Authors: Mary Campisi
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Family & Relationships, #Death; Grief; Bereavement, #Parenting, #Single Parent, #Dating
The Way They Were (28 page)
“Hi Len. I’m fine.” Truth was, she wasn’t fine. Might never be fine again. “How did Loretta get you to go to the grocery store?”
He lifted the bag of potatoes and shrugged. “She said if I wanted home fries with my sausage and biscuits, I had to bring home the taters.” He pushed back his ball cap and scratched his head. “You figure I should get two bags?”
“Uh, no. I think ten pounds should hold you.”
“Hope so. She don’t make ‘em but three times a year. Says it gets grease on the walls and such.”
Kate smiled. “If you get hungry for them, you let me know. I’ve got a big bottle of 409 to take care of the walls.”
Len nodded and cleared his throat. “You’re real special, Kate. Clay called you his princess.”
Guilt seeped through her. She did not want to talk about Clay right now. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat again and swiped a hand across his eyes. “I’m real sorry about what I did. I know it was wrong but I didn’t want them disrespecting Clay. He didn’t deserve it.”
“Excuse me?” She hadn’t discussed the accident with Len since the day it happened. Had he told her something then? Something he’d been sorry about?
Len shifted from one booted foot to the other. “Didn’t Georgeanne tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He looked away, kicked the linoleum floor and said in a quiet voice, “Clay wasn’t wearing a harness when he fell.”
“But that’s crazy. That’s the first thing the safety inspectors would check for. He had to have one on. Unless…”
“Unless someone put it on after.”
****
Just three sips. Eight minutes. Georgeanne sloshed a little more vodka in her glass, recapped the bottle and stuffed it in the magazine rack. Kate had called sixteen minutes ago, demanding to speak with her in person. Georgeanne tossed back the last drops of vodka, wiped her mouth, and hid the glass in the seat cushion of the rocker. Her daughter arrived in less than eight minutes. A bad sign since she lived across town and normal travel time was twelve.
The kitchen screen door banged open and seconds later Kate stood in front of Georganne, hurt and disbelief smeared across her face. “Why didn’t you tell me Len came to see you?”
Of course. Len Slewinski had a conscience that kept him awake at night until he checked and double checked every possible misdeed, even when it wasn’t a misdeed. Damn the man. “I was going to tell you, but you’ve been busy with Julia and her trips.”
“You should have told me right away. Do you know what this means?”
Kate looked like she was about to throw up. “Of course I know.”
“We have no case against them.”
“Says who? That big fancy lawyer from New York?” Bottom line, Clay died on Flannigan property. That made the Flannigan’s responsible, didn’t it?
“I don’t need Mr. Dupree to tell me our chances are seriously reduced.” Kate dragged her hands over her face and shook her head. “How could you keep this from me?”
Georgeanne felt for the glass nudged against her right hip. A drink would slow things down and help her gain perspective. What would Kate say if she unearthed the bottle from the magazine rack and poured a short one? “Now settle down.” She ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth, hunting for traces of vodka. “I don’t appreciate being talked to that way.”
Kate threw her hands in the air and paced back and forth. “Well, I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
She swung around. “What do you call it? Withholding the truth? Permitting misinformation? Take a pick, Mom. They’re all wrong.”
Georgeanne started to stand but remembered the glass hidden in the rocker cushion, and sank back down. “I was only trying to protect you.”
“At what cost? Do you think I’d want a penny of their money if it wasn’t due me?”
“Clay’s life didn’t earn you that due?”
“Not if he wasn’t wearing his safety harness.” Kate sank onto the chair next to her mother and rubbed her temples. “He had a chance to do right and if he didn’t, for whatever reason, he was wrong.”
“So the Flannigans just get off free?”
“They’ve got nothing to do with this anymore.”
“No.”
Damn them, no.
“They have Julia now, don’t they? They’ve waltzed into this town and snatched her up. Where’s the justice in that?”
Kate shrugged but said nothing.
“It’s not right.” Bursts of anger exploded in Georgeanne’s gut. Someone had to tell the truth. About everything. If she died, so did the truth of what really happened that night fourteen years ago, how lives were manipulated, sacrificed. Even destroyed.
“I’ll make this right, Katie. I swear I’ll get our girl back.”
“It’s too late, Mom. Maybe it’s always been too late.”
***
The envelope from RF Renovations, Limited arrived in the afternoon mail. Was this Rourke’s new tactic to win her back? She’d avoided his phone calls since returning to Montpelier, and then five days ago, they’d stopped. Kate placed the letter on the coffee table and sank onto the couch. She couldn’t sit here without remembering Rourke’s long body spread out in elegant comfort as though he belonged here. The man continued to fill every cranny of her life with his voice, his touch, his smile. And that was a very big problem.
It didn’t matter if Janice had lied about her pregnancy. There would always be other Janice’s. Rourke only wanted Kate now because he couldn’t have her, and of course, because of Julia. He’d told her he didn’t like to lose, probably the truest words he’d ever spoken. A man like Rourke wasn’t about love or commitment. He was about winning.
Damn you, Rourke Flannigan for coming back into my life.
Kate snatched the letter and tore it open. See if she’d give in to his new tactics. See if she’d budge one micron. She snapped the letter open, ignoring the check that glided to the floor.
Mrs. Maden:
Please accept our condolences regarding the loss of your husband. While no amount of financial recompense can begin to assuage your loss, RF Renovations, Ltd., offers the enclosed check to you with deepest sympathy. Acceptance of this check will negate all rights to bring future suit against the aforementioned company or its owner, Mr. Rourke Connor Flannigan.
With deepest sympathy,
Miles M. Gregory, Legal Counsel for RF Renovations, Ltd.
