Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

A ce's was relatively busy with patrons walking in after the excitement of the fire. Sandy stood at the bar with Chelsea, waiting for their drinks. He cast a concerned gaze in Patrick's direction. Sam had placed a blanket around his shoulders.

"This has to be killing him." The words left Sandy's mouth before he could stop himself. "If I hadn't gotten us stuck, we might have been able to stop the person."

"Or gotten yourselves hurt." Chelsea provided a darker perspective.

He hadn't thought of that. He'd be crushed if anything happened to Patrick.

"It's not your fault. Whoever did this held a grudge or was angry at the McCormicks for something. It's a good thing you got stuck." Chelsea picked up their root beer and Sam's cranberry juice and carried the drinks to their table.

Sandy followed with his hot toddy and an Irish coffee for Patrick. He had no idea if Patrick liked spiked caffeinated drinks, but since he still had that ice-glazed-over look on his face, Sandy figured this might help the thawing process. He rested the drinks on the table and sat as close as possible to Patrick, figuring he could use the body heat.

Scooting Patrick's mug closer to him, he encouraged him to sip the warm beverage. Sandy didn't know what to think or what to do with Patrick, who had shut down completely. He wasn't talking. He was barely blinking. It was odd to see the normally active man power down to a halt.

"Wonder how someone got in . . . " Chelsea mumbled aloud.

"The front door was locked. I saw you lock it." Sam took a drink of her juice.

"Do you want to call your parents?" He leaned close to Patrick so only he could hear him.

Patrick blinked and turned to Sandy. "Dad can't know yet. Mom should be on her way to my house." His robotic response was followed by chugging down half the hot coffee.

He grabbed the cup from Patrick. "Maybe not all in one gulp." He set the mug back on the table.

Patrick inhaled and leaned back, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. "I can't believe this happened before Christmas. There're so many calls to make." It appeared that the Irish coffee had brought Patrick back to the living.

"Don't worry about any of that. We can help you sort through whatever you need tomorrow." Sandy had no idea what that entailed, but he was certain that anyone at this table or even in the bar would jump at a chance to help Patrick and his family. Everything that Patrick's family and the store did for the community was always a good thing.

"We owe so much at the bank. The insurance will cover the loss, but I have no idea how we're going to pay off all the debt."

"Don't you have that fund set up?" Sam leaned her elbows on the table.

"I told her about it," Chelsea hooked a thumb in Sam's direction.

"We do. That should help. I can update the page tonight and the social media." Patrick might squash the idea, but Sandy would include details about the fire. Now, more than ever, he wanted to be there for Patrick.

"Not to make things worse . . . my dad will find out about the financial stuff with Dolan and the possible eviction. Be up front about it," Sam said.

"It's not a secret," Chelsea added.

"Yup, the entire town knows that the store wasn't doing so hot. Especially after I had to lay off the majority of the staff in the fall. If your dad needs bank records or anything, I have them." Patrick folded his arms and straightened his shoulders, evolving from defeat into a defensive mode.

"Don't go crazy when he interviews you is all I'm saying," Sam continued.

That hit Patrick wrong, and his chest puffed up. "What are you saying? Does he think I started the fire?"

Chelsea lifted a hand in front of Patrick like a stop sign. "Not what she means."

"It's part of the process." Sam fidgeted and shifted in her seat. "They have to clear the closest most obvious suspect before looking at others."

Abruptly, Patrick stood, tipping his chair over. He tossed the blanket on the table, barely missing the drinks. "I'm done commiserating." He turned and stomped toward the door.

Sandy sighed, uncertain if he should stay or go.

"Go after him." Chelsea jerked their chin toward the angry Patrick.

"Thank you both. He's still, well, I'm not sure . . .. "

Sam gave him a small smile. "We get it. Go on."

Patrick was halfway to the SUV before Sandy caught sight of him. "Wait up," he shouted, hitting a slippery patch. Surprisingly, Patrick stopped.

Out of breath, he half walked and half jogged the rest of the way. "They were only trying to prepare you. They're your friends, you know? No need to skewer them with an icicle." With the still smoky air filling his lungs, Sandy's breath came out in a puff against the cold air.

Patrick rubbed a hand against his face. "It's freezing out here. Let's keep moving."

Once inside the car, Patrick flipped on the heat and the seat warmers. "Please don't ask me if I'm alright or to keep my emotions in check, because I'm not and I can't. I've lost my business, my job, and, from the conversation with Sam, I'm the number one suspect, so don't."

