by Rula Sinara
“Yup.”
“I saw it go by before. I want to sit in the yellow car.”
“Okay.”
Her smile vanished, her expression taking on a blend of dread and worry. “Do—do you think our engineer will be drunk?”
Finn answered in his stead. “Drunk? Kee, what are you talking about?”
“I saw it on the news. The driver lady fell down and—and the passengers told her boss on her. They said the reason she fell down was—was because she was drinking during her lunch break. You know, Finn, drinking. Like Mom and Dad used to do.”
Sam could have sworn he heard Finn mutter, “Used to?”
“I do not want to be in another crash,” Ciara continued, “because of drunk driving!”
Sam silently cursed the parents, whose addictions were chiefly to blame for her condition and for her fears. Finn had been paying the price, too, for what happened that night. It didn’t seem fair that the Learys got off scot-free.
“Don’t you worry, kiddo,” he said. “I saw that news story, too. The zoo fired the driver, so we’re perfectly safe.”
She worried her lower lip. “Are you—are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Well, okay...if you say so...”
Ciara searched his face, no doubt seeking proof that she could take him at his word. He wanted her to trust him, and as he helped her into the yellow car, an unfamiliar mood descended, one he could only describe as paternal. He blamed it on his recent talks with Zach and Nate, who’d found happiness in life mates and impending parenthood.
Fatherly was the last word he’d use to explain his feelings for Finn, who could have walked a designer’s runway in that pink dress. It brought out the pink in her cheeks...and accented every womanly curve.
He sat behind her, and since there was no chance she’d catch him staring, that was exactly what he did. He’d dated a brunette or two in his day. Had they been blessed with gentle waves that sparkled with strands of gold? If so, he hadn’t noticed. The color of her hair reminded him of the chestnuts his grandmother used to oil up and roast on Christmas Eve. Her skin glowed, too. He’d give anything to find out if it felt as smooth and soft as it looked.
The train rounded the curve at the tiger enclosure, and every passenger leaned left to get a better look. Sam shook his head. Get a grip, Marshall, or you’re liable to fall outta this rig.
By his guess, Ciara stood three inches taller and outweighed her older sister by twenty pounds. Seemed to Sam that if the powers that be intended Finn to carry such heavy burdens, they should have given her broader shoulders, instead of that petite, feminine physique.
Ciara leaned her head on Finn’s shoulder. “How much farther to the giraffes?”
Finn pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Not much longer, Kee.”
Sam leaned forward. “Are you wearing a watch?” he asked Ciara.
She wrapped her fingers around her left wrist. “Not today. It—it didn’t match my outfit.”
Chuckling, Sam removed his wristwatch. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You keep an eye on the little hand, and when we get there, you can let me know how many minutes it took to reach the giraffes.”
Finn smiled. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
Three, maybe four inches separated them, and the light was bright here, despite the awning over the train car. If those long, thick eyelashes had been the result of mascara, he’d know.
“Maybe because you’re human and can’t do everything all by yourself?”
Ciara laughed. “That’s pretty funny, Sam.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because Pete used to tell her the same thing all the time. Didn’t he, Finn?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, he did.”
And from the sound of things, she hadn’t enjoyed hearing it.
After snacks at the Snake Bite Café, the threesome headed for the zoo’s parking lot.
Finn took Ciara’s hand, then looked up at him. “Thanks, Sam, for making a good day even better.”
“It isn’t over yet,” he repeated. “I need to get you two home before that sky opens up. But...but what would you say to dinner before I drop you off?”
She glanced at the darkening clouds. “You’ve already done too much. The Right Note is around the corner, and Ciara is exhausted.”
He’d noticed, too. Much as he hated to see their time together end, Sam nodded.
“I have an idea...” Finn said.
“Oh?”
“Come to the apartment tonight and have supper with us.”
“Tonight?”
“Mmm-hmm. We’re having my homemade spaghetti and meatballs.”
He licked his lips. “Spaghetti?”
Finn laughed. “We need to call the Guinness people.”
“The Guinness people?”
“This has to be a historic event...an echo, in the great outdoors.”
Ciara laughed. “That’s a good one, Finn! An echo, ’cause Sam was—Sam was repeating everything you said!”
Smiling, he opened the passenger door and gave Ciara a hand getting into the back. “Buckle that seat belt now, hear?”
“Because we don’t want you getting a ticket?”
“No...because we don’t want you getting hurt.”
Her grateful smile warmed him to the soles of his boots. But that couldn’t compare to the heat he felt when he gave his hand to Finn, and she held on just a little longer than necessary, gently squeezing his fingers.
For the duration of the six-block drive to The Right Note, Ciara chattered about the things she’d seen at the zoo while Finn smiled, and Sam nodded. He parked in the back lot, and as Finn started to get out, he held up a forefinger.
“Let me flex my chivalry muscles, okay?”
She stayed put, those big eyes following every step as he walked around to her side of the pickup.
