He smiled and said to Wren, “Fetch us a couple of glasses?”
She returned a few moments later, and he poured a splash of Jameson in each. He even made a show of enjoying it. We chatted for a few minutes, but they had to leave early in the morning to drive to Atlanta. So we said goodnight and sent them up to bed.
“What was that about?” Erin asked once they’d gone. “The Irish Jack Daniel’s thing.”
Christy sighed.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
“Well, duh,” Erin said. “Give me the short version.”
“Trip doesn’t respect Christy.”
“Doesn’t respect women,” she corrected.
Erin shrugged. “I’ve never had a problem with him.”
“That’s because you’ve slept with him.”
“Yeah? So? He’s pretty good. You should try it.”
“Christy isn’t like you,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m a slut?”
“Erin, come on,” I said. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I guess I’m just a little sensitive. Mom and I had a big talk about my trip. She doesn’t want me to ‘go wild’ in Europe.” She rolled her eyes. “Like, she thinks I’m going to jump every guy I meet. I swear, Paul, she totally treats me different. I mean, can you imagine what she’d say if I had two boyfriends? She’d lose her mind. But nooo! She was proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘proud,’” I objected.
“I would. She talked like you were a stud for keeping two women happy.”
“Except that I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I didn’t keep either of them happy.”
“Still. She compares you to Dad all the time.”
“Okay, I’m not going to win this argument,” I said.
“Not unless you wanna admit that Mom has different standards where you and I are concerned.”
“Maybe she does.” I shrugged. “She’s from a different generation.”
“Yeah, and speaking of which…” She turned her attention to Christy, who blinked in surprise. Erin laughed. “You didn’t think you were gonna get off that easy, did you? What was that about? With your parents? Don’t they know you and Paul’re sleeping together?”
Christy winced. “Not exactly.”
“They know,” I explained, “in a technical sense, but they don’t like to think about it.”
Erin snorted. “Out of sight, out of mind? Like, I’m so sure.”
“Don’t ask me to explain,” Christy said. “It’s—”
“Very Catholic,” I said.
“—just the way we are.”
“Uh-huh,” Erin said heavily.
“We all have our crosses to bear,” I told her.
“Whatever.” Then she laughed and defused the tension. “Catholic… crosses to bear. Nice. You do have a way with words, brother dear.”
“What can I say? I’m a cunning linguist.”
Her eyes lit up playfully. “Ooh, now you’re talkin’.”
“Uh-uh,” I said hastily, “no way.”
“What’s the matter?” she teased. “I know you and Christy’ve talked about it. That’s why I wanted to spend the night.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Erin started to argue, but Christy stopped her with a slight headshake.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said instead. She glanced at the ceiling. “Not with other people in the house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tease you.” She grinned. “I like seeing the look on your face when you think you’ll have to fend me off.”
“You’re a bad person, Erin.”
She feigned innocence. “Worse than Mom? But I thought you liked—”
“Look at the time,” I blurted.
“He’s right,” Christy said before Erin could continue teasing me. She finished her whiskey and handed me the empty glass. “Will you fix me a snack before you come up?”
“Sure. The usual?”
“Yes, please.” She leaned in for a kiss and then said to Erin, “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
* * *
Christy and I spent Saturday afternoon with our families. We started with a tour of the house and neighborhood. Then we walked down to campus to view Christy’s Kanagawa pieces. They were still on display in the A&A building and were scheduled to remain there for the summer.
Rich and Sabrina had never been to Knoxville, so we gave them a tour next. They rode with Christy, Erin, and me in the Land Cruiser, while our parents followed in Harold’s rented Town Car. We started with downtown, the Old City, and the World’s Fair site.
Then we drove down Kingston Pike and through a scenic old neighborhood called Sequoyah Hills. The main tree-lined boulevard had a path that was popular with walkers and runners of all kinds, from people out for a stroll to weekend joggers to serious marathon types. We finished our tour in Sequoyah Park and spent a couple of hours talking and enjoying ourselves along the banks of the Tennessee.
We ate dinner at a local barbecue restaurant called Calhoun’s, where we sat on the deck and enjoyed the breeze from the river. We talked about everyday things, until the conversation turned to football. I explained what Knoxville was like on game days.
“More than a hundred boats tie up here,” I said. “They call it the Vol Navy.”
“That many?” Rich said. He surveyed the dock with a professional eye.
“Probably more,” I said, “but that’s a good guess.”
“How many does the stadium hold?”
“Boats or people?”
“Funny, ha ha,” he deadpanned.
“Ninety thousand. People,” I added, which earned an eye-roll.
“Hold on, how many?” Harold said.
“Ninety thousand,” I repeated. “On game days, Neyland Stadium is the fifth largest city in the state.”
“It’s crazy around here during football season,” Christy said.
“That’s almost as many as the Rose Bowl,” Harold said to his son. “And it makes Memorial Stadium seem downright small.”
“You can say that again.”
I told them a few more stories about tailgating parties and the orange-wearing multitudes on game day. Then the conversation moved on to other things, and Anne gave Rich a slight nod.
“I’m gonna check out the bar,” he said to me. “Care to join me?”
Christy missed the whole exchange between her mother and brother, but she smiled at the suggestion.
“Sure,” I said, although every nerve in my body screamed danger.
“Relax,” Rich told me as we made our way inside. “I only wanna talk.”
“Why here?”
“This is where they keep the booze.” He leaned toward one of the bartenders and asked about Irish whiskey.
“Bushmills,” the man said.
“Protestant whiskey.” Rich surveyed the collection of bottles on the top shelf. “Johnnie Walker Blue. Neat. Times two, please.” He pointed at our table through the big plate glass windows. “You see that man, the one who looks like a politician? Put it on his tab.”
The bartender had seen us together, so he nodded, took down the bottle, and poured. Then he silently evaluated Harold’s importance and net worth. He added a healthy splash to each glass.
“Thanks,” Rich said. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Then he smirked. “He hates it when I do this to him.”
“What? Put expensive liquor on his tab.”
“Yeah.”
“Then why do it?”
“To annoy him. Why else?”
I chuckled. “You’re more like Danny than you want to admit.”
“I suppose.”
We sipped in silence. The scotch was smooth, on par with Wren’s XO cognac, and I began to relax. My adrenal glands stopped working overtime, and my pulse slowed to normal. Rich looked at me sideways a couple of times, but I never rose to the bait. He finally gave up.
“You’re a cool one, all right.”
“I figure you’ll get to the point when you’re ready.”
He nodded.
“As long as you don’t tell me to stop seeing Birdy.”