, he’s a total loss,” James said.

“I wasn’t talking about your brother,” John Weldon
said. “I was talking about the cabin. We don’t have any choice but
to save your brother, but the cabin might have to just get
bulldozed down. The wood is rotting.”

His father’s disgust came through Jackson’s drunken
haze loud and clear. “I can’t see that he’s done a single thing to
upkeep the place since he moved in. This cabin belonged to your
grandpa. He built it with his own two hands. It’s a damn shame to
see it this way.”

Where in the hell was a dark hole when he needed it?
Jackson wondered.

“I say we strip him and dump him in the creek,”
Jared said.

“Sounds good.” James, Jesse, and his father all
agreed.

“I’ll go make some coffee,” his mother added.

The conversation was just about more than he could
process over the jackhammer pounding his brain. Before he could get
up and tell everybody to get lost, they lifted him and carted him
like a sack of potatoes. He tried to struggle against his
tormentors, but was too drunk and weak to overpower their combined
strength as they took off his boots, shirt, and pants.

“He must have waded through a briar patch with his
boots on. Never seen so many scratches,” James said.

“Shaaakspeer,” Jackson said and started to
laugh.

“Hell, what did he say?”

“Beats me. Whatever it was he sure thought it was
funny. On the count of three, boys.”

Jackson hit the water mid laugh with his mouth open.
He didn’t bother to shut it. The water was nice, cool. He let his
body go lax thinking he could close his eyes and never wake. No
such luck, somebody grabbed his hair and jerked him up.

“Ouch. That hurt.” Jackson floundered, coughing. The
sun was too damn bright and he had to shield his eyes to shout at
his brother Jesse.

Anger lashed across Jesse’s face and Jesse pushed
Jackson. “Did you just try and drown yourself?”

Jackson stumbled. “Go away.”

Jesse pushed again. “You want to die, bro? Is that
what the past four years have been all about? I’ll help you.”

Jesse pushed him back under the water and held him
there. At first Jackson didn’t struggle. He knew his brother would
haul him up in just a second. Only Jesse didn’t. He just pushed him
further under the water. Jackson could feel his lungs starting to
burn, and a sense of urgency to breathe alarmed his brain.

He’d thought he wanted to die, but something inside
him couldn’t let go. He started to fight and to push against
Jesse’s hold. Jesse only pushed him deeper. He had to breathe, his
vision was beginning to gray around the edges and he felt as if his
chest was about to explode. He lashed out slugging at his brother,
fighting to the surface. He finally broke through. Gasping for air,
he hauled back his arm and plastered Jesse right in the gut. “What
in the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you your wish,” Jesse gasped, nursing his
stomach. His face was deathly grim, and his eyes were burning coals
of anger. They stood in the creek staring at each other. “I think
the wrong person died in that car crash.”

Tears stung Jackson’s eyes and he clenched his
fists. He was more sober than he wanted to be. “The wrong person
did die. It should have been me, not Amy and our unborn baby!”

His words exploded like an A-bomb with immediate
fall out.

“Dear God, son.” Jackson saw his father step into
the creek. Pain and concern lay heavy in his father’s gray eyes,
and echoed in the weathered lines of his face.

Emotion choked Jackson. He had to turned away or
cry. He turned away.

“Son of a bitch,” James said.

“Shit. I’m sorry man,” Jared muttered, parking his
butt on the bank.

Jackson heard a choked sound from Jesse and saw that
his brother was crying. “It could have been me. I could have lost
Alexi and the baby. That’s what you were trying to tell me last
week. I had planned to make one more business trip to DC. I was
going to leave Monday noon and return Tuesday morning. When she
developed her headache Monday night, she just wanted to crawl into
a dark room, which is exactly what she would have done if I had
been gone. I insisted on taking her to the hospital and the doctor
said we arrived there just in time.”

Then Jesse hauled off and planted his fist in
Jackson’s face. Jackson’s head snapped back and he staggered in the
water. “What in the hell was that for?”

“For not telling us what has been eating you alive
for the past four years. Part of loving is sharing both the good
and the bad. We should have kicked your ass years ago and then
maybe you wouldn’t be in such sorry shape now.”

“Your brother is right, son. You should have told
us.”

“What good would it have done?” Jackson yelled,
clenching his hands.

His father’s strong hand fell on Jackson’s shoulder.
Rather than adding to the burdens there as Jackson expected, the
crushing emotions eased as his father spoke. “We could have talked,
could have understood. You’d be surprised what a difference that
can make. If you keep something closed up where it can fester, all
it does is spread poison throughout your body. You boys have done
enough, now. I think Jackson and I need to have a little time.”

Jesse stomped out of the water. “I hope to God that
you’re man enough to decide to join the living, Jack. I have a son
who wants to meet his uncle and I don’t think a broken down drunk
will be a good influence.”

Jared stood up. “He’s a cute little whipper-snapper.
As often as he demands for Alexi to feed him, I think he’s already
figured out one of the best things about women.”

Jesse went to smack Jared and Jared ducked, running
up the hill. Memories of their fun times as brothers tugged on
Jackson’s heart.

“You want me to get the scratches polished out?”
James picked up a boot from the bank. Boots were sacred to
Weldons.

“No. I think I’m going to leave the scratches a
while.” A remembrance of Shakespeare was a remembrance of Nan.
Shit, his gut hurt over her.

