Page 99 of Any Luck at All

“But especially Georgie?” Jack asked with that same hint of humor.

“Especially Georgie.”

Her half-brother studied him for several seconds before nodding. “What do you want from me?” A corner of his mouth ticked up. “My blessing?”

“I don’t want to hide that your sister means something to me, and I know she doesn’t want that either. I want that clause about fraternization to go away so we can be together out in the open. No more secrets.”

He’d chosen the words intentionally, knowing that Jack and his mother had been Prescott Buchanan’s dirty little secret, and it was clear they’d made their mark. He saw the emotion flicker across Jack’s face.

“My father will never accept you, you know.”

The way he said it made River wonder just how well the son knew the father, and vice versa. Had they met in secret? Had they had a relationship of some kind? But really it was none of his business, so he simply said what he knew to be true. “I don’t care.”

Jack nodded, and he thought he could see the glimmer of respect in his eyes. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. Silence hung between them for a moment, and then Jack shrugged, as if to say,My bad. “I’m sorry I misjudged you. I hope we can get to know each other better when I get back.”

It was on the tip of River’s tongue to ask when that might be, but Jack had continued speaking. “Lee and I talked about the provision, so you’ll probably need his okay to strike it. Maybe I can get Adalia to talk to him. They seem close.”

There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone.

“I’ll talk to her,” River said. “She’s here in Asheville.”

Surprise flickered across Jack’s face, and it was clear he wanted to ask how that had come about—that maybe he was more comfortable talking to River about it than his own siblings—but someone called out his name. A woman, her voice thick with annoyance. And Jack quickly said goodbye and hung up. Although the quick sign-off had intrigued River, he hadn’t taken any time to think about it—he’d picked up his phone and called Adalia.

He had a key for Aunt Dottie’s place, but there was no need to use it. The door had been propped open, surrounded by bright paper lanterns that surely posed a fire risk, and there was a huge sign next to it that promisedArt and Eccentricities. Another sign, readingLibations and Games,featured an arrow pointing out back. Aunt Dottie had a large yard, flattish for Asheville, and apparently they’d come up with some way to use it. Hopefully it didn’t involve drunk trampoline jumping.

Maybe he should have stayed for the planning meeting after all. How were he and Georgie going to find a private place to talk in what would surely be a madhouse?

“River?” a familiar voice called out. Josie stepped out of the door, decked out in a fairy costume complete with wings. “It’s me, Josie,” she said unnecessarily. “I’m wearing this to help create a sense of wonder. Dottie’s letting me do fortunes tonight, but don’t worry, she made me agree to a seventy-five-percent rate of positivity.”

God help the other twenty-five percent.

“You’re here early,” she commented. “The only other person who’s here is Lurch, and he’s out back setting up the cups for his mystery brew game.”

Ugh. They’d gone through with the weird beer mixtures.

“Yeah,” he said, “I had a situation with my dog.”

My dog.

Weirdly, he liked the sound of that. Even with everything that had happened this evening, he didn’t regret his decision to keep Hops—okay, he didn’t regret Maisie’s decision to strong-arm him into the adoption. It felt right. Just like this felt right.

But he found himself remembering Adalia’s text. What had happened with Georgie? What if she’d changed her mind about him? About them? What if it was too late after all?

“Don’t you look all broody,” Josie said. “I need to channel that look.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” he muttered. “Do you need help setting up?”

“Nah,” she said. “We finished everything up with Dottie earlier. But come in and take a look.”

He did, feeling a pang of uneasiness as he remembered another night, another party setup.

And a couple of details were reminiscent of the night of the séance. The Beau statue stood in the middle of the living room. He had on a merch shirt, one of the old ones that looked like an explosion was imminent, and someone had added a pair of Bermuda shorts. An empty can of Beau Brown was wedged into his hand. Or at least River hoped it was empty. From a distance, it looked like it could be aWeekend at Bernie’ssituation.

A large box of crystals sat by the door, along with a sign that said,Take One. Or Two! Find the Crystals that Speak to You. Luckily, the pink crystal dick had not been left out as the recommended method of selection, although he was certain it was hidden somewhere within the house. Small blessings.

The big dining room table had been set up with pads of paper, colored pencils, and even some paints (which were liable to get all over the place if things got really raucous).

Honor Buchanan as it was. Imagine it as it will be, the sign said. There was a box for finished pieces.

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