“So what time’s dinner?” he asked, helping her down.
“We call it supper,” Ciara corrected him, joining Finn on the blacktop. “Dinner is for Sunday. And Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“Ah, I see.” He closed both passenger doors. “What time should I come back for supper?”
“Six.”
“What can I bring?”
“Just your appetite.”
“Hey,” Ciara interrupted, pointing at the tiny landing at the top of the stairs.
Finn’s eyes widened, and she whispered something, and he couldn’t decide if she sounded more terrified or disgusted.
“Finn! There’s a stranger up there, sleeping on our lounge chair!”
“I know, sweetie. I know.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Give me a minute to figure out what to do, okay?”
And then Sam heard her whisper, “Connor.”
Ciara pointed again. “Don’t worry, Finn. It isn’t a stranger. It’s Dad!”
Before she could respond, Connor stood and leaned into the railing. “I thought I heard voices down there,” he called, waving.
Sam looked up at the man who’d neglected and abandoned his daughters. He glanced at Finn. She bit her lower lip. Was it resignation or defeat that darkened her eyes? He hated seeing her this way. Wanted to do something to erase the past or, at the very least, make the present easier to bear.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yes.”
“We can reschedule...”
“No. Nothing should change just because he’s here.”
“Six o’clock, then?”
Finn nodded and left him alone near the truck. Frustration and helplessness swirled in his heart as she and Ciara joined Connor at the top of the stairs. He hoped Aggie had been wrong, because if she hadn’t?
> If she hadn’t, it was already too late to save himself.
* * *
CONNOR STEPPED OVER his duffel bag. He pulled Ciara close and kissed both cheeks, then held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you, girl. My, my, my. You get prettier every year.”
“Have you—have you been waiting long, Dad?”
“Two, maybe three hours.” He made eye contact with Finn, who was standing at the edge of the landing. “Wouldn’t have had to wait out here in the heat...if I had a key to the apartment. Where were you?” He drew her into the hug too. “When I saw the shape the diner is in, I got really worried!”
“I gave you a key last time you were here.”
“Yeah.” He sent her a sheepish grin. “Guess I lost it.”
The way he’d lost the other five? And their cell phone numbers?
“I’m making spaghetti for supper,” she said, unlocking the door.
He kick-shoved the duffel into the living room. “What time do we eat?”
“Six.”
“But it’s only three thirty...”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Ciara said. “I’ll—I’ll make you a sandwich to tide you over.”
“That’d be great, honey.” He followed his daughters into the kitchen, and as Finn washed her hands, he said, “I sure could go for a nice cold beer.”
He knew she never kept alcohol in the house, and he knew why.
“I’ve got the drinking thing under control. Honest.”
How many times have I heard that one?
“We have soda and iced tea,” Ciara said. “And—and lemonade.”
“Still making it from scratch?”
“Finn always makes it from scratch. I’ll get you a glass.”
Connor and Ciara sat at the table, talking about the weather while Finn opened cans of tomato paste, tomato sauce and diced tomatoes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking prettier,” he said as the butter melted in Finn’s Dutch oven. And as she chopped the onion, he complimented her sister’s fingernail polish.
“You painted all those tiny dots, all by yourself?”
“No, Finn did it for me. She does it every week.”
Finn added spices to the pot and told herself it was the onions, not Ciara’s grateful little smile that made her eyes sting.
“I’m going to change into jeans,” Ciara said.
Connor followed as far as the kitchen door and stood for a long time, silent and staring and shaking his head.
“She’s come a long way, hasn’t she?”
The lid hit the pan with more force than she’d intended. “Ciara works hard, and it shows.”
“I think we both know who works hardest.” He returned to his chair. “That crack earlier, about wanting a beer... It was a dumb thing to say.”
For as long as she could remember, Connor had been saying things he didn’t mean.
“I’ve been clean and sober for two months now.” He held his right hand in the air. “Honest.”
“You’re back in AA, then?”
“Went to meetings every day...until I left to visit my best girls.”
“Speaking of leaving, how did you get here? I didn’t see a car out back.”
“Hitchhiked, mostly, but I walked some, too. When I got to town, I looked up a pal. She fed me and...” Connor sipped his lemonade. “Then she dropped me off.”
It hurt, hearing that he’d stayed in touch with his pal but not her and Ciara.
He propped one boot heel on the rung of Ciara’s chair. “Heard from Misty lately?”
Ciara returned in time to say, “She’s in Atlanta. She—she got a job singing, and—and playing guitar in a hotel lounge.”
“Alone?”
“That’s what I asked,” Ciara said, grinning, “and she said, ‘Just me and Gibson.’”
“Hard to believe she still has that beat-up old guitar.”
Finn emptied a bag of salad fixings into a bowl. “How long has it been since you talked with her?”
“Not since that gig in Mobile. Seemed dumb, both of us trying to survive on one paltry paycheck and sharing that crummy room management put us up in. So I called a buddy in Orlando, and he hooked me up.”