James shrugged and dropped the boot. “I feel like we
should do something, but I don’t know what. Me, Jesse, and Jared
are here for you. God forbid, but if I ever have to deal with what
you’ve had to deal with, I hope you’ll be around to kick my ass and
pick me up off the ground.” He turned to go then looked back. “The
guys at work have been asking about you. They told me to tell you
to haul your ass back there. Joe has taking over the singing and
they’re dying as a result.”

“Thanks,” Jackson said, surprised to feel that he
just might miss the guys at work. The mundane labor, like nailing
boards, passed faster and the work progressed quicker if they sang
things like “Car Wash,” and railroad songs.

Jackson didn’t guess he was going to get out of
talking to his father. “You mind if I go put some clothes on?”

“Nope. Your mom’s at the cabin waiting with coffee.
We’ll just mosey on up there and talk after you’re dressed. You can
tell us both about everything. Then we’re going to have to evict
you as a tenant. You can stay at the big house until you decide to
start living life again. Shouldn’t take long with your mom
around.”

“I think maybe I’ll just stay at the cabin and fix
it up.”

“You’re going to fix it up anyhow, but you’ve had
too much time alone, son. You're coming home.”

The minute he walked into the cabin in his underwear
he knew his dogged dreary days of solitary depression were over.
His mom sat at the dinette table folding a dishtowel. You knew Emma
Weldon was praying when she had a dishtowel in her hands. He’d
heard her often growing up. She looked at him. Her graying hair had
more pepper than salt in it, and her eyes were grim, reminding him
of the rare times she was angry enough to cut a switch to his hide.
In the center of the table were about a dozen condom wrappers he’d
discarded when making love to Nan and hadn’t bothered to pick up
and put into the trash yet.

Damn, he was thirty-five years old, not sixteen.
This couldn’t be happening. He scrubbed his hands over his
face.

Jared stuck his head in the door. “Ma. You forgot
one. I found this out in the driveway.” He held up a condom
wrapper.

Jackson snatched it away, literally ready to pound
something and his brother’s grinning face looked like a good place
to start. Disgusted, Jackson stomped to the bathroom. He showered
and dressed. His mother and father were waiting for him when he got
out.

“Sit,” his mother ordered, shoving a hot mug of
coffee into his hands. “We had this discussion twenty years ago, so
I’m not going to go over it all again. I’ve only two things to say.
I hope that you used those condoms on just one woman and not a slew
of women. And that you care a great deal about that woman.”

Jackson started to speak and his mother held up her
hand. “I don’t want to know because technically it is none of my
business. The second thing I have to say is that we taught you to
be a responsible adult and that means not having sex until you’re
ready to take on the responsibilities and consequences that go
along with the fun. From the way you live here, and the shape you
were in this morning, you are no more ready for children than you
were at fifteen.” Tears gathered in her blue eyes and Jackson saw
her unwavering strength falter. “Where have we failed you,
Jack?”

God. He thought he couldn’t feel any more and all
he’d been able to do was feel. Everything cut so deep. “You
haven’t. I’m the one who screwed up. The choices I made killed
Amy.” He told his parents everything. It hurt them that he hadn’t
told them about the guilt that he felt. Their response seemed to
mirror Nan’s.

“Was Amy a bad driver? Anything not maintained on
the car she drove?” his father demanded, eyes narrowed.

“No, and no. The other driver had a heart attack and
crossed the centerline. Amy tried, but couldn’t avoid his car."

Dishtowel in hand, his mom spoke up. “How was Amy
not feeling well that night? Was she ill? Did she have a
fever?”

“No. Just heartburn from a meatball sub she’d eaten
while out buying a maternity dress for the party.” Jackson’s heart
warmed a minute. Amy had been so ticked off that what she craved to
eat hadn’t set well.

His mom smiled. “Did she have on her new dress when
you got home, or did you have to force her to put it on?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “She had it on, of
course.

“Doesn’t sound like you forced her to go. Sounds
like she wanted to go.”

“She did, but—“

“Did she work all night with you?” his father
asked.

“That’s a stupid question. She was at home
asleep.”

“So son, seems to me that if you’d been
irresponsible and had been driving after being up for twenty-four
hours and had an accident that killed Amy, you’d have every right
to blame yourself.”

“We just shouldn’t have gone.”

“Good solution,” his mom said. “All of us should
just stop living and close ourselves up in a closet. Can’t go buy
food, because we might have an accident on the way to the store.
Can’t get on a plane for a vacation or a business trip, it might
crash. Can’t go to the beach, we might get skin cancer.”

“Now you’re really being ridiculous.”

“No, you are.”

“Don’t you understand what happened? They died and I
couldn’t save them?”

“Is there any way that anybody could have saved
them?”

“Maybe. If we’d been closer to the hospital, if I’d
had the right equipment.” But even as he said the words, he
realized that it had been a big maybe. Amy had died even before the
paramedics had made it to the scene.

His mother squeezed his hand. “Caring is different
than feeling guilty. You can care and not destroy your own life. I
grieve for Amy; she was my first daughter-in-law. I call her mother
twice a month and we talk; we’ve moved past the pain to the
memories. You need to, too.”

“Your mother and I gave the best years of our lives
making sure you had a chance at a good life. We aren’t going to
lose you. Not to a bottle of whiskey and not to guilt over
something you couldn’t control.” His father stood. “Think about it,
son. Pack up some of your clothes. We’ll be expecting you for
supper.”

His mother leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I
watered your African violet. If you aren’t careful it will
die.”

“Thanks,” Jackson said. They left. Jackson looked at
the plant Nan had given him, now wilted and brown tinged, nowhere
near resembling the lush little plant she’d given him.