I release a lung’s worth of air. Kate Wethers has just earned a fan for life.
“I don’t know, Kate. I’m thinking he has more than a guardian angel there.” Rick flashes the camera with a newsworthy smile and an eyebrow waggle. “I think we all just saw the way they were looking at each other.”
“Oh, believe me . . . I felt it the moment I walked into that house.” She’s a pretty young lady and, well . . . Brett Madden . . .” She shoots the camera a knowing look.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Handsome and talented? I think that the rest of the male population got the short end of the stick.” Rick gripes.
Are they actually saying this on air? Is this actually happening on a reputable show like The Weekly? My cheeks begin to burn.
“Let me just say that if we see the two of them walking down the street hand in hand soon, I won’t be the least bit surprised. I’m definitely hopeful.”
My mouth drops open as I feel five sets of eyes—Brenna’s still in her room, laughing at something on Keith’s phone, thank God—shift to me. I can’t believe Kate Wethers just insinuated that Brett and I might become a couple. On a national broadcast!
What must Brett think? He must be cringing.
This is humiliating.
“It sure would be one heck of a way to end that story.” Rick chuckles. “Young, single mom saves life of hockey star and celebrity son and then wins his heart? It sounds like a fairy tale.”
Kate turns to the camera. “America? What do you think? How many of you would love to see a budding romance between Brett Madden and his rescuer, Catherine Wright?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh, my God. She did not just ask that.
“Thank you for that inspiring interview, Kate. It’s not our usual story, but it honestly made me smile, watching it. I think we all needed that, especially in light of what’s happening in the rest of the world right now. We’ll be back to discuss the recent bombings in the Middle East and what they may mean for our country.”
For ten long seconds, the only voices in my tiny house are coming from the car ad on TV and Brenna’s prattling from her room.
“That was a really good interview, Cath,” my dad finally offers, clearing his throat. “And he seems like a decent enough guy.”
My face is burning. “Yeah. He is.” Who is probably regretting ever stepping foot on my front porch right now.
Brenna comes trotting out and over to us, diving onto the couch, oblivious of the lingering awkwardness. “Is the show over?”
I pat her head. “Yes. Say good night and go brush your teeth for me, please?”
“Can Uncle Jack read me a book tonight?”
“Yeah, Uncle Jack can read you a book tonight,” Jack answers, tickling her. She breaks free of his grip to skip around the room, doling out her usual hugs, then takes off for the bathroom.
“I gotta head to work,” Keith says, standing by the door, jangling his keys in his fingers, his face holding an odd expression.
“Are you driving past Brown Street?” Emma asks, oblivious.
Keith shrugs. “I can. Why? You need a ride?”
She’s already pulling on her jacket. “I’m heading over to Rhonda’s for a few hours. See you guys in the morning. Cath, see you soon?”
“Sure. How long are you in town?”
“Just until tomorrow.” She hesitates. “Did Mom and Dad tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I look to my dad, who’s tipping his beer back to finish his bottle.
She takes a deep breath, her excited smile telling me this is good news. “I got into Yale!”
“Wow. That’s . . . amazing.” First Columbia for undergrad, now Yale for law school. “Congratulations.” I’m happy for her, though my smile does feel a little bit forced. As much as I love seeing my siblings, my ego takes a hit every time they succeed. Here they are, Jack on a sports scholarship, Emma going to Ivy League schools, and I’m still at Diamonds, serving fries and pancakes, with no end in sight.
“Cha-ching.” Jack stretches as he stands.
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll figure it out,” my mother briskly answers, collecting the dirty dishes from the coffee table.
Emma shoots Jack a dirty look. “Anyway, I have an internship that starts on Monday and I’m moving in with a friend this weekend, so I’m driving back in the morning.”
So, she clearly came home just for me. “Thanks for being here.” This will probably be the only time I see her before fall. She doesn’t come back to Balsam often anymore. My mother complains about it nonstop.
She nods and then, after a moment’s hesitation, reaches out to wrap her arms around my shoulders in a slightly awkward hug, whispering in my ear, “We’re always here for you, Cath, if you’ll let us.”
She releases me and I shift my gaze to Keith, who’s waiting by the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Not too early.”
“Right.” My phone chirps in my pocket. My heart skips a beat at the thought that it could be Brett, but the second chirp, and the third, and the fourth, in quick, almost inhuman succession, tell me that it’s Misty and she was watching the broadcast at Diamonds. And she’s freaking out.
I can’t deal with that right now. I quickly type out, “tomorrow,” followed by a heart.
My dad eases out of the La-Z-Boy. “Well, Hildy? I guess we should be heading home now, too.”
“Yeah, you’ve gotta start putting in those overtime shifts to pay for our little lawyer,” Jack mutters, earning a glare from my mother this time.
“Not any more than the overtime shifts I had to put in for our little hockey player, you ungrateful little—” Dad cuts off and glances over to see Brenna standing in the doorway with her book. He ends with “—darling son.”
Jack throws him a wink and a full-dimpled smile, before chasing Brenna into her room, calling out over his shoulder, “I’m going to Billy’s after. Don’t wait up.”
My mom has always been big on not sending her kids out in the world with a massive student debt, so I’m guessing they expect to pay for at least part of Yale. I don’t know what “figuring it out” would mean, though, short of taking out a second mortgage on their house. I wonder if Dad knew about this before they offered to buy my SUV? Even if he did, I can’t in good conscience let him work himself into an early grave for me, not when I do have the money.
“Wait a minute.” I run to my room and fish out the envelope from the loose floorboard where I hid it. Turns out my ballpark estimate of six thousand dollars was way off. I count out $7,750—the “deal” Gord gave us—and tuck the rest away, but not before snagging the tickets.
My parents are already at the door when I emerge. “Brett left an envelope of cash in my cupboard. I was going to make him take it back, but I have a feeling that’s going to be impossible.” I hold out the money. “This is for the Escape. So now we’re square.”