Chances Are (31 page)

“We make a great team,” Rose said as they lugged cleaning paraphernalia downstairs to the utility room.

“We do, don’t we?” The realization caught Maddy by surprise. “When did that happen?”

“About two decades later than I had hoped,” Rose said with her characteristic honesty.

“It better not take Claire and me that long at Cuppa. As it is, our acting skills are going to be stretched to the max tomorrow.” Maddy’s optimism for the success of their business relationship was fading fast. “At least conflict is good for the ratings.”

“Conflict might be good for ratings,” her mother said, “but it doesn’t wear well on a daily basis.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The first thirty-something years of Maddy’s life as a daughter were proof of that.

“Lucy called while you were out,” Rose said as they settled down in the kitchen over a pitcher of iced tea. “She asked if you could postpone the fitting until next week. Her arthritis is acting up, and her hands won’t behave.”

“No problem,” Maddy said. “I’ll call her, and we’ll reschedule.”

“And you’d better check your messages. Fred from the radio station was trying to find you. He said he called your cell, but there was no answer.”

Maddy made a small gesture of resigned embarrassment. “Guess I forgot to recharge it again.”

“Madelyn, what on earth is the point to having a cell phone if you don’t keep the battery charged?”

“I like the way it looks dangling uselessly from my belt loop.”

“Go check your voice mail.”

“Later.”

“He called a few hours ago.”

“Ma, enough. I’ll check for messages in a little while, okay?”

“You’re being irresponsible.”

“Why? Because I don’t think a cell phone has to be an electronic leash?” She conveniently chose to ignore the many times that electronic leash had made life a whole lot easier when it was tugging at someone else.

“You’re just like your father. God forbid he should check for messages when he’s out driving around like a teenager with a brand-new license. The two of you are like peas in a pod.”

Maddy kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said. “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Rose tried to look stern, but the twinkle in her eye—a twinkle that just might have been there many other times when Maddy was too busy or too angry to notice—gave her away.

“I think so, too,” she said. “Now check for your messages, and let’s get back to work.”

CORIN FLYNN HAD faced down snipers in Sarajevo, survived the rocky mountains of Afghanistan, and the terror-filled streets of Baghdad, without flinching. He had known fear, known it intimately, and he knew how to use that fear to propel himself deeper into situations a sane man would run from. Fear was a good thing, a motivator. Fear taught you to trust your gut instincts, even though reason was pulling you in the opposite direction.

But nothing he had ever experienced staring up at a Kalashnikov held by a terrified sixteen-year-old boy with nothing left to lose came close to what he felt when he pulled into the Joyce Kilmer Rest Stop on the New Jersey Turnpike and finally lost his nerve.

He broke into a cold sweat eight miles away from Newark Liberty Airport as the land gradually lost its urban-industrial edge and grew greener, more suburban.

The twitch beneath his left eye kicked in south of The Oranges.

By the time he climbed from behind the wheel of his rented Ford and headed for the low brick building that housed public bathrooms, two fast-food restaurants, and an information center, the adrenaline was flowing so hard and fast he felt like it was morning in Kabul where the sound of machine gun fire and rocket explosions took the place of a snooze alarm.

A man couldn’t stay angry forever. He knew that. The deep, gut-twisting anger he had felt the last time he saw her had been replaced by an emptiness that nothing could fill. He had traveled the world in search of the one thing that would make him forget her, plugging in danger for love, and still coming up empty. In the last eight years he had gained a reputation for being a risk-taker, the guy with the camera who walked where sane men feared to tread. Somewhere along the way he had acquired a career, a damn good one at that, and made a name for himself, but that emptiness inside just kept on growing bigger.

He bought a large black coffee from Mickey D’s—more caffeine, yeah that was what he needed—and stepped back outside to breathe in the mingled scents of new trees and old petroleum and found himself thrown back through time to the day he learned there were ways to kill a man that had nothing to do with bullets.

