Chances Are (8 page)

After Billy’s death, the place had been a refuge for her. The familiar rituals of opening up the bar every morning, greeting Tommy or Owen as she headed into the kitchen to start cooking for the lunch crowd—all of it sustained her. Aidan joined her in a partnership after he was back on his feet, and they had even managed to turn a small profit now and then.

But three years had passed since then. She was stronger now. She didn’t see ghosts around every corner the way she had in those early months. Aidan had taken much of the daily grind off her shoulders and enabled her to cut back on her hours. They had hit a rough patch at O’Malley’s, but the addition of an outdoor patio and a more upscale menu—both Rose DiFalco’s suggestions—had greatly improved their bottom line.

Aidan had taken a second mortgage on his house, something Claire had strenuously objected to, but it looked like his gamble just might pay off. Sure, some of the old-timers worried it was going to turn into a singles bar with No Smoking signs and flowering plants, but so far they were holding the line between the generations.

O’Malley’s was still O’Malley’s but better, and she was glad of it. She loved Aidan. He had been to hell and back and deserved this happiness and more. She loved the regulars who had gathered around her like a human shield after Billy died and kept her from splitting apart from the sheer force of her grief. But it wasn’t enough. Lately she had been finding it harder and harder to push herself through the front door and into the familiar yeasty, smoky haze of beer and cigarettes and settle into the comfortable old role of Feisty Claire, brave widow and mother of five.

She felt restless and edgy all the time these days, like a permanent case of PMS without the chocolate cure. The things that didn’t get on her nerves bored her to tears. If anyone had ever told her that she would be a candidate for a midlife crisis, she would have laughed them right out of the room, but more and more she was beginning to wonder if anything short of a visit to see Dr. Phil was going to get her back on track. She yearned for something new, something different, something she had never seen or heard or experienced before, but damned if she knew what that something might be.

But she knew what it wasn’t. The whole damn town was drowning in memories since the arrival of the NJTV reporter who was assigned to gather interviews about the history of Paradise Point. You couldn’t take a step without tripping over a mossy story about the old days and the way it used to be. (The way it probably never was.) Endless tales about Billy and Aidan’s grandmother Irene O’Malley and her husband Michael, ancient history about the bar’s glory days when it was a restaurant worthy of a special trip down to the shore.

Irene’s death last December had been reported in a surprising number of newspapers up and down the state. A centenarian with a sharp mind and amazingly accurate command of details, both social and political, was a rare find, and both historians and gerontology students had made it their business to interview Irene frequently during the last ten years of her life. One of those lengthy obituaries had snagged the interest of the state’s public television programmers, and suddenly Paradise Point was at the center of production on a series featuring the rise, fall, and reemergence of Paradise Point.

The town library was stacked floor to ceiling with donations of scrapbooks, photo albums, old letters, and diaries found stashed away in attics and closets all around town. Locals compared notes every morning at Julie’s Coffee Shop, trying to dazzle each other with outrageous tales about politics, family squabbles, hurricanes, nor’easters, and blizzards.

And the accident that took Billy’s life and the lives of five other firefighters.

She couldn’t escape it if she tried. The collapse of that warehouse roof three years ago had changed the town, brought them all closer together as they struggled to understand why God had let this tragedy happen. Paradise Point was a typical small town in that most of the residents were second, third, and fourth generation, living in houses their grandparents had owned, going to the same school their parents had gone to, shopping the same markets, driving the same streets. Their lives were intertwined in ways Houdini couldn’t unravel, and when Billy and his coworkers died, the whole town grieved.

Claire had watched it all through a bloodred haze of rage. Her anger burned through sorrow, through loss, ignited everything and everyone it came in contact with. She hated the pious prayers, the sympathy cards with the faded lilies and a cross, the pans of mac and cheese, pots of spaghetti sauce, the flowers that stank of death.

She hated the fact that after a marriage filled with second chances they had finally run out of time. She despised the fact that they thought they knew him, thought they understood who he really was, when they hadn’t a clue. Her flawed, imperfect hero, the husband she had never managed to love the way she wanted to be loved herself.

