person. Bob and Marie never noticed.
I looked really close and just as I suspected, I could see that my fingernails were broken down to the quick, the result of me spending a frantic weekend figuring out how to pick the lock on my bedroom door when they went on a jaunt to Vegas and figured I’d be “safer” if I stayed put.
I coughed away the sudden tightness in my throat.
Too bad I bothered, because the ache started all overagain when Sophie pressed the picture into my hands. “She wanted you to have this. Nina told me. You know, right before she died. She said when I saw you next—”
“Thanks.” Without another look, I grabbed the photo and tucked it into my suitcase.
“So . . .” Sophie backed toward the door. “Good night, then. I hope you’re comfortable tonight.”
She didn’t wait around long enough for me to tell her I was sure I would be. Sophie left the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
I sat down on the bed and though I tried, I couldn’t resist dragging that photograph of me and Nina out of my suitcase.
I’d never cried when I heard Nina was sick or even when she died.
I didn’t cry now.
What I did was get up and put the picture back where I’d found it.
I guess that was the moment I realized I’d really done it. I’d changed my mind.
I was staying.
Chapter 5
I t was only until Sophie got back on her feet.
I told her that when I drove the twenty minutes from Hubbard to the hospital in Youngstown the next morning, and when I did, I refused to take my eyes off the road so I could pretend I didn’t notice the way she twinkled like a beauty queen when she heard the news.
Just to make things perfectly clear, I mentioned it again while we sat in a bland and boring hospital waiting room with Monet posters on the wall, fake flower arrangements on the tables, and a variety of magazines to read, all of them at least three months old.
I would be sure to tell her again—just in case there was any way she could forget—that evening, once the Terminal was closed for the day and I could get back to the hospital and see how she was doing.
I would manage the Terminal only until Sophie wasfeeling better. I would stick around only until she was fully recovered and up and well.
Then I was outta there.
It didn’t hurt to remind myself, either, and I did just that when I parked my car in the side lot near where the cops had found Owen Quilligan hiding behind the Dumpster, and went around to the front of the building.
Declan Fury was at the front door waiting for me.
“Good morning!”
I dug the key out of my Prada bag. “Aren’t you Irish gift shop types supposed to say
Top of the mornin’ to ye
or something like that?”
His smile was as bright as the sun just skimming the roof of the boarded-up factory on the other side of the railroad tracks. “Sorry to disappoint you. My family came from Ireland something like a hundred and fifty years ago. We left our Lucky Charms accents back there.”
I pushed open the door, but I didn’t step inside. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fury?”
“It’s Declan, and a cup of coffee would be nice. You do know how to make a decent cup of coffee, don’t you?”
Truth be told, I make a stellar cup of coffee. Rather than mention it, I gave him my most sparkling smile. “I thought you were a tea drinker. Brewed in quaint little shamrock-decorated pots, of course, and served in charming mugs.”
“That’s only when I’m across the street and you know . . .” He gave me a wink and leaned a little closer. Just like it had the night before, the scent of bay rum enveloped me. That had to be the reason I felt a little light-headed, right? “I’ve got an espresso machine in the back room of the shop. If you’re ever needing something a little stronger than tea, you can always stop in. I also happen to stock a nice variety ofbeer in the minifridge. Maybe some night after the restaurant is closed . . .”
Since he didn’t finish
I looked really close and just as I suspected, I could see that my fingernails were broken down to the quick, the result of me spending a frantic weekend figuring out how to pick the lock on my bedroom door when they went on a jaunt to Vegas and figured I’d be “safer” if I stayed put.
I coughed away the sudden tightness in my throat.
Too bad I bothered, because the ache started all overagain when Sophie pressed the picture into my hands. “She wanted you to have this. Nina told me. You know, right before she died. She said when I saw you next—”
“Thanks.” Without another look, I grabbed the photo and tucked it into my suitcase.
“So . . .” Sophie backed toward the door. “Good night, then. I hope you’re comfortable tonight.”
She didn’t wait around long enough for me to tell her I was sure I would be. Sophie left the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
I sat down on the bed and though I tried, I couldn’t resist dragging that photograph of me and Nina out of my suitcase.
I’d never cried when I heard Nina was sick or even when she died.
I didn’t cry now.
What I did was get up and put the picture back where I’d found it.
I guess that was the moment I realized I’d really done it. I’d changed my mind.
I was staying.
Chapter 5
I t was only until Sophie got back on her feet.
I told her that when I drove the twenty minutes from Hubbard to the hospital in Youngstown the next morning, and when I did, I refused to take my eyes off the road so I could pretend I didn’t notice the way she twinkled like a beauty queen when she heard the news.
Just to make things perfectly clear, I mentioned it again while we sat in a bland and boring hospital waiting room with Monet posters on the wall, fake flower arrangements on the tables, and a variety of magazines to read, all of them at least three months old.
I would be sure to tell her again—just in case there was any way she could forget—that evening, once the Terminal was closed for the day and I could get back to the hospital and see how she was doing.
I would manage the Terminal only until Sophie wasfeeling better. I would stick around only until she was fully recovered and up and well.
Then I was outta there.
It didn’t hurt to remind myself, either, and I did just that when I parked my car in the side lot near where the cops had found Owen Quilligan hiding behind the Dumpster, and went around to the front of the building.
Declan Fury was at the front door waiting for me.
“Good morning!”
I dug the key out of my Prada bag. “Aren’t you Irish gift shop types supposed to say
Top of the mornin’ to ye
or something like that?”
His smile was as bright as the sun just skimming the roof of the boarded-up factory on the other side of the railroad tracks. “Sorry to disappoint you. My family came from Ireland something like a hundred and fifty years ago. We left our Lucky Charms accents back there.”
I pushed open the door, but I didn’t step inside. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fury?”
“It’s Declan, and a cup of coffee would be nice. You do know how to make a decent cup of coffee, don’t you?”
Truth be told, I make a stellar cup of coffee. Rather than mention it, I gave him my most sparkling smile. “I thought you were a tea drinker. Brewed in quaint little shamrock-decorated pots, of course, and served in charming mugs.”
“That’s only when I’m across the street and you know . . .” He gave me a wink and leaned a little closer. Just like it had the night before, the scent of bay rum enveloped me. That had to be the reason I felt a little light-headed, right? “I’ve got an espresso machine in the back room of the shop. If you’re ever needing something a little stronger than tea, you can always stop in. I also happen to stock a nice variety ofbeer in the minifridge. Maybe some night after the restaurant is closed . . .”
Since he didn’t finish
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