“We’ll manage.”
“But I—”
He cuts me off with a gruff, “You can pay us back down the road.” It’s a brush-off, though I can tell he doesn’t really mean it. “You can’t support your family without a decent car. End of story.”
I eye the SUV again. Not a spot of rust on it. Four doors, which makes getting Brenna in and out of it so much easier. But the clincher is a safer vehicle for Brenna. Especially now, after seeing how that sports car crumpled when meeting with a tree.
I nod, because I can’t quite voice the “okay.”
The door jangles as Gord steps out, keys dangling in his fingers.
“You sure you don’t want to give him another chance? He seems to have taken a liking to you,” my dad muses. “Maybe he was just nervous.”
I watch Gord approach us with that odd, oafish lumber of his. “Yes, I’m sure I never want to go on a date with him again.”
“Could mean a better deal today if he thinks he might get a date tomorrow.”
I turn to shoot a glare at my dad, only to see his teasing smile. “Please don’t barter me off like cattle when we negotiate this price down,” I whisper.
“I’ll try not to.” Dad chuckles, roping an arm around my shoulders. It feels unfamiliar.
And so comforting
Chapter 8
“How many times do I have to tell you, go home!”
“I’m fine, really!” I scrub at a spot of ketchup on Table 32 with my left hand. It’s a simple act, but today it feels cumbersome. My right wrist is slowly healing, enough that I was able to grip the wheel to drive my “new to me” Escape today. “I don’t need to write orders down, you know that. And Carl doesn’t mind clearing my tables and helping me carry out food. I’ve already told him I’ll split my tips with him.” Our dishwasher-busboy Carl graduated high school last year—barely—and has absolutely no direction in his life, besides his one life goal to not work at his parents’ gas station.
Lou glares at me, her hands resting on her hips, and I already know that idea’s not being received well. “That boy will take his pay as expected and—”
“I don’t mind, Lou! I just . . . I can’t stay home.” I pause to look up at her, to plead with my eyes. “I will literally go insane.” It’s odd that when you’re constantly on the go, all you want is a day to do nothing. To lie on the couch in your sweatpants and watch TV and stuff potato chips into your mouth. But I’ve had six days of that and I can’t handle one more hour of television and being alone with my thoughts. I’ll start smashing dishes, just to give myself something to clean up.
“For the record, I think it’s a terrible idea.” She huffs a sigh, and I know that I’ve won. “Here. I have something for you.” She reaches into her apron to pull out an envelope.
As soon as it lands within my grasp, I know what it is. I open my mouth to object, but she cuts me off. “When some of the regulars heard that you were in an ‘accident’ ”—she emphasizes that excuse with a wide-eyed look—“and couldn’t work, they started a little ‘Catherine fund’ tip jar. It’s not charity!” she’s quick to add, as I feel my cheeks flush. “They’ve all been there before, and they just wanted to make sure to keep you afloat until you were back on your feet.”
I feel eyes on me and turn to find Steve and Doug, two truckers who meet here every Friday afternoon during their long-haul runs from somewhere in the Midwest, watching. I’d have known that they were two of the regulars who chipped in, even if Steve hadn’t just thrown me a wink and a nod before turning back to his coffee.
“It’s not charity,” Lou repeats. “It’s kindness, and you never turn your nose up at that.”
I finally tuck it into my apron pocket with an embarrassed “Thanks.” At least the diner’s not too busy right now, so I don’t have an audience.
She glances around, then lowers her voice. “Have you heard anything more from the family?”
I shake my head, scooping up a stack of menus and tucking them under my arm. “Nothing since the flowers.” The Maddens still haven’t spoken to the media, leaving reporters salivating and coming up with all kinds of speculation of their own. Reports that have kept me in a constant state of near apoplectic shock—everything from claims that Brett is paralyzed and will never walk again, to lying in a medically induced coma, to having one foot in the afterlife.
I’m sure there are critical issues also being covered right now, like the Syrian rebels, and the devastating floods in Argentina, and a world hunger crisis, but I have been watching the Brett Madden Show. All Brett, all the time.
And I’ve learned a ton.
He’s twenty-six. He’ll be twenty-seven on September 2. His father is not a movie star or an NHL player or famous for anything other than being Meryl Price’s husband. Richard Madden was a stagehand who won the actress’s attention while she was filming in Toronto. After a whirlwind romance, they married, and she was pregnant not long after. It was important to both that their children stay grounded, so Richard Madden quit the movie industry and became a stay-at-home dad to Brett and his younger sister, Michelle, while Meryl’s star kept climbing.
It’s Brett’s father, a huge fan of hockey himself, who put Brett in skates at three years old and discovered his uncanny talent. California wasn’t the ideal location to nurture their son’s burgeoning skills, so they bought a house in Richard’s hometown near Toronto, where they could build an ice rink in their backyard during the cold winter months and live in relative peace.
Brett is half-Canadian. Hell, he basically is Canadian; he grew up there. Of course they have places all over the States, too, and the family has moved back full-time since.
The media loves Brett, almost as much they love his mother. Every newscaster makes a point of mentioning how down-to-earth and charming he is, and the countless postgame interviews he grants rink reporters—moments after stepping off the ice, still out of breath and drenched in sweat—show nothing more than a humble guy who counters any praise he’s given with kind words about his teammates’ skills.
He’s generous, too. The video of the charity event he spoke at? It’s for a fund he has spearheaded, helping children from broken and dysfunctional homes learn how to play hockey. The charity even supplies their skates and their gear.
And he doesn’t seem to be all about the money, whether that’s because of his values or that he simply has so much of it that it’s no longer motivating. Apparently he was offered a lucrative modeling contract at sixteen—I’m not surprised—but turned it down. He was also offered a role in a movie with his mother, without any acting experience. He turned that down, too.