A tiny cough erupted behind her, and Claire almost vaulted over the steering wheel in surprise. She had all but forgotten Hannah was strapped in the backseat, waiting to be delivered home. She turned around in her seat at the stoplight and smiled at the little girl, struck again by the resemblance to a young Kelly. Where had those precious years gone? Four of her brood were out there in the world, either in school or working, and this time next year Kelly would join them.

“Hannah, you’re so good back there I almost forgot about you.”

No response, just a thumb quickly inserted into a mouth that looked dangerously ready to cry.

“How would you like to go see the end of Billy’s soccer game?”

Still no response. The thumb, however, was getting a workout.

She wasn’t the mother of five for nothing. When it came to kids, you had to push your agenda with the zeal of a politician seeking reelection, or you’d end up living out the rest of your days at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

“Did Billy tell you that Opal had kittens?”

Hannah nodded, eyes widening with interest.

“Would you like to see them?”

The thumb was ejected from her mouth with a pop. “Can I have one?”

Big mistake. Never mention puppies, kittens, or bunnies to a five-year-old. She regrouped. “They’re too young to leave Opal yet, Hannah.”

“Can I have one when they’re big enough?”

“We’ll have to ask your mom about that.”

“She’ll say yes.”

“Well, your Grandma Rose has to agree, too.”

Hannah’s expression reminded Claire of how her kids looked when she served Brussels sprouts. “My grandpa has lots of cats,” Hannah said. “Horses, too. He’ll let me have a kitten even if Gramma Rose won’t. I know he will.”

So even Hannah had her issues with Rose. Oh, this had juicy possibilities. She could dine out on the gossip for six weeks and not even begin to wear out her welcome.

The thought of some of her own darker moments seeing the light of day brought her back to her senses. She couldn’t do it. She wanted to, she was dying to find out everything, but she flat out couldn’t ask. The thought of Denise or Pat grilling Billy Jr. for the scoop on the O’Malleys made her head spin. There were few things lower on the food chain than a thirty-nine-year-old woman who would pump a five-year-old child for gossip. No matter how juicy it might be.

“I have an idea,” Claire said, as she made a left onto Main Street. “Why don’t I take you home now?” Better to run from temptation than try to stare it down. She had learned that a long time ago.

“Okay,” said Hannah. “I saw Grandpa Bill sleeping in Grandma’s bed last week.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Claire said.

“Grandpa Bill slept over with Grandma,” Hannah repeated in a louder voice. “I saw them kissing in the kitchen.”

“No, Hannah, I didn’t mean I didn’t hear you, I meant—” She forced herself to stop. Another five seconds, and she’d pull over to the curb and order the poor kid to spill her guts or Santa would skip Paradise Point this year.

Clearly it was time to get a life. She needed a new one, a better one, because the one she currently had belonged to somebody else, a woman who no longer existed.

CLEARLY THE GODS believed Rose had suffered enough during lunch with her sisters and they enabled her to escape Bernino’s before any of the aging DiFalco girls had the chance to ask for a ride home.

The car started on the first try. The lights were green from Bernino’s to the parkway.

Even better, Olivia Westmore answered her cell phone on the first ring.

“I’m on my way home,” Rose said. “Meet me at The Candlelight in an hour.”

“I’m at work,” Olivia protested. “I can’t close up because you feel like gossiping.”

“Be there,” Rose said. “I promise it’ll be worth your while.” Fifty-eight minutes later she pulled into the parking lot behind The Candlelight and laughed when she saw Olivia perched on the back steps. She wore one of her trademark floaty skirts, the kind that automatically settled themselves into graceful lines around her legs. She had kicked off her Jimmy Choos and they sat at attention on the top step, gleaming expensively in the late afternoon sunshine. She was the picture of languid grace, a woman who clearly never had to work a day in her life.

All wrong, of course. Olivia owned Le Papier, the fancy stationery store in the heart of town that had suddenly become a shopping mecca for the men of Paradise Point. It had taken the women a little bit longer to warm up to the siren in their midst, but the quality of her wares—and her good nature—finally won them over, too.

