Whiskey Island (17 page)

She shook her head, as if at her own foolishness. “I did that for months. I really believed it wasn’t too late, that things could still work out. I must have burned out a hundred lightbulbs before I realized there were better ways to spend that money.”

“Maybe, lamp or no lamp, he couldn’t find his way home.”

“It’s more likely he didn’t want to. Rooney was a dreamer, a storyteller, a mystic. At his very best, he was irresponsible. I think one day he just decided to go it alone, to let somebody else take care of things, because he was tired of making the effort. And that’s what he did.”

“But he did come home, Megan. He was outside in the saloon parking lot.” Niccolo fished in his pocket and withdrew the cuff link. He held it out to her. “I think he dropped this when he got there.”

He watched as Megan squinted at the cuff link. No hint of recognition crossed her face. “I’ve never seen it before. Why do you think it was his?”

He explained, as he’d explained to Iggy. “Anyway, it’s yours, Megan. I think it probably does belong to your father, but at the very least, it was found in your parking lot.”

“I don’t want it.”

He wasn’t surprised. “It could be valuable.”

“I don’t want it. If it’s Rooney’s, he found it or stole it.” Her voice was hard. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Niccolo pocketed the cuff link rather than argue. “Maybe he was trying to find the courage to come inside when he happened on the carjacking.”

She got up to clear the table. Obviously neither of them was going to eat any more that evening. “If he ever makes it to the door, I won’t turn him away. But I’m not going looking for him, if that’s what you’re asking me to do. I won’t bar the door, and I won’t light the lamp. Let Rooney decide what to do next.”

Niccolo realized he’d said enough for one evening. She had a right to her bitterness, and, despite it, she had coped with Rooney’s desertion. Now she would have to cope with his return in her own way.

His job was to make sure that Rooney survived long enough to come back.

In the kitchen, Niccolo put his hand on Megan’s arm to keep her from going for more dishes. “May I say two things?”

Her eyes flicked down to his hand, then back to his face. “Just two?”

He smiled. “A record, I know.”

“Go ahead.”

“You have a lot to be proud of. I think you’re an extraordinary woman.”

“Was that one or two?”

“And I’m glad you were honest with me. A lot of people would have told me to mind my own business.”

“As a matter of fact, that’s a version of what I
did
tell you.”

“I know, but you came around in the end.”

She sighed and leaned back against the counter. “Just don’t bring this up with Casey or anybody else in my family, Nick. Everybody’s suffered enough.”

“Can I trust you to tell them if something comes up that they should know about?”

“You’re going to stay on this thing, aren’t you? You’re going to keep looking for him.”

“I can’t stop now. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’ve told you everything I can. I suppose that means we don’t have anything else to discuss.”

“Just a few things.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like?”

“Like Gilbert and Sullivan and fine Italian wines. Like cooking and big noisy families and old houses. Like the reason you said you loved Charles Ives but didn’t mention Aaron Copeland.”

The tension seemed to drain out of her. “Do you always look for trouble, Nick? Is that why you couldn’t stay a priest?”

“No, but trouble seems to find me.” And this woman could be trouble. Niccolo saw that both of them knew it. Neither of them was ready for the possibilities that seemed to stretch in front of them. Deep in his heart, part of him remained a practicing priest. Deep in hers, part of her remained an adolescent wounded by the man she loved most.

“Shall we pretend everything between us has been about Rooney?” he said. “Because I will, if that’s what you want.”

She smiled, despite seeming to wish otherwise. “If things ever turned out the way I wanted, I would fall apart.”

“We can’t have that.”

“I like you, Nick, and yes, I’m attracted to you, if you want to know. But even though I’ve spent my whole life propping up other people, I’m lousy at relationships.”

“We might have that in common, too, but I don’t have the experience to be sure.”

The smile died, but her amber eyes glowed. And when he stepped closer, she didn’t move away. She watched as his hand traveled to her hair, dry now, and springing in wayward curls over her ears. He wove his fingers through it as his thumb stroked her forehead. Her eyelids drifted shut. Her skin was smooth and unlined, and his thumb glided across it like a schooner sailing on the calmest of seas.