Sandy buckled his safety belt. "Fine. But I'm gonna say you're acting like a drama queen, and this is coming from the queeny-ist of queens."

"Don't you get it? I lost everything tonight."

"That's the most fucked up thing you could ever say. Chelsea, Sam, me, your family, and all the people in this sleepy town are here for you. You didn't lose everything. What happened is horrible, but you have so much to give and so do the people around you." Sandy placed a hand on Patrick's knee. "Right now, the only thing you need to do is breathe. Take this one day at a time because this only happened tonight, and you can't go around like a robot one minute and get pissed with people who have your best interest at heart the next."

Ever so slowly, Patrick placed his hand on top of Sandy's. "I'm worried."

"That's absolutely shocking. Tell me something I don't know." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I neglected to tell the sheriff that Dolan is in town."

Sandy considered this, but this was such a nefarious act. "Would he really go this batshit cray-cray?"

Patrick looked over the dash as if considering the question. "Who knows? I never thought he'd screw over the family, rob us blind and run off with all the cash either." He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

"Try not to let that old, giant, gaping wound be the motivation for you to smack your brother in the kisser. And to be smart, we'll do some internet investigating on your bro tonight. Tomorrow I'll go with you to the hospital. You'll visit with your dad. And then calmly—emphasis on the Zen here—have a convo with your brother."

The dim light didn't hide Patrick's Angry Birds expression.

I'm going to have to break up a fight, aren't I? I'll just have to remember not to wear white to this shitshow. As the potent scent of smoke infected the car, Sandy's heart tugged. Any of the people Patrick cared about could've been in the store when this happened. His mom and stepdad and Julia popped into his head. He dug his phone out of his elf suit and dashed off some heartfelt texts. Sure, it was maybe overly emotional due to a terrible event that completely missed him, but ‘tis the season for over-the-top responses. He could always blame his sentimentality on the hot toddy later, but for now, he was glad he'd sent the texts.

As Patrick pulled into his driveway, Sandy's phone rang. No one ever called except his mom. He pulled the device out of his pocket and peered at the goofy photo of her and Harley. "It's my mom."

He hit the accept button. "Why are you calling?"

"You write a message like you're dying. Are you dying? Harley is a good doctor. You'll go to him. He will fix you."

"He's a sports doc. If I had a sprained ankle, I might go to him." If forced by jockstrap. He swung open the car door.

"See, the boy is fine," Harley's voice bellowed in the background. Naturally, his mom had them on speaker.

Sandy palmed his cheek with a hand as he entered Patrick's house. Sometimes, like now, he doubted that his mom was his biological mother. "How is ‘I love you' synonymous with death?"

"I thought it was code. You're not ill?"

Not unless we're counting how sick of this conversation I am . "Not at all."

"Good. Then why did you call?"

Sandy sat down on the bench and began to untie his boots. This was a typical response from her. She always forgot who called who and why.

"Since we got you on the phone, do you want ham or deep-fried turkey this year? My cousin sent me a new rub that I'd like to try out on y'all." His stepdad must have stepped closer to the phone because his baritone voice boomed like it was in surround sound.

"Delicious. Have at it." He slipped out of his jacket and hung it up. Since Patrick must've gone to his room, Sandy took a seat on the couch. He never talked to his mom about relationships, but maybe this was an opportunity to give it a shot. "I, ah, I met someone . . . "

His mom let out her high-pitched happy squeak.

"Alright, alright, alright." His stepdad was always surprisingly cool with him being gay, which threw him off momentarily.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, amused at Harley's terrible impression of Wooderson from Dazed and Confused . "Okay, let's not go getting too excited. We've been spending a lot of time together, and I like it, but it's new, different."

"You're scared," his mom added. "Don't be scared."

He almost had to laugh at how simple his mom always made things out to be. "But what if I'm keeping something from him?"

"Shucks, tell him. Tell him how you feel and about whatever it is. You gotta stand up and speak your truth to him."

"What if he hates me for it?" Sandy dropped his voice down low.

His mom didn't entertain the notion for a second. "Impossible. You're likable."

"That's right," Harley confirmed.

His mom and Harley always tag-teamed him with their responses. That's what weirded him out. He didn't know if he'd ever be ready for this kind of sympatico banter. "You do know that you're both annoying."

"How are we annoying? We are a super team. You could be a super team if you would get over yourself."

Sandy scoffed at the accusation. "That's just it—you two gush all over one another all the time, and it's disgusting and alienating."

