Read Online Holly Blues by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
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of days? Charlie’s job is a quickie. I’ll be back Friday night. We can get it on Saturday.”
I shook my head. “Won’t work. If we don’t pick it up tomorrow, we won’t get it decorated in time for the party Saturday night.” We had invited a dozen friends and their children—a neighborhood get-together, potluck-style, nothing fancy. But we had to have a tree. I eyed him. “Don’t tell me. You forgot about the party, too.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” He sighed. “Well, maybe you could do it without me. Pick up the tree, I mean. It’s no huge deal, I guess.”
“Right,” I said ironically. “Sally can go in your place and—”
“Yeah, sure.” He threw his hands into the air. “Sally can take my place. I won’t be missed at all.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one who decided to go to Omaha—without consulting me. If you had asked, I would have been glad to remind you about getting the tree.”
“And you invited Sally to stay here without consulting me.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “So I guess we’re even, huh?”
I went back to the chowder, sprinkling on minced chives and parsley. “No, we are not even. You owe me one. Your going to Omaha is worse than my asking Sally here.”
“Sez you,” McQuaid replied, nuzzling the back of my neck.
“Sez me.” I pulled myself loose and went to the oven to take out the dinner rolls. “Go call the kids. We’re ready to eat.”
Howard gave a plaintive whine.
“And tell Brian to come and feed the dog,” I added. “Please.”
Howard wagged his tail hopefully.
THE kitchen table was a little more crowded than usual. McQuaid sat at one end, I at the other, Brian on one side, and Sally and Caitlin on the other. Since Caitlin is new to our family, now is probably as good a time as any to catch up on that part of the story.
Caitlin Danforth is my eleven-year-old niece, the daughter of the half brother I had never met until early last year. Miles was my father’s son by Laura Danforth, the “office wife” with whom he spent all of his working days and many of the nights and weekends that he might have spent with my mother and me. If that sounds bitter, well, I suppose it is. Wouldn’t you be bitter if you learned, out of the blue, that your dad had fathered a love child, and that he had lavished more attention on his secret son than he had on you? At first I tried to deny it, although one close look at Miles was all it took to see the undeniable family likeness. Then I was angry at the way Dad had abused my mother’s trust. Would she have turned to alcohol as she did, if he had been a real husband and father?
But that’s an unanswerable question. Anyway, as things turned out, there wasn’t a lot of time for anger or bitterness. I worked through most of my feelings about my father as I tried to learn more about his relationship with Laura Danforth and the circumstances of his death. And any animosity I might have felt toward Miles was completely flushed away by his hit-and-run death—his murder—only a few months after we first met. The killer has pled guilty and is serving his sentence, and the man behind the whole sad business died last month, avoiding the messiness of a trial and the penalty that he, too, would have paid. But he paid in a different way. Before his death (and rather than face the wrongful death suit I threatened to file) he set up a very substantial trust fund for Caitlin’s education. The money will never compensate her for the loss of her father, but whatever happens, her future is provided for.
The present is a greater challenge. Caitlin watched her mother drown during a family outing at Lake Travis a few years ago, and then had to deal with the terrible trauma of losing her father. A dark-haired pixie of a child, she is small for her age, fragile and very shy, and she has reacted to her loss by turning inward, away from everyone. The one bright spot in her life was her aunt Marcia, her mother’s
I shook my head. “Won’t work. If we don’t pick it up tomorrow, we won’t get it decorated in time for the party Saturday night.” We had invited a dozen friends and their children—a neighborhood get-together, potluck-style, nothing fancy. But we had to have a tree. I eyed him. “Don’t tell me. You forgot about the party, too.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” He sighed. “Well, maybe you could do it without me. Pick up the tree, I mean. It’s no huge deal, I guess.”
“Right,” I said ironically. “Sally can go in your place and—”
“Yeah, sure.” He threw his hands into the air. “Sally can take my place. I won’t be missed at all.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one who decided to go to Omaha—without consulting me. If you had asked, I would have been glad to remind you about getting the tree.”
“And you invited Sally to stay here without consulting me.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “So I guess we’re even, huh?”
I went back to the chowder, sprinkling on minced chives and parsley. “No, we are not even. You owe me one. Your going to Omaha is worse than my asking Sally here.”
“Sez you,” McQuaid replied, nuzzling the back of my neck.
“Sez me.” I pulled myself loose and went to the oven to take out the dinner rolls. “Go call the kids. We’re ready to eat.”
Howard gave a plaintive whine.
“And tell Brian to come and feed the dog,” I added. “Please.”
Howard wagged his tail hopefully.
THE kitchen table was a little more crowded than usual. McQuaid sat at one end, I at the other, Brian on one side, and Sally and Caitlin on the other. Since Caitlin is new to our family, now is probably as good a time as any to catch up on that part of the story.
Caitlin Danforth is my eleven-year-old niece, the daughter of the half brother I had never met until early last year. Miles was my father’s son by Laura Danforth, the “office wife” with whom he spent all of his working days and many of the nights and weekends that he might have spent with my mother and me. If that sounds bitter, well, I suppose it is. Wouldn’t you be bitter if you learned, out of the blue, that your dad had fathered a love child, and that he had lavished more attention on his secret son than he had on you? At first I tried to deny it, although one close look at Miles was all it took to see the undeniable family likeness. Then I was angry at the way Dad had abused my mother’s trust. Would she have turned to alcohol as she did, if he had been a real husband and father?
But that’s an unanswerable question. Anyway, as things turned out, there wasn’t a lot of time for anger or bitterness. I worked through most of my feelings about my father as I tried to learn more about his relationship with Laura Danforth and the circumstances of his death. And any animosity I might have felt toward Miles was completely flushed away by his hit-and-run death—his murder—only a few months after we first met. The killer has pled guilty and is serving his sentence, and the man behind the whole sad business died last month, avoiding the messiness of a trial and the penalty that he, too, would have paid. But he paid in a different way. Before his death (and rather than face the wrongful death suit I threatened to file) he set up a very substantial trust fund for Caitlin’s education. The money will never compensate her for the loss of her father, but whatever happens, her future is provided for.
The present is a greater challenge. Caitlin watched her mother drown during a family outing at Lake Travis a few years ago, and then had to deal with the terrible trauma of losing her father. A dark-haired pixie of a child, she is small for her age, fragile and very shy, and she has reacted to her loss by turning inward, away from everyone. The one bright spot in her life was her aunt Marcia, her mother’s
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