He finished his coffee, fantasized a cigarette, then tossed the empty cup into a trash bin a few feet away. The sun was beginning to rise over a stand of wobbly pine trees across the highway. With a little luck he’d reach Paradise Point in time for breakfast.

He had asked Olivia to tell Claire he was coming and why. She had been through hell these last few years, and he wouldn’t do anything to complicate her life any more than her husband’s death already had. He wanted to see her just one more time, hear the sound of her voice. He wanted to make sure that the life she had chosen was still the one she needed to be happy. He would do what he was being paid to do—capture images of a town and its people—and then he would forget Claire O’Malley had ever existed.

And maybe one day he might even stop loving her.

 
MADDY AND HER crew were already at O’Malley’s when Claire arrived. She had set her alarm for five-thirty so she would have time to shower, wash her hair, try to tame it with a whip and chair, and obsess over her pathetic excuse for a grown-up wardrobe.

“It’s a radio show,” her father had pointed out as she gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from him just before she spun out the door. “You look fine.”

There were two ways of looking at that statement.
You look fine . . . for radio,
or
You look fine, and yes, I know other adults are actually going to see you.
She had the sinking feeling the former came closer to the truth than the latter ever would, but she didn’t have time for an extreme makeover. A swipe of lipstick, a handful of Tic Tacs, and a quick Hail Mary, and she was out the door.

“Hey, Claire!” Maddy hailed her from across the bar. “Help yourself to some coffee. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Help yourself to some coffee? Like Claire wasn’t the one who usually made the coffee 365 days a year at O’Malley’s.

“She didn’t mean it that way.” Aidan startled her out of her surly train of thought. “You’ve watched her run interviews here before. That’s what she says to all her guests.”

It was, but Claire refused to be mollified.

“Got the jitters?”

She shook her head. “Why should I? It’s just local radio.”

He gave her a look she didn’t feel like analyzing, then rejoined the crowd of half-asleep regulars at the bar, one of whom was a sparklingly wide-awake Olivia.

“Took you long enough,” Claire complained when the woman finally joined her in exile halfway between the crowd at the bar and Maddy’s crew near the window. “I was beginning to think there was something going on between you and Mel Perry.”

“And when there is, you’ll be the first to know, I promise you.” She lowered her voice. “No word from Corin, but Peter says he’s scheduled for a shoot on the dock tomorrow morning so . . .”

“It doesn’t make any difference to me, Liv. Our moment came and went a long time ago.”

“Really?” Olivia arched a brow. “I hear you’ve been jumping out of your skin around here every time the door opens.”

The door squeaked open on cue, but Claire steadfastly kept her gaze locked and loaded on her friend.

Olivia waggled her fingers over Claire’s left shoulder. “Good morning, Mr. Fenelli. Aren’t you looking well this fine day!”

Strange how relief and disappointment could feel so much alike. She turned around and smiled as David joined them.

“Don’t you ever work?” she teased him.

“One of the bennies of self-employment,” he said. “You can take a morning off to cheer on a friend.”

He was right. They had become friends somewhere along the way. She wondered when it had happened.

“Thanks,” she said, aware of Olivia’s curious gaze. “I need all the support I can get.”

“You’ll knock ’em dead.” He gave her one of those endearingly goofy smiles. “How about I take you to breakfast when you’re through?”

Olivia gave one of those theatrical coughs favored by sitcom actresses and women who will not be ignored.

“You, too, Olivia,” David said. “I’d love it if you joined us.”

“Sure you would,” Olivia drawled as she patted his arm lightly, “but I’m afraid I have to say no. I have a store to run and employees to badger.”

David was too polite to look relieved as he met Claire’s eyes again. “So how about it?”

There were a million reasons not to, but a civilized breakfast with an ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill nice guy sounded like exactly what she needed. “Sounds great,” she said, “provided we don’t go to Julie’s.”

“Paula’s Pancake Palace,” he said. “It’s in—”

“Bayport,” she said. “The blueberry pecan silver dollars are to die for.”