His parents turned silent. He didn't mean to say those hurtful words aloud to them, but they managed to slip out. He was a giant asshat who didn't deserve love. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that at all."

Harley cleared his throat. "I love your mother. And I love you. We only ever wanted to show you how much."

"After you-know-who left . . . " His mom spoke of his bio dad as if he were a fictional villain from an alternate dimension. "I thought that the next time I find love that I would share it. Whoever loved me would love you as much as I do. You were not supposed to feel left out but embraced by it. By us. By our love."

That hit Sandy right in the chest. I'm a horrible human being. "Mom, Dad . . . I'm, I'm so stupid . . . "

"You can be a might bit thick sometimes." Harley's belly laugh was loud enough to shake the windows.

"I agree. Your grades were always bad," his mom chimed in as if his elementary school grades had anything to do with the conversation.

He exhaled a deep breath and sat up. "Enough of you HI-larious people. I'm hanging up now." He hit the end call button. Sandy stood up, determined to make time tomorrow to have a serious conversation with Patrick about his photography job with the evil company. He didn't plan to kick Patrick while he was down, but maybe, like his parents, they could get through this together.

In the morning Patrick and Sandy swung by the store to confirm that the damage looked as bad in the daylight as it had the night before. It did.

Discouraged, they dropped Moonshine off with Chelsea, who was willing to take the dog for the day while they were at the hospital. His mom had taken the news surprisingly well last night. She was glad that no one was hurt. "It's only a building," she said as she hugged him and then Sandy. They agreed not to say anything to his dad until the doctor gave the okay.

As Patrick and Sandy escorted his mom into the hospital, he recalled Sandy's encouraging words from last night and concluded that he was right. He had friends and family. Losing the store was hard, but they'd get through this ordeal.

In the elevator up to his dad's room, Patrick slipped his hand into Sandy's. "Thank you for last night. I appreciate you."

Sandy turned to meet his eyes. "Whatever you need. I'm here. Maybe later we could sneak away and have a conversation? There's something I need to talk to you about." A worrisome crease formed on Sandy's forehead as his brows came together.

Patrick didn't want to worry about one more thing than he already had on his plate, but he nodded and the doors to their floor opened. He released Sandy's hand, but the peacefulness of being near Sandy lingered with him until he walked into his dad's hospital room and saw Dolan. That didn't last more than a minute. Damn it.

Everyone said their hellos with hugs, but Patrick wasn't about to hug his brother. And he couldn't wait a second longer to talk to him. He needed to know if he was involved in the arson, and he needed to know now. "Hey, let's step out for a minute."

Their mom shot him a pair of warning eyes. He held up a hand to imply that everything was fine.

"I'll go with them." Sandy patted his mom's hand as he followed behind them.

"Why's he coming? I don't even know that guy?" Dolan asked, as Patrick led them to an empty waiting room down the hall from his dad's room.

"He's a friend," Patrick grunted.

"All right, what's up, Bro?" Dolan crossed his hands in front of himself like an altar boy during communion.

If he uses the word bro one more time, I will ram a reindeer horn up his ass. "Where were you yesterday?"

Dolan's features bunched up. "Where do you think? Here."

"You didn't leave at all? Not even to get food or call your girlfriend or text a shady character?" Patrick folded his arms, watching for any signs of deception on Dolan's face.

"I ran out for food in the afternoon because Ma and I are sick of the cafeteria slop. What the hell is going on?"

"There was a fire at the store."

Dolan's brows lifted upward in what looked like surprise, but Patrick had been fooled before. "How long were you gone?"

"You think I did this? You think that I could do something like this?" Dolan pointed a finger at himself with his voice raised.

"Yeah, I do," Patrick yelled back at his brother.

Sandy stepped closer to Patrick. "Okay, so everyone take a beat. Get Zen. Pray to Buddha or Santa or Frosty or whatevs for a hot sec, and remember we're in a hospital." Sandy made a slight turn toward Dolan. "Here's the facts, the sheriff will need to talk to you. And let's be honest, your shady past will be revealed, so if you have a receipt you should be fine, especially since there are a zillion cameras inside and outside of this place. And possibly from where you picked up the food."

"I do and they will."

Sandy brushed his palms together like he was dusting off imaginary lint. "Excellent. We'll need to see it."

As if I'm going to take his word for it. "And to make certain you didn't pay someone to do the dirty work—you're going to hand over all your devices to the cops." Patrick raised a brow at Dolan.