Page 11 of Kiss My Glass
“Are we going to throw stuff against the wall and see if it sticks?” he asks his brother. “Or run it up the flagpole and see if it salutes?”
“I’ll throwyouagainst a wall,” says Nate. “What’s wrong with what I said?”
“Nothing,” says Danny. “If you studied business at Harvard. The real world, however, is a little less … uptight.”
“Are you going to be an asshole the whole time? Or just every second day?” Nate’s getting hot under the collar.
“Please don’t fight!” says Shelby. “I’m an invalid, remember!”
Danny looks sheepish. “Sorry, Shelby,” he says. “It’s an ingrained Durant habit to bust each other’s balls. Apologies, bro. I’ll do better.”
“Apology accepted,” says Nate, still tight-lipped.
“How aboutIrun the discussion?” I suggest. “I’ve got a special pen, just for meetings.”
“For taking notes?” says Shelby, my faithful stooge.
“For threatening to jab in people’s eyeballs if they get off track. It’s a fountain pen. Pointy nib.”
“Sounds good to me,” says Nate. “Give me twenty minutes to clear up, and we’ll get started.”
ChapterEight
DANNY
It wasn’t my fault, I swear. I just happened to look over while Frankie was licking syrup off her fingers and then I couldn’t look away?—
Shit. I need to get these thoughts under control. Before I start imagining a fully naked Frankie Armstrong covered in whipped cream and sweet, sticky syr?—
Jesus, Danny! Go find a bucket of cold water and stick your head in it! And leave it under until the bubbles stop because you’re making ahugeass of yourself!
I settle for heading outside into the fresh air and breathe deep to regain control. It’s being back around family that’s the problem. Every time I’m in the company of my siblings, I regress. Old habits; right from when I was little, I was always the prankster, the entertainer, the court jester. When you don’t fit the Durant mold, you have to find some way to stand out. But it’s not a talent that ages well. I need to step up and be better. In particular, I need to be better than Frankie Armstrong.
Now, that’s a complicated thought. Do I want to be better than her, so she’ll finally take me seriously? Or am I channeling the Durant competitive spirit into yet another challenge: which of us, Frankie, or me, gets to be the MVH, most valuable helper?
No point in unpicking it any further. Whatever my underlying motivation, the end game’s the same: to win.
A rattling rumble down the driveway signals the approach of some aging vehicle. I’m always interested in vehicles, no matter how old and crappy, so I wait to see what it is. In doing so, I forget to wonder aboutwhoit is.
An ancient Dodge pick-up truck pulls up and stops with a judder of brakes and, I swear, a whistle of steam.
“Hey, Danny!” calls a voice from the open passenger window.
Crap. It’s my sister, Ava. Haven’t seen her since last Christmas. I resist the urge to rub my arm because it’ll make her cackle with glee.
She hops out of the cab with her usual speed and agility. Ava is tiny, with short dark hair and Nate’s gentian blue eyes. She lives in all-black activewear, and zips around like Tinkerbell’s evil twin. She used to be an exercise rider for a top Kentucky racehorse stable but got burned out and quit. Before she was diagnosed, she was tested for all kinds of frightening conditions, so the burnout verdict was a big relief, especially for my mom. Secretly, none of us other siblings thought Ava would have the patience for the extensive rest that’s needed if you don’t want burnout to turn into chronic fatigue. But by that stage, she was in a committed relationship with Cam Hollander, Flora Valley Wines handyman and barrel maker, and the slowest moving human on the planet, so she was forced to chill. I can see Cam now, just starting to think about getting out of the truck. Meanwhile, Ava is already across the gravel and up in my face.
“What areyoudoing here?” I demand.
Attack is the best form of defense when you’re a Durant.
“Same reason as you,” she says. “Cam and I are part of Team ‘Make Sure Nate Doesn’t Have An Aneurysm’. Shelby will be fine, as we all know. It’s Nate who’s most likely to push himself to breaking point.”
“Yes, but whyyou? Cam works here. He’s already part of the team. You’re still supposed to be taking it easy, aren’t you?”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t have a useful role,” she says. “For example, I could trainyou.”
“To do what? Trot on command?”