“Interesting,” Olivia said when he excused himself to grab some coffee at the bar. “Since when are you two breakfast buddies?”

“Since right now.”

“He’s smitten.”

“Will you keep your voice down?”

“The signs are all there.” Olivia was nothing if not relentless. “Goofy smile. Sweaty palms. A twinkle in his—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” It was Maddy’s assistant Angie. “I need to do a sound check.” She smiled up at Claire. “It’s painless. I promise.”

Easy for her to say. She was on the other side of the microphone.

“You’re looking a tad green about the gills,” Olivia observed when Angie walked away.

“I don’t think I can do it. You’re the one who should be giving the interview, not me.”

“Of course you can do it.” Olivia placed her hands on Claire’s shoulders and turned her away from the door. “Maddy gave you a list of questions she might ask. All you have to do is stay focused and remember to plug Cuppa every chance you get. How hard is that?”

She sucked in her stomach and glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. “I should’ve worn the black pants with the silk blazer. I look like a blimp in this skirt.”

Olivia looked queasy. “You mean those hideous pants with the elastic waistband? Over my dead body.”

“I look six months pregnant in this sweater. I should never have quit smoking.”

“You look smashing. My wrists are bigger than your thighs. Go near one cigarette, and you’ll answer to me. Besides, this is a radio interview. You could be stark naked for all anyone will know.”

Claire laughed despite herself. “Believe me, if you saw my stretch marks—”

“No excuses,” Olivia cut her off. “We’re in this together. I did an interview with Maddy two weeks ago. Rosie is on next month. Now it’s your turn. I warned you there would be a lot of publicity events involved in launching the tea shop.”

“I thought that meant you wanted me to bake cookies for reporters. If you’d told me it meant panty hose and lipstick, I might’ve thought twice.”

When Olivia laughed, men dropped to their knees and thanked their Maker. Like right now. The same old goats who had barely grunted at Claire ten minutes ago looked up in Rockette unison from their copies of the
Racing Form
at the sound of Olivia’s laughter. To a man, they sat up a little straighter, smoothed down the memory of hair, and flashed removable smiles 1-800-Dentist would be proud of.

“How do you do that?” Claire wondered as Olivia waggled her beringed fingers in the direction of her adoring geriatric fan club. “When I laugh, they turn up the volume on the TV.”

“Of course they do. You’re family.” Olivia upped the wattage on her smile. “I, however, am still the mysterious stranger.”

Claire felt an eye roll coming on. “You’ve been here over two years.”

“That doesn’t matter. I didn’t grow up here. They never saw me in braces or a training bra—”

“You wore a training bra?” She clapped her hands over her ears. “Please! Leave me with my illusions.”

“See what I mean? A touch of mystery is a powerful tool for a woman. You should try it.”

“I’m almost forty. If I was going to be mysterious, I should’ve started sooner.” Claire glanced pointedly in the general direction of Olivia’s spectacular cleavage. “Maybe I’ll buy a Wonder Bra instead.”

“You don’t need a Wonder Bra. You just need to start going out more.”

“I go out plenty,” Claire said. “I go to Super Fresh. I go to meet Billy Jr. at the bus stop. I go to the dentist and to church and—”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“The same thing you’re always talking about, and I’m still not interested.”

“Of course you’re interested. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it.”

She had to hand it to Olivia. Five minutes ago she wouldn’t have believed anybody could manage to take her mind off her stage fright. Nothing like an old argument to help a woman refocus.

“I’m having breakfast with David. That should—”

“Thirty seconds,” Angie called out. “Let’s go! We need a mike check.”

“Break a leg, Claire.” Olivia gave her a push, and Claire found herself hurtling toward either certain death or public humiliation. At that moment, she wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Maddy, her future almost sister-in-law, gave her an encouraging smile as Angie, who didn’t look old enough to be out without her mother, pushed a chair under her rear end.

“Count one to ten one more time,” Maddy told her, “so they can be sure you’re miked properly.”

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .”