Aidan’s eyes lost the guarded quality they had assumed moments ago. “Those meetings can get a little rowdy.”
“They can,” Rose agreed, “but sometimes that’s the only way you can get things done.”
Rose turned to Maddy, who was struggling to absorb the byplay between her mother and Aidan. “Maddy, there was a phone call for you. I left the message on the kitchen table. You might want to see to it now.”
“Hannah’s okay?” She couldn’t keep the note of apprehension from her voice.
“Hannah’s fine.” Rose patted her arm. “I’m sorry. I should have said that up front.”
“Dad? Tom?”
“I’m sure they’re both fine. Go inside,” Rose urged. “I said you would be back any minute. He’s waiting for your call.”
“I’d better shove off,” Aidan said, looking uncomfortable. He handed the shopping bag with the samovar in it to Maddy. “Great breakfast.”
Maddy beamed at him. “It was. Next one’s on me.”
Oh, damn. There she went again, spilling words all over the place without thinking first. The only reason they had had coffee together was so she could show him the samovar. When she found a Japanese tea service, maybe then she would give him a call.
“Sounds good.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Julie’s pancakes are the best in three states.”
So much for romance.
Rose watched them with a combination of interest and impatience.
“Maddy,” she said in a mild tone of voice. “The phone call—?”
Maddy nodded in her mother’s direction, but her attention was on Aidan. “Why don’t you wait a minute,” she said to him, “and I’ll drive you back to your car.” The sidewalk was treacherously slippery, and the thought of him taking a header with no one around to help him didn’t sit well with her. Not at all.
Rose looked like she was about to say something but wisely kept her own counsel.
“I’d better get moving,” he said. “Tommy’s probably there setting up, and I need to—”
“Maddy’s right,” Rose said to her daughter’s profound shock. “Why don’t you come in and have some coffee while Maddy makes her phone call. The sidewalk crews should be out any minute.”
It was clear Aidan was torn between wanting to get to O’Malley’s and wanting to stay there at the Candlelight. He locked eyes with Maddy, then they both quickly looked away.
“Guess I could call Tommy and let him know I’m delayed.”
“Good idea,” Rose said, then turned to Maddy.
“Okay, okay.” Maddy threw her hands up in defeat. “I’ll make the phone call.” She looked at Aidan. “Promise you won’t leave.”
“I won’t let him,” Rose said.
Welcome to the Twilight Zone.
Chapter Sixteen
“YOU NEED SOMETHING, Irene?”
The nurse hovered over the bed like a bird of prey. These days Irene’s imagery tended toward the vivid and frightening.
Irene cleared her throat. So dry . . . like parchment paper. Her hair, her skin, even her eyelids. So dry and thin that light passed through them like sun through an open window. The years take their toll. They demand their price.
“A picture,” Irene managed, wishing she could reach the tumbler of water on her nightstand. “The one my—” What was she? A granddaughter? Great-granddaughter? And what was her name? “I think it’s on the wheelchair seat in the corner.”
The nurse rooted around here and there, then sighed. “I don’t see anything.”
“The wheelchair,” Irene said. Once upon a time people had jumped at her commands. “In the corner.”
“Honey, there is no wheelchair in the corner.” The nurse leaned closer so Irene could see her face. “Jimmy took it for Mrs. Weber. Don’t you remember?”
She didn’t. She wasn’t sure who Jimmy and Mrs. Weber were.
“I need that picture,” she said in her most imperious voice. “You must find it.”
The nurse patted her forearm with cool smooth fingers. “I’ll do my best, Irene.” She straightened the covers, brushed a strand of hair from Irene’s forehead, then turned to leave.
“Water,” Irene said. “I need some water.”
“Right there on your nightstand, honey.”
Irene wanted to cry with frustration. Of course it was right there. She knew that. Didn’t they understand she couldn’t reach through the metal rails on the bed in order to reach the glass? They set up situations where it was impossible for you to help yourself, and then they huffed and puffed when you called for assistance.
“Useless,” Irene muttered. “Every single last one of them.”
Her time was running out. Each morning when she awoke it was with the sense that her sunrises were limited. Thousands and thousands of sunrises had slipped by unnoticed, and now she wanted to slow down the spinning earth just long enough for her to set her private world to rights. She was a useless, pointless old woman whose life rolled on and on, sapping up time and space and money, while younger people died far too early. Her son. His wife. A granddaughter-in-law. A grandson. An endless chain of sorrow with roots buried deep inside her wicked heart.
Seeing those photos again had made up her mind. The Almighty was clearly sending her a message, and if age begat wisdom, then she was at long last wise enough to know this was a job only she could do, and it must be done now while she still had a few sunrises left.
She needed to see the photo again. She needed to see Michael’s face, see the old O’Malley, touch that golden moment that had been hers for the blink of an eye. That nurse was wrong. The picture was there. She knew it was. She could see it in front of her, as clear as a bell. That Jimmy person probably tucked it under an extra blanket on the chest of drawers or maybe put it on the top shelf of the closet for safekeeping. Yes, that’s what any intelligent person would do. Put it away for safekeeping.
She fumbled beneath her pillow for the proper button. No, no. Not the buzzer. The button that released the railing. Some things never changed. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself. . . .
AIDAN HADN’T BEEN inside the Candlelight since Rose’s July Fourth Open House Clambake three years ago. The place had looked good then, but that was nothing compared to the way it looked now.
“You did a hell of a job,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “No wonder you’re booked a year in advance.”
Rose nodded in thanks. “It took a long time to get it to this point, but it was worth it.”
He ran his hand along a satiny expanse of wood that served as a hall table and whistled. “Antique?”
Rose laughed. “Yard sale up in Bricktown.”
She led him through the parlor, down a long hallway, to the kitchen in the rear of the house.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“If it’s no trouble.”
“One thing we always have is coffee.” She poured the fragrant brew into a pure white cup. She placed the cup on a saucer and handed it to him. “Take a seat at the table. The cream and sugar are both there.”
She poured herself a cup, then sat down opposite him.
Suddenly he felt twelve years old and about to be grounded.
He leaned forward and reached for the cream. Maddy’s supple voice floated toward them from somewhere nearby. He couldn’t make out her words, but she sounded very happy.
“So,” said Rose, fixing him with the type of look she usually reserved for the last half hour of the Small Business Owners Association meetings, “how are things at O’Malley’s?”
“We’ve been better,” he said. No point dodging the truth. There were few business secrets in Paradise Point.
“Still having trouble with your septic system?”
“No,” he said. “I called the plumber you recommended. Saved me a bundle. Thanks for putting me on to him.”
“That’s the whole point of the Association,” she said, still looking at him wit
h those knowing eyes. “If we share our resources, everyone benefits.”
“You really believe that?”
“For the most part, yes.”
The coffee was so good it could be a sacrament.
“Kona blend,” Rose said, reading his mind. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
They looked at each other, coffee cups drawn and ready.
“So what is it, Rose?” he asked. “You don’t have to entertain me while I wait for Maddy to finish up.” I won’t break any windows.
For a moment he thought he saw her queen-of-the-world demeanor slip. She looked softer, younger, more like her daughter, and then he blinked and the resemblance was gone.
“I was going to phone you about this, but since you’re here—”
“If it’s about the resolution to add streetlamps near the proposed park site, I—”
“It’s about Kelly.”
She had his attention.
“Since she is just seventeen, I feel she should have your permission.”
“Permission?” He polished off the rest of his coffee. “For what?”
“To work here.”
The kitchen fell into one of those uncomfortable silences.
“I take it she hasn’t told you yet.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Rose smoothed the sleeves of her soft gray sweater and adjusted the clasp on her smooth gold bracelet. “I ran a help wanted ad in the Paradise Point Shopper. Kelly came in Saturday to apply for the job and, to be honest, nobody else came close.” Her smile was warm and genuine. “She’s a wonderful girl, Aidan. You must be very proud.”
“She works hard enough,” he said. “I don’t think she can handle another job.”
“I asked her about her other commitments,” Rose said, “and she seemed positive she could handle it.”
“What exactly is her job?”
“Mainly table service,” Rose said. “Friday and Saturday evenings beginning in February.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing defined,” Rose said with surprising candor, “but there might be some light housekeeping duties depending on how many guests I have and what my staffing needs are at the moment.”
“And Kelly thinks she can handle this?”
“She seemed quite sure.”
He nodded.
“You’re comfortable with the arrangement?” Rose probed.
“No,” he said honestly, “but if she is, I’ll back her up. So far my kid hasn’t steered me wrong.”
Rose smiled and he saw traces of Maddy in the way her eyes crinkled at the outer corners. “I’m sure I’m not telling you something you don’t already know, Aidan, but Kelly is a very special young woman. She’s going to go far.”
“Billy used to say she was a changeling,” Aidan said, smiling at the memory. “We couldn’t figure how an ambitious O’Malley managed to sneak into our slacker family.”
“I think her parenting had a lot to do with it.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to take credit for the way she turned out, but sometimes I think she raised me.”
There was a sadness in Rose’s expression. She didn’t explain—and he certainly didn’t ask—but it was there and it didn’t go away, and for a minute he actually liked her.
JIM KENNEDY HAD one of those voices that great radio was built on. If he had been born thirty years earlier, he could have ruled the airwaves, but Jim had had the misfortune of being born right in the middle of the television generation, a time when movie-star good looks were more important than genuine talent.
He had been with WNJI for six years, slowly building a Jersey Shore audience that might not be the biggest on the East Coast but was definitely among the most loyal. Maddy hadn’t expected to hear his entire curriculum vitae, but once Jim started he was hard to stop. Clearly his fans weren’t the only ones who enjoyed the sound of his voice.
“So Friday it is,” Maddy finally interrupted as she glanced at her watch. Poor Aidan. She really had to get moving. “I’ll be at the station by one-thirty for the sound check.”
“Make it one-fifteen,” Jim said, neatly changing gears. “If news is light, we’ll start the interview early.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“No more than I am,” he said. “You’re going to be great. You’ll need to build on more rooms to catch the overflow.”
What was a little hyperbole between friends? He meant well, that was the main thing. And free radio publicity certainly couldn’t hurt. But how had it ended up with Maddy giving the interview instead of her mother? Rose was the one who brought the Candlelight to life. She had chosen every curtain, every drape, every roll of wallpaper, every can of paint, the furniture, the dishes, the menu—every last detail had Rose’s stamp all over it. From top to bottom, the Candlelight was her creation, and certainly she was the one who should be basking in the limelight.
Maddy hung up the phone and took a second to smooth down her hair by her reflection in the computer monitor. She frowned at the halo of frizz and curls clearly visible. Maybe a blow-dryer . . . or a whip and a chair. No matter. Unlike the Candlelight, this was as good as it got.
Her footsteps sounded loud as she ran down the hallway. She stopped for a second to glance into the mirror, then quickly looked away. A buzz cut. There was no other cure for the last thirty-two years of bad hair days.
She was about to dash into the kitchen when she remembered the samovar. Good grief, where had she put the bag? The foyer? The kitchen? Oh, wait! She’d carried it with her to the office and tucked it under the desk. Now all she had to do was remember to slip it back into its hiding place in Rose’s closet before Hannah came home from school.
She pushed open the kitchen door and stopped dead in her tracks. It looked like a scene from The Waltons. Soup simmering on the stove. The smell of bread baking wafting through the air. A fire crackling away in the small stone fireplace near the table where Aidan and Rose sat together, thumbing through an old copy of This Old House. All the picture needed was a shawl for Rose and a pipe for Aidan, and it could have been entitled “Domestic Tranquillity.” And to make the scene even cozier, there was Lucy, a new arrival, shaking snow from her boots in the mudroom near the back door. Priscilla—didn’t every lovely scene of domestic tranquillity have a puppy?—sniffed at the snow, sneezed, and backed away as quickly as her tiny legs could carry her.
“I don’t know how you did it, Ma,” Maddy announced, “but I’m going to be on Weekdays with Kennedy this Friday afternoon. A one-hour interview about the Candlelight.”
Rose leaped to her feet, pure joy radiating from every pore of her body. “I’m so happy!” she cried, then wrapped her arms around her daughter. “How wonderful!”
Maddy stiffened. She didn’t mean to do it. She didn’t want to do it. But she did it just the same. Rose quickly ended her embrace and stepped back, still smiling.
“You’re going to be wonderful,” Rose said.
“Tell me the time and I’ll make sure I catch the show,” Aidan said, beaming at her. “He gets pretty good numbers for the station. You’ll be famous.”
“Why would he ask for me?” Maddy asked her mother. “I mean, how would he even know I exist?” She paused. “Unless—”
“I wrote him a note,” Rose said, lifting her chin. “I told him about the Candlelight, a little bit about us, and suggested he consider us for an interview for his ‘Down the Shore’ segment.”
“Then you should be the one he speaks with.”
“No, Maddy. I’ve been front and center for four years now. I’d like to concentrate on taking the Candlelight to the next level and let someone else handle promotion.”
“Someone like me?” Maddy asked.
“If you’re going to be part of the team, I’m going to need you to take over different aspects of running the place.” She stood up and reflexively smoothed the front of her perfectly tailored trousers. “You and I can discuss this later, Maddy.
Right now I need to help Lucy with the soup and you need to take Aidan back to his car.”
“Fine,” Maddy said, face flaming like an embarrassed teenager. “Whatever.” She grabbed her jacket from the hook near the door and met Aidan’s eyes. “I’ll start the car.”
THE DOOR SLAMMED behind Maddy and the kitchen fell silent.
Lucy DiFalco busied herself with the dog’s water dish while Rose regained her composure.
Time to go.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said to Rose.
She smiled. “And thanks for letting Kelly take the job.”
“She’s been pretty much calling her own shots since she was ten years old,” he said, “and she hasn’t been wrong yet. I’ll trust her judgment.”
“You’re a lucky man,” Rose said softly. “Very lucky.”
He said goodbye to Lucy, kept his feet out from under Priscilla, then almost slid down the back steps in his haste to get out of there.
And here he’d thought the O’Malley clan had the market cornered on tension and subtext. The DiFalcos made them look like amateurs. The tension between Maddy and Rose was so real he almost asked it to pull up a chair and sit down.
Maddy was parked off to the side, near the garage. Her Mustang idled roughly, kicking out puffs of dark smoke that would probably cause her to flunk her state inspection. She was drumming the steering wheel with the heels of her hands, and, judging by her profile, her mood hadn’t improved.
“I was going to send in a search party,” she said as he settled into the passenger seat and closed the door. “I thought they might be holding you for ransom.”
“You embarrassed her,” he said. He had meant to say, If you need a good mechanic while you’re here, I have a few names. Clearly it would have been the wiser choice.
Maddy swiveled in her seat and stared him in the eyes. “What did you say?”
Was it too late to pretend he didn’t speak English?
“I said, you embarrassed her.”
“You couldn’t embarrass her if you caught her in bed with Martha Stewart and Jackie Chan.”
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