She glanced at the check lying face down on the carpet. Was this another of Rourke’s ploys? Pay a fraction of what Mr. Dupree asked to avoid the chance of a lawsuit? Kate scooped up the check and flipped it over. She squinted, counting the zeroes three times. Four million dollars. Two million more than Mr. Dupree said they’d settle for.
Why, Rourke? Why did you do this?
Her gaze slipped to the signature on the check.
Rourke C. Flannigan,
stared back at her, a bold reminder that she really didn’t know him at all.
Chapter 32
“
Can you imagine loving someone so much you can’t think of anything else, even while you’re telling yourself it would never work?”—Abbie Flannigan
“Maxine, we’ve got to do something.” Abbie buried a french fry in a mound of ketchup. Mervin’s Burgers was not Sophie’s Diner but then Chicago was not Montpelier. “Those two are worse than Andie and Blane.”
Maxine blinked. “Who?”
“Andie and Blane,” Abbie repeated with great patience. “You know, the Romeo and Juliet from
Pretty in Pink
.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“We’ll add it to your must see list. Anyway, Rourke and Mrs. Maden are made for each other. We just have to help them realize that.”
“Mr. Flannigan would not like us discussing his private affairs.”
“We’re all they’ve got, Maxine. Me, you, and Julia.” Why couldn’t she see that? The woman might hide behind her perfect grammar and stick-straight posture, but underneath it all, she was about as tough as mashed potatoes and getting softer every day. Abbie grabbed three more fries and plunked them in ketchup. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, can’t you just call him Rourke for once?”
Maxine cleared her throat and dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. She looked almost pretty in her baby blue sweater and pearls. Maybe it was the loose curls brushing her neck or the way her dark eyes softened when she spoke. Something had changed these last few weeks but darned if Abbie could tell what. “Maxine?”
“Mr. Flannigan—Rourke—is a very private man despite his enormous social presence. He trusts me, Abbie, a gift he doesn’t grant many. I will not betray him.”
Abbie should have figured Maxine would go all self-righteous on her. She hadn’t even heard what Abbie wanted her to do yet. Adults were so afraid to take a chance, even when they knew a gamble could change someone’s life. Maxine had probably never gambled in her fifty-some years on this earth, not even at something as lame as Bingo.
“What were you going to ask me to do?”
Abbie shrugged and studied the ketchup smears on her plate. “Don’t worry about it. Julia and I will take care of it.”
“Oh.” And then, “I don’t think I quite like the sound of that.”
“Not your problem. Forget about it.” Abbie sipped her milkshake and swiped a hand across her mouth. “This place is good, but it’s not Sophie’s.”
“I admit, Sophie’s had a certain appeal. I did love their malts.”
“Right.” Here was her chance. “The whole town had a certain appeal, didn’t it?”
“Yes, it did.”
“The people, too. They were special.”
“Indeed.” Her voice drifted to an indistinguishable sigh.
Keep pushing.
“Kind of a nostalgic place, what with Sophie’s and the Manor.”
“Hmmmmm.”
She looked dreamy.
Dreamy?
Maxine?
Abbie pushed a bit more. “Kind of a fairy tale feel about it.”
“Exactly.”
“Makes a person believe in happy ever after.”
“Hmmmm.”
Bingo.
“Which is why Rourke and Mrs. Maden belong together.”
Maxine’s mouth shot open but Abbie spoke first. “I want you to invite Mrs. Maden to Rourke’s birthday party.”
“She’d never come.”
“If it looks like it’s from Rourke she might.”
Maxine shook her head and murmured, “She’d never accept an invitation from him.”
“Darn it, Maxine, we have to think of something. I am tired of watching Discovery Channel with him every night or listening to him talk about bonds and futures. I’ve even started reading
Money
so I can get him in a conversation. He’s killing me here. You have to save us both.”
“What would I do? I have no way of controlling what Mr. Flannigan does.”
Maxine had more power than she knew. “Let me ask you this—does he love her?”
“You mean Mr. Flannigan and Mrs. Maden?”
“Stop stalling, you know who I mean.”
“Yes,” she said, “I believe he does.”
“And she loves him?”
Maxine nodded.
“Can you imagine loving someone so much you can’t think of anything else, even while you’re telling yourself it would never work? So, you make up excuses and give reasons to fill your days?”
“Hmmm.” Maxine’s eyes were closed, the paper napkin held to her mouth in a crumpled ball.
“Weeks go by, and then months and years.”
“Hmmm.” She bowed her head and sniffed.
Abbie leaned over the wooden table and whispered, “And before you know it, you’re all alone. Forever. With nothing but a pile of stale memories.”
Another sniff. Maxine swiped at her cheeks with the paper napkin and straightened her glasses. Abbie pretended not to notice the tears rimming her eyes.
“We’re the only ones who can help them. Me, you, and Julia. Will you do it, Maxine? Will you find a way to bring them together?”
Maxine yanked off her cat-eye glasses and swiped a hand across both eyes. “Yes. I’ll do it for them and for all the unrequited loves roaming this earth.”
Something in the way she said it made Abbie wonder if Maxine might be talking about herself.
***
Rourke sipped his bourbon and stared out over the expansive lawn that
Chicago Life
called ‘stunning and glamorous.’ He’d never planted a single bulb or trimmed a tree branch. All he’d done was point at pictures he liked and write a check. What did that say about him? Beauty could be bought? He was a visionary who didn’t waste time on day-to-day decisions?
Tomorrow was his thirty-third birthday. Abbie had insisted on a party.
God,
the kid could be persistent. She wanted balloons and streamers and all that other nonsense. He’d spotted her list under the
T.V. Guide
. That alone spelled disaster, but coupled with the fact that Julia was arriving shortly to help, made the probability of a successful outcome less than one percent. What the hell. Maxine had provided a birthday list and Miles Gregory’s name was first on the list.
