“What is it that you wanted to see me about?”
“My, I don’t recall your mother mentioning how rude you are.”
He felt the flash of heat crawl up the back of his neck.
“Perhaps you could get me something to drink?”
She followed him into the kitchen like she knew her way. Stopped at the island counter and watched him take out two glasses from the cabinet and open the refrigerator. Before he brought out the pitcher of ice tea she stopped him.
“You must have something a little stronger than ice tea. I know you were tending bar at college, so you must be old enough to drink.”
“You know exactly how old I am,” Patrick told her, allowing his irritation to show.
She looked at him for a second and he saw a deep sadness in her eyes as she said, “Yes. Yes, I do know exactly how old you are.”
It had taken Patrick’s mother a lifetime—Patrick’s lifetime—to admit that he was conceived during a three-month affair with Thomas O’Dell. Growing up, he knew little about his father except for the bits and pieces he kept in a Nike shoe box. It wasn’t until five years ago, when Maggie came looking to meet him at the University of New Haven, that Patrick learned the secret that Thomas O’Dell’s wife and mistress had kept for more than twenty years. He wondered what Kathleen O’Dell hoped to accomplish by coming here today.
He pulled out the bottle of wine that he and Maggie hadn’t finished the night he fixed them dinner. He exchanged the tea glasses for goblets, popped up the cork, and poured. At first he was going to stick with tea for himself but then he decided this conversation might go down better with some wine.
There was only half a bottle left. He emptied it into the glasses and slid hers over to her side of the center island, where she had already made herself comfortable on one of the bar stools. Patrick remained standing, taking his old bartender stance, and then remembered how Maggie and Sam had taken these exact positions during their midnight confrontation.
“Maggie has a misguided sense of obligation to you,” Kathleen O’Dell said, taking a healthy gulp of the wine.
“Unlike you and my mom.”
“Why in the world would I feel any obligation to a bitch who tried to steal my husband?”
Patrick kept himself from flinching at his mother being called a bitch.
“What is it that you want to talk to me about, Mrs. O’Dell?”
“I want you to leave. Pack up and get out of Maggie’s life.”
“Maggie invited me to stay here. I didn’t ask her for a place to stay.”
“But of course you jumped at the offer.”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t any of your business.”
“So what will it cost?”
“Excuse me?”
“What will it cost to get you to leave?”
“I think you’re the one who needs to leave, Mom,” Maggie said from the doorway.
Neither of them had heard her come in. Patrick had forgotten to lock the door and set the alarm. Maggie must have recognized her mom’s car in the circle drive.
“Patrick’s a guest here. I suggest if you want to continue to be one, you’ll leave right now.”
“I expected you to be curious about him. Maybe even want to meet him. I didn’t expect you to drag him into our lives.”
“My life. Not yours.”
Kathleen O’Dell slid off the bar stool and stood in front of Maggie. That’s when Patrick realized she was a bit wobbly on her feet. She may have had a few drinks before she arrived.
“So you’re choosing this bastard half brother over your own mother?”
“I’m not choosing anyone. You want to talk about choice, Mom? Maybe you should tell me how you chose to give a tell-all interview to some two-bit reporter.”
“Jeffery Cole is an award-winning journalist. How was I supposed to know that he would twist my words?”
“Right, he twisted your words to make it sound like you were betraying your daughter.”
“Betraying? You see that as a betrayal? But this—inviting him into our lives—that’s not a betrayal?”
Kathleen O’Dell waved her hand at Maggie like she thought she was being ridiculous. She shook her head, a slow side-to-side motion that Patrick thought looked melodramatic and perhaps even practiced. She made her way to the door without argument, either anxious to escape or simply needing the last word. Either way, Patrick realized she was willing to leave without further explanation or apology.
Before she left she mumbled something that sounded like “You’ll be sorry.”
From the disappointment on Maggie’s face, Patrick thought she already looked like she was sorry.
CHAPTER 59