“This better be good,” Olivia said as Rose walked toward her. “I left Sunny in charge and she still doesn’t know vellum from construction paper.”

“I’m so sorry, Liv, but I’m afraid I told them.”

“Told them what?”

“That you’re opening a tea shop.”

“Is that all? And here I thought you told them about the night Simon and I—”

“Never,” Rose said. “You swore me to secrecy.”

“The tea shop is no secret. I filed the papers with the township. They’re public record.”

“But you haven’t made an announcement. I shouldn’t have said anything, but Toni and Connie were being such bitches that I couldn’t hold back.”

“Okay, so you told them. How did it go over?”

“Everyone who matters thought it was a brilliant idea.”

“And Toni and Connie hated it.”

“They despised it.”

Olivia threw back her head and laughed. “That means it’s going to be a smash hit!”

“That’s pretty much what I thought, too.” She met her friend’s eyes. “If your offer still holds, I’m in.”

“Of course the offer still holds. I’d love for us to be partners in the tea shop.” Olivia extended her right hand. “Then it’s a deal.”

“There’s one condition,” Rose went on. “I’d like to offer the manager’s position to Maddy.”

“I thought she was working for you here at the Inn.”

“She has been,” Rose said carefully, noting the lack of enthusiasm in Olivia’s tone, “but I think she needs a new challenge. Not everyone is cut out for innkeeping.”

“Amen to that. Quite frankly, Rosie, I don’t know how you stand sharing the bathroom with strangers.”

“You sound like my daughter.”

Olivia was quiet for a few moments. “What about that radio gig? Doesn’t that take up a lot of her time?”

“Friday mornings,” Rose said. “I see the radio show as built-in publicity for the new venture. She could do it from Cuppa if the station agrees.”

A radio interview Rose had arranged back in December had generated a part-time gig for Maddy but not the career opportunity she had prayed would come her daughter’s way. The local radio program paid her in free tickets to the Paradise Point Multiplex and ten percent off at O’Malley’s Bar and Grill. The irony was not lost on either Rose or Maddy.

Olivia drummed her fingers on the step. “I had been thinking of bringing Claire O’Malley on board.”

“As manager?” Rose didn’t mean to sound quite so skeptical.

“She is the one who kept O’Malley’s going before Aidan came on board.”

“Not really,” Rose said. “Jack Bernstein kept the wolf from the door and Tommy did all the ordering.”

“A subjective evaluation?” Olivia asked.

“An accurate evaluation.”

Olivia frowned. “We need someone with real experience to keep the books, take care of ordering—”

“Maddy can handle it,” Rose said. “She was an accountant for years out in Seattle.”

“There’s a difference between bean counting and running a business,” Olivia pointed out. “If you think Maddy is the best one to manage Cuppa, I’m willing to give her a try, but I have to admit I can’t see her up front shmoozing with the crowd.”

“I’m the first one to admit her people skills need work.” It was the personal aspect of innkeeping that her daughter disliked so intensely. “I’m her mother but I do try to keep her away from the front desk.”

They locked eyes.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Olivia asked. “Claire up front as hostess, Maddy in the back, keeping the whole thing running smoothly.”

“They may say no.” She wasn’t at all convinced the two women were half as friendly as Maddy wanted her to believe. Working closely together might put a strain on their budding familial ties.

“We won’t know until we ask.”

“I’ll talk to Maddy tonight,” Rose said.

“Perfect,” Olivia said. “We’ll get to Claire’s house early tomorrow night for poker and present it to her then.”

“And what if they both say no?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“Not if we pay them enough.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “You mean we have to pay them?”

It was the best laugh Rose had all day.

“FIVE MORE MINUTES,” Nina said as she crouched down next to the whirlpool. “We put you through a real workout this afternoon.”

“I’m good to go,” Aidan said, flexing his right ankle in the swirling warm water. He tried hard not to wince, but Nina could see right through him.