“How long were you in Florida?”
“Oh, I dunno, three months I guess, give or take a week.”
“And you never thought to call, tell us where you were?”
“You’ve got my cell number,” he said matter-of-factly. “So does Ciara. I figured if you needed me, you knew how to get in touch.”
“Last time I tried calling, some random guy said I had the wrong number.”
“Oh. Yeah. That must have been when I forgot to pay the bill.”
She could have pointed out that providers didn’t reassign numbers after customers missed just one payment, but why put him in the position of telling yet another lie?
Ciara pulled a chair up close to Connor. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dad. I really, really missed you!” She rested her head on his shoulder, and again, he kissed her temple.
“Missed you, too, Kee.”
Kee? That was her special nickname for Ciara. How dare he waltz in here after months and months without so much as a postcard, and behave as if he’d never left!
He held up his tumbler and shook it until the ice cubes rattled against the glass. “Why don’t you get your old dad a refill, honey?” he told Ciara. “Everybody knows how much your sister hates to be interrupted when she’s busy.”
“She—she does?” Ciara stopped halfway between the table and the fridge. “You do?”
She aimed a stern glare in her father’s direction. “You, sweet girl,” she said, softening as she faced Ciara, “have never been an interruption.”
Ciara grabbed the lemonade pitcher. “I’m—I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“A bother? Impossible! You’re my best friend!”
“You’re my best friend, too!” Beaming, she refilled Connor’s glass. “There you—there you go, Dad.”
Did Connor ever feel guilty? Finn wondered, listening to Ciara’s halting, repetitive speech, knowing it was his fault? She peeked over her shoulder. Evidently not, she thought, watching as he sat, one snakeskin boot resting on the opposite knee, nodding like a proud papa as his special-needs daughter accomplished the simple task.
Pete used to say Connor could charm the leaves from the trees. Would he fool Sam the way he’d fooled audiences from California to New York? Finn wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
She lowered the flame under the sauce pot and put the lid in place. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To change my clothes.”
Behind the safety of her closed bedroom door, Finn dialed Sam’s number, thinking to take his advice and reschedule the visit. Why draw the innocent guy into Leary family drama? She got a busy signal and decided to try again after she’d swapped her dress for jeans and a T-shirt.
Finn had just finished lacing up her sneakers when Connor barged in, closed the door behind him and sat on her desk chair. “Can I talk to you for a minute, honey?”
Dread settled over her. What bad news would he deliver, and why had he felt it necessary to hide it from Ciara?
Finn folded her sundress, put it into the hamper and sat on its lid.
He ran a hand through salt-and-pepper hair. “I, ah, would it be all right if I crashed here with you girls for a while?”
“How long is a while?”
He shrugged. “Couple weeks, a month, maybe?”
“Okay, out with it. What happened in Orlando?”
Connor hung his head. “Lost my job.”
Connor speak for fired. “Why?” As if she didn�
��t know.
“Showed up late a few times. More than a few, actually.”
Late, drunk and, if she had to guess, one too many creditors appearing, demanding to be paid. His story about attending AA meetings had been just that, Finn decided, and she was tired of his lies. Tired of his excuses. But he was her father, and like it or not, she couldn’t very well turn him out into the street...even though he’d pretty much done the same to her and Ciara...
Finn got to her feet. “After supper, I’ll make up the bed and clear some space in my closet and drawers for your things.”
“Aw, honey, I can’t put you out of your own room. I’ll bunk down on the couch.” He snickered nervously. “Believe me, it’ll beat some of the places I’ve slept.”
She didn’t doubt that for a minute. But there was a method to her so-called generosity: if Connor took the couch, he could sneak out for booze any time he pleased; if he slept in her room, she’d catch him at it.
“I’d feel better if you stayed in here until you get a job and a place of your own.”
“Speaking of jobs, I was kinda hopin’ you’d find something for me at The Right Note.”
Last time he blew into town, he’d talked her into letting him run the cashier’s stand, and the cash drawer had been nearly two hundred dollars short when he blew out again.
“I haven’t even interviewed contractors yet. It could be a month before we’re up and running again. And, come on, you hate not being busy.”
“Touché.” Grinning, he got to his feet. “So you’re really okay with it? Me staying with you guys for a while, I mean?”
“On two conditions...”
He pocketed both hands and waited.
“One, you’ll look for work. Really look. And two, you’ll go to meetings. Every. Single. Day.”
“Well,” he drawled, “First, I’ll need to find out where—”
“AA is exactly where it was last time you were in town, and the meeting schedule hasn’t changed, either.” Finn knew, because every now and then, she attended an Al-Anon for-family-members gathering.
“Oh. Well. Good to know.”
“Is it?”
“Sure, sure. Beggars can’t be choosers, they say.”
A glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand reminded her to try Sam again. Finn didn’t leave a message this time, either. Just as well, because what could she say? Based on what little she’d heard about his family, he wasn’t likely to forget this meal any time soon!
