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Authors: Rose Connors
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friends, we might be able to talk him into joining us. Harry and I are good company, Luke always says, if no one else is around.
The Kydd bids Louisa good-bye with a nod, looks down at his shoes as if he’s embarrassed, and then hurries out the front door and down the steps to the brick walkway. She watches as he crosses the oyster-shell driveway, opens the Thunderbird’s back door, and slides his briefcase onto the seat. She leans in the doorway and sips from yet another glass of her terrible tea. I hadn’t realized she’d brought it along.
“Is he yours?” she asks.
“Pardon me?”
She points her tall, perspiring glass toward the Kydd. “That delightful young man. Is he yours?”
For reasons I don’t understand in the least, I feel a twinge of panic. “Mine? I don’t know what you mean.”
A satisfied smile crosses Louisa’s face. “Well, then, he’s not. You’ve answered my question, darlin’.”
I wish to God she’d stop calling me that.
C HAPTER 10
Harry and I pull up to my cottage to find a brand-spanking-new Porsche in the driveway. It’s cleaner than my kitchen table and waxed to perfection, shimmering even in the diffused light of dusk. I’ve never seen this car before, but I’ve heard about it—and its price tag—from Luke. The sight of it makes my stomach hurt.
Luke’s truck is in the shop. He stayed in Boston after classes ended yesterday, went to a Celtics game with a group of buddies last night, and then slept over at his father’s harbor-front condo. Ralph drove him home this afternoon.
It wasn’t necessary for Ralph to make the ninety-mile trip down here, of course. Luke could have taken the bus from Boston to Hyannis, as he’s done a hundred times before, and either Harry or I would have gladly picked him up at the station. Ralph wouldn’t hear of it, though. He insisted on driving. And now he’ll tell me a thousand times how terribly inconvenient it was.
Harry lets out a long, low whistle. “Sweet Jesus,” he says, parking his old Jeep next to the sleek machine. “A Carrera 911. You must be moonlighting.”
I laugh and climb out of the Jeep. My day job barely covers the never-ending repairs to the old Thunderbird. I’d have to be moonlighting as a plastic surgeon to imagine a Porsche on my horizon.
“Where the hell did this come from?” Harry gets out of the Jeep too and stands still in the driveway, staring at the Porsche the way he might gaze at an icy case of Heineken if he’d been stranded in the desert for a week.
“It’s Ralph’s,” I tell him. “He brought Luke home from Boston today.”
“Ralph,” Harry repeats. “He’s still here?”
I feel a little bit like a game show hostess, holding my hands out toward the gleaming status symbol. “Apparently he is.”
“You want me to disappear?”
Harry’s question almost makes me laugh. Ralph walked out on Luke and me a dozen years ago, and he largely ignored us for the first ten of them. He came out of the woodwork two years back, after remarrying and redivorcing. Luke was a junior in high school then. And his father had decided it was time to get to know him.
“No,” I tell Harry, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to disappear.”
He drapes his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close as we head for the back steps. “Okay,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I guess I’ve got an appointment with the shrink who needs his head examined.”
Ralph is on his feet when Harry and I come through the kitchen door, his car keys in hand. My heart sinks for a moment when I realize we could have avoided him if we’d arrived just a few minutes later. The old adage is true: Timing is everything.
Danny Boy gallops into the kitchen the instant we’re inside. He almost never runs anywhere anymore, but Luke is home, and now we are too, and Danny Boy can barely contain his joy. He yelps and jumps up on me, his big paws landing on my stomach, and I fall backward against
The Kydd bids Louisa good-bye with a nod, looks down at his shoes as if he’s embarrassed, and then hurries out the front door and down the steps to the brick walkway. She watches as he crosses the oyster-shell driveway, opens the Thunderbird’s back door, and slides his briefcase onto the seat. She leans in the doorway and sips from yet another glass of her terrible tea. I hadn’t realized she’d brought it along.
“Is he yours?” she asks.
“Pardon me?”
She points her tall, perspiring glass toward the Kydd. “That delightful young man. Is he yours?”
For reasons I don’t understand in the least, I feel a twinge of panic. “Mine? I don’t know what you mean.”
A satisfied smile crosses Louisa’s face. “Well, then, he’s not. You’ve answered my question, darlin’.”
I wish to God she’d stop calling me that.
C HAPTER 10
Harry and I pull up to my cottage to find a brand-spanking-new Porsche in the driveway. It’s cleaner than my kitchen table and waxed to perfection, shimmering even in the diffused light of dusk. I’ve never seen this car before, but I’ve heard about it—and its price tag—from Luke. The sight of it makes my stomach hurt.
Luke’s truck is in the shop. He stayed in Boston after classes ended yesterday, went to a Celtics game with a group of buddies last night, and then slept over at his father’s harbor-front condo. Ralph drove him home this afternoon.
It wasn’t necessary for Ralph to make the ninety-mile trip down here, of course. Luke could have taken the bus from Boston to Hyannis, as he’s done a hundred times before, and either Harry or I would have gladly picked him up at the station. Ralph wouldn’t hear of it, though. He insisted on driving. And now he’ll tell me a thousand times how terribly inconvenient it was.
Harry lets out a long, low whistle. “Sweet Jesus,” he says, parking his old Jeep next to the sleek machine. “A Carrera 911. You must be moonlighting.”
I laugh and climb out of the Jeep. My day job barely covers the never-ending repairs to the old Thunderbird. I’d have to be moonlighting as a plastic surgeon to imagine a Porsche on my horizon.
“Where the hell did this come from?” Harry gets out of the Jeep too and stands still in the driveway, staring at the Porsche the way he might gaze at an icy case of Heineken if he’d been stranded in the desert for a week.
“It’s Ralph’s,” I tell him. “He brought Luke home from Boston today.”
“Ralph,” Harry repeats. “He’s still here?”
I feel a little bit like a game show hostess, holding my hands out toward the gleaming status symbol. “Apparently he is.”
“You want me to disappear?”
Harry’s question almost makes me laugh. Ralph walked out on Luke and me a dozen years ago, and he largely ignored us for the first ten of them. He came out of the woodwork two years back, after remarrying and redivorcing. Luke was a junior in high school then. And his father had decided it was time to get to know him.
“No,” I tell Harry, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to disappear.”
He drapes his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close as we head for the back steps. “Okay,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I guess I’ve got an appointment with the shrink who needs his head examined.”
Ralph is on his feet when Harry and I come through the kitchen door, his car keys in hand. My heart sinks for a moment when I realize we could have avoided him if we’d arrived just a few minutes later. The old adage is true: Timing is everything.
Danny Boy gallops into the kitchen the instant we’re inside. He almost never runs anywhere anymore, but Luke is home, and now we are too, and Danny Boy can barely contain his joy. He yelps and jumps up on me, his big paws landing on my stomach, and I fall backward against
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