couldn’t take an hour off, not on a
Friday evening. She couldn’t leave Manny to cover the bar by
himself. “Sorry. Can you change the date?”
“Are you kidding? If I suggest changing the
date, she’ll change it to sometime in November. I got her to agree
to come. I’m not giving her the chance to back out.”
“Then you’ll have dinner with her yourself.
That might be for the best, anyway.” Gus didn’t have to repair her
relationship with Maeve. They didn’t have a relationship to repair.
She’d met the girl once. She cared for Maeve because Maeve was Ed’s
daughter, but the Nolan family difficulties, the wounds and the
scars, were theirs alone. As a bartender, Gus had long ago learned
that she could not fix other people’s problems. She could listen,
she could console, and she could occasionally point someone in the
right direction. But she was no therapist. If some patrons thought
she was, that was because she was an excellent bartender. She knew
enough to keep her mouth shut and her customers’ glasses full.
Usually, the act of talking and unburdening themselves was enough
to help them find their own answers and solutions.
Ed wasn’t drinking anything harder than
coffee, and his problem with Maeve was not going to be solved over
the bar. He’d hurt his daughter—not deliberately, not with evil in
his heart, but because he’d been hurting so badly himself. She’d
fled. Now, ten years later, she’d come back. How they learned to be
a family once more was up to them.
“I can’t cook for shit,” Ed
muttered, focusing on the one thing he’d undoubtedly thought
Gus could fix—an
edible dinner for his daughter.
“Pick up one of those rotisserie chickens at
Shaw’s. And a tub of mashed potatoes, and a deli salad.”
“I finally get my daughter to agree to come
for dinner, and I’m going to serve her a meal that was cooked in a
supermarket?”
As opposed to a meal that Gus had cooked.
She loved Ed, but he could be a little dense sometimes. “If you’d
rather cook something for her yourself,” she said pointedly, “then
take off from work early and go home and cook.” If Gus had done the
cooking, that was what she would have had to do.
He sighed. “She’s so thin,” he murmured.
“She should eat some potatoes. I don’t know if she will,
though.”
“You know, Ed…” She gave his hand a gentle
pat. “She didn’t accept your invitation for the cuisine.”
Ed gave her a long, stark stare. Then he
nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed again, looking pensive, even a little
afraid. Her big, strong police detective, a guy who went
head-to-head with criminals on a regular basis, was actually scared
about having dinner alone with his daughter. He didn’t want Gus
there so she could be some sort of domestic hostess, preparing a
feast. He wanted her there to help him connect with Maeve, to
provide a buffer or a bridge. To pick up the pieces if he and Maeve
both wound up shattered.
She’d do that for him if she could. She’d do
it much more willingly than she’d cook dinner for him. But she
couldn’t do it on Friday.
So he would have to do it himself. He’d have
to man up and be the father he hadn’t been for his daughter so many
years ago. Damage had been done, but Maeve had come back to
Brogan’s Point, and she had agreed to have dinner with him. It was
time for them both to heal.
Chapter Nine
Maeve was nervous. She could think of
several reasons why, but she couldn’t decide which of those reasons
was making her itch and twitch as if tiny anxiety bugs were nipping
at her heart.
Everything in the shop was ready for
tomorrow. With Joyce’s help, she’d designed and printed a hundred
fliers announcing Cookie’s grand opening and offering a
buy-two-get-one-free promotion to attract first-day customers.
Joyce’s twelve-year-old daughter and two of her friends agreed to
hand out the fliers at the high school football stadium before the
homecoming game in exchange for
Friday evening. She couldn’t leave Manny to cover the bar by
himself. “Sorry. Can you change the date?”
“Are you kidding? If I suggest changing the
date, she’ll change it to sometime in November. I got her to agree
to come. I’m not giving her the chance to back out.”
“Then you’ll have dinner with her yourself.
That might be for the best, anyway.” Gus didn’t have to repair her
relationship with Maeve. They didn’t have a relationship to repair.
She’d met the girl once. She cared for Maeve because Maeve was Ed’s
daughter, but the Nolan family difficulties, the wounds and the
scars, were theirs alone. As a bartender, Gus had long ago learned
that she could not fix other people’s problems. She could listen,
she could console, and she could occasionally point someone in the
right direction. But she was no therapist. If some patrons thought
she was, that was because she was an excellent bartender. She knew
enough to keep her mouth shut and her customers’ glasses full.
Usually, the act of talking and unburdening themselves was enough
to help them find their own answers and solutions.
Ed wasn’t drinking anything harder than
coffee, and his problem with Maeve was not going to be solved over
the bar. He’d hurt his daughter—not deliberately, not with evil in
his heart, but because he’d been hurting so badly himself. She’d
fled. Now, ten years later, she’d come back. How they learned to be
a family once more was up to them.
“I can’t cook for shit,” Ed
muttered, focusing on the one thing he’d undoubtedly thought
Gus could fix—an
edible dinner for his daughter.
“Pick up one of those rotisserie chickens at
Shaw’s. And a tub of mashed potatoes, and a deli salad.”
“I finally get my daughter to agree to come
for dinner, and I’m going to serve her a meal that was cooked in a
supermarket?”
As opposed to a meal that Gus had cooked.
She loved Ed, but he could be a little dense sometimes. “If you’d
rather cook something for her yourself,” she said pointedly, “then
take off from work early and go home and cook.” If Gus had done the
cooking, that was what she would have had to do.
He sighed. “She’s so thin,” he murmured.
“She should eat some potatoes. I don’t know if she will,
though.”
“You know, Ed…” She gave his hand a gentle
pat. “She didn’t accept your invitation for the cuisine.”
Ed gave her a long, stark stare. Then he
nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed again, looking pensive, even a little
afraid. Her big, strong police detective, a guy who went
head-to-head with criminals on a regular basis, was actually scared
about having dinner alone with his daughter. He didn’t want Gus
there so she could be some sort of domestic hostess, preparing a
feast. He wanted her there to help him connect with Maeve, to
provide a buffer or a bridge. To pick up the pieces if he and Maeve
both wound up shattered.
She’d do that for him if she could. She’d do
it much more willingly than she’d cook dinner for him. But she
couldn’t do it on Friday.
So he would have to do it himself. He’d have
to man up and be the father he hadn’t been for his daughter so many
years ago. Damage had been done, but Maeve had come back to
Brogan’s Point, and she had agreed to have dinner with him. It was
time for them both to heal.
Chapter Nine
Maeve was nervous. She could think of
several reasons why, but she couldn’t decide which of those reasons
was making her itch and twitch as if tiny anxiety bugs were nipping
at her heart.
Everything in the shop was ready for
tomorrow. With Joyce’s help, she’d designed and printed a hundred
fliers announcing Cookie’s grand opening and offering a
buy-two-get-one-free promotion to attract first-day customers.
Joyce’s twelve-year-old daughter and two of her friends agreed to
hand out the fliers at the high school football stadium before the
homecoming game in exchange for
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