“A what?”
“Yes, we’re all excited to see Cath recognized for her bravery.” Lou ’s stern glare stills my tongue. “We’ll let you look at our menu and then Cath’ll be back in a few minutes. I’d recommend the fish and chips special. We just got some wonderful haddock in. Customers have been raving.” Nudging me away, she leads me out of earshot.
“Did you know about this?”
“Keith may have phoned to tell me that the mayor was coming in.”
Keith . . . Of course his fingers are in this pot. I’m shaking my head. “I don’t need a key to Balsam. I don’t even know what it is!”
“It’s just a symbol to show that you’re an important resident of Balsam. Don’t worry, it’ll be a small, private affair. Nothing flashy, nothing too painful. Lord knows you’ll have a coronary otherwise.”
I open my mouth to argue more.
“I don’t insist on much, Cath. I’m insisting on this.”
“Why?”
“Because this is a good thing, and you deserve good things in your life, whether you’ll accept that or not.”
I brush that away. “Or maybe this is just the town’s way of quickly saving face after how bad The Weekly made it look?”
“The mayor may have mentioned that he’s ashamed of how this community treated one of its own in a time of need,” Lou says carefully. “But who cares if part of this is about the town saving face? You live here, Cath. Your roots are here. They will always be here, and I think you’ll be much happier if you can find a way to make peace with the place. There’s nothin’ worse than hating your home.”
“I guess.”
“Call this Balsam’s way of finally makin’ amends.” She drops her voice. “Lord knows Mayor Polson isn’t a fan of the Balsams, even though he played the right game during elections.”
I huff a sigh. “So, when is this ceremony anyway?”
“Two Sundays from now. In the afternoon.” She strolls away, throwing over her shoulder, “And don’t even try tellin’ me you have to work that day.”
“Can we call the boat ‘Stella’?”
“I thought the dog’s name is going to be Stella.”
Brenna peers up at me with those rich brown eyes, her little body tucked into her sheets. “But I really like the name.”
“Okay. We’ll name the boat Stella. Where should the name go?”
Brenna’s index finger draws a line on the hull of the sketch. “Is that a good place?”
“Sure, it is.”
She smiles down at the page, and I can see her imagining herself standing on skis and clutching a rope while the boat tows her around Jasper Lake.
“I’ll add it in tonight. But you need to go to sleep.”
“Why couldn’t Jack babysit me tonight?”
“Because Jack and Grandpa went to the hockey game.” The Flyers managed a miracle by winning last Saturday’s game, bringing the series back to Philly tonight. I thought Jack was going to start crying in the voice mail he left for me, after Dad finally revealed the tickets.
“Brett’s hockey team?”
“Yes.”
“Did they win?”
I smile. “They did.” I’m so relieved for Brett. Just one more victory and they’ll be in the play-offs, even without their two best players.
“How long are the workers going to stay?”
I struggle to follow her scattered train of thought. “The workers?”
“Vince and Hawk and . . . that other guy, who was giving them a vacation.”
“Oh. Right.” We’ve avoided using the word “bodyguard” or “security” around her, not wanting to make her think that there is any danger. “I don’t know. A few more days, maybe? Good night, Brenna.” I give her a knowing look that says to stop with the questions.
I’m almost out the door when she calls out in her innocent little voice, “Do you know who my daddy is?”
I inhale sharply. She’s asked me about her dad before. She’s asked me where he is.
She’s never asked me this, though. “Of course I do. Why would you ask that?”
“Because Jerry Baldwin in fourth grade said that for someone who doesn’t even know who my daddy is, you sure hit the jackpot. What’s a jackpot?”
If a kid is saying that, it’s because he’s repeating what he heard at home, from his asshole parents. “It’s kind of like saying that someone won a big prize.”
“So you won a big prize?”
How do I answer this? “I think that boy meant we were lucky that we met Brett, because he’s such a nice guy.” I’m hoping that focusing on Brett will steer her away from her other question.
“Oh.” I can see her pondering that. “Will he come back soon to visit us?”
I force a smile. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
The words are meant to appease her, but I realize that I’m speaking the truth.
Chapter 18
I push through the back door of Diamonds on Wednesday night with a sigh of relief. I’m unsupervised for the first time since returning to work. Hawk agreed to stay at my house with Brenna and her sixteen-year-old babysitter.
That relief is short-lived, though, when I discover Misty hovering inside, waiting to pounce. “Has he called you?”
I force a casual tone.“Not since last Friday. He’s with his family. He’s moving on.”
“And have you texted him?”
She glares at me with exasperation when I don’t answer.
“What! If he really wanted to talk to me, he would have reached out.” I don’t want it to look like I’m expecting something. Like I’m sitting here waiting, pining for Brett. I made a vow years ago that I’d never let myself look that pathetic again, and I intend to keep it.
Misty’s on my heels as I skirt past her and toss my purse on the shelf by Lou’s office. “Just send him a message to say good luck with the game tonight. Simple, easy. It’s what a normal person would do.”
“So now I’m not normal?”
She gives me a pointed stare. “If my life depended on your skill with flirting, then hand me a shovel because I may as well dig my own grave.”
I sigh, equally frustrated with Misty and with myself. I wasn’t always like this. I remember a time when I had no problems walking up to a guy at a party and in no uncertain terms letting him know that I wanted him.
Clearly, the scars Scott left me with run much deeper than I’d like to admit.
“Come on, please? Just do it and see where it leads. Give me at least a shred of hope before I start dropping cats off on your doorstep.”
Misty can be as relentless as a gnat and, though she worked the day shift and is only here for another hour, she’ll bug the hell out of me until Lou catches wind and tears her a new one. Besides, truth be told, I’ve been thinking that tonight’s game is as good an excuse to reach out to Brett as I’m going to get.
She’s right. It’s harmless and innocent. Unpresumptuous. Right?
“Fine.” Steeling my nerve, I pull my phone from my pocket and punch out a quick message, my stomach swirling with each word:
Good luck tonight.
Then shove my phone into my pocket. “There. Happy now?”
“Happy about what?” Leroy asks, his deep voice startling me from behind as he steps out of the walk-in fridge.