Tastes Like Candy

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Four

Michelle

She found Jenny faster than expected, in the women's room, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a paper towel, careful not to smudge her mascara. A very different kind of worry swept over Michelle; because it didn't matter if the ATF, or a cartel, or British anarchists were after them – personal problems didn't get put on hold.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Jenny sniffed and tossed the towel into the bin. "Just...nothing. It's fine."

These siblings, Michelle decided, were completely repressed, brother and sister alike. "I don't believe you," she said gently. "Too much stress tonight? Oh no, nobody set anything on fire in the kitchen, did they?" Come to think of it, she could smell smoke...

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Not with the place." She waved both hands around her head, indicating the bar, the opening, the staff.

Michelle nodded. "Where's Colin, then?"

Jenny's look asked how she could possibly know.

"I've never seen you cry before. I don't think you'd start now over spilled beer."

Jenny sighed, shoulders slumping, like the slender straps of her black dress were too heavy to hold up any longer. "It's the getting married thing again. He's upset about it."

"He's insisting?"

"He wants to know why I won't even discuss is."

Michelle recoiled mentally. She knew there had been a proposal, and that Jenny had refused. But she hadn't known there hadn't even been a discussion. Well, like brother like sister yet again, she guessed...bulldozing their way through life's problems with alcohol and silence.

She still shivered a little when she remembered Candy in his chair in the sanctuary, bottle in his hand, that evening he'd confronted her about leaving. The boiling venom in him; she shivered now, recalling.

Then she said, "Come on. I know where we can go."

It was a testament to how upset Jenny was that she didn't argue, merely nodded and followed. Michelle ducked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew, and then led Jenny up onto the gallery and to a booth way back in a corner. It was a good vantage point, with a view of the main floor, the bar, and the front doors.

"Almost like somebody planned it that way," Jenny said, a knowing smile touching her mouth, some of her sadness slipping.

The wine came open with a soft pop and Michelle poured generous glasses. "Hmm. Looks that way."

Jenny took a sip that was more of a gulp when Michelle slid her glass over, and then grimaced. "I don't really know what's wrong with me," she admitted.

"You're a Snow?"

"Ha. Yeah. There's that." She glanced down at the pool tables below them and frowned. "I just...I've become this cold person. This person who tells the father of my child no when he gets down on one knee. How did that happen?" Her eyes came to Michelle, looking for some insight.

Michelle's mouth went dry, suddenly, and she sipped her wine. "I'm not sure I've got the answer to that."

"It's supposed to be easier than this." Jenny grew frustrated. "I love him, and he loves me, and it's happily ever after, isn't it?" Her laugh edged toward nervous, hysterical.

"There's no such thing as happily ever after," Michelle said, firmly. "My father adored my mother, and she was killed by an eighteen-year-old junkie who robbed the office where she worked. Love doesn't make things easier or happier. In my experience, it only complicates them."