He dropped his hand and stepped back at last. She opened her eyes.

“Thank you for dinner, Megan.”

She nodded. “Thank you for the wine.”

He turned while he still could and went into the living room for his coat and gloves.

11

F
or Casey, tending bar was like breathing or bringing a fork to her mouth. She could keep orders straight without pencil or conscious thought, could wash, sanitize and drain a dozen glasses, could answer the telephone for carry-out orders, chat with the regulars and still plot what she was going to say to Jon Kovats when she finally caught up with him.

She hadn’t found him yet, but now that she had done a little research and discovered where he lived, it was only a matter of time.

“Heads up.” On Monday, just before one, she slid a filled mug down the bar to the old man at the end, a steady customer named Charlie Ford, who’d told her on her first day at work that he always had the special of the day and a black and tan. Just one, to tide him over until dinner.

Charlie was already a favorite of Casey’s, cherry cheeked, bright eyed and an inveterate teller of jokes. The jokes had gotten raunchier as he’d gotten to know her, but not very. Still more “three priests in a lifeboat” than “three hookers on Capitol Hill.”

Charlie effortlessly curled a finger around the handle as the mug slid to a stop in front of him. As he lifted the mug to his mouth, she went back to the kitchen to get his lunch order and brought it directly to him. Her own mouth watered as she set the corned beef and cabbage in front of him. The corned beef had simmered since dawn, nearly driving everyone crazy with its heady aroma. As an accompaniment, Megan had baked oatmeal bread rich with butter and a touch of molasses.

“Treats us like family.” Charlie bent over his plate and closed his eyes in appreciation. “Maybe not. My own mother didn’t cook this good.”

Casey didn’t remember her own mother cooking at all. Rooney had been the family cook. When he remembered.

“You’re getting the last of it.” Casey was glad she’d stored a heaped plate in the refrigerator for her own lunch when the rush began. “It doesn’t matter how much corned beef and cabbage Megan cooks, I hear it’s always gone by one. I think they smell it cooking down at EMI and Van Roy,” she said, naming two of the local businesses whose workers frequented the saloon.

Charlie grinned wide enough to showcase a missing molar. “I wait all month for the fourth Monday.”

Despite herself, Casey was touched. Whether she wanted to believe it or not, the Whiskey Island Saloon
was
more than just a bar. It was a neighborhood gathering place, and a reunion site for those who’d left the old neighborhood and moved to Bay Village or Rocky River. Only rarely did a stranger walk through the door. And how many places could people go in today’s impersonal world where they were greeted, fed and fussed over by folks who knew their personal history and drink of choice?

“Tell you what,” she said. “You finish all that, and there’s a big piece of apple pie to go with it. My treat.”

He stopped, fork halfway to his mouth. “How come?”

“’Cause you’re such a loyal customer. Just don’t tell anybody.”

“Put some ice cream on it.”

“You got it.”

She left him to his corned beef and wiped her way down the bar with a damp rag. She filled a couple of glasses en route and tossed a bag of pretzels to an accountant who had been trying all week to get her into bed. He was a nice enough guy, but she had a feeling he saw life as one giant spreadsheet. She didn’t want to spend hers being transferred from one column to another.

She placed another order in the kitchen with a harried Megan, who was assembling sandwiches for a noisy party of seven in the corner. Peggy arrived to shovel plates on a tray. Since she didn’t seem inclined to head back to school, Megan had put her to work as a server.

Casey picked up the two plates that wouldn’t fit and followed her.

“Here you go, boys,” Peggy told the hooting men clustered in a tight circle.

“You’re the prettiest damned thing in the place,” one of the men told her, as she delivered turkey on rye and a side order of fries. “I don’t want that sandwich, just you.”

Peggy wasn’t the slightest bit flustered. “Not on the menu. And I got a mean old man waiting outside that door every single night just to be sure nobody puts me there.”

The guy’s friends clapped him on the back, all in good fun. Casey was impressed with how her little sister had remained friendly but firm, turning the whole episode into a joke.

She told her so on the way back to the kitchen. “I’d say this place is in your blood, only that’s not much of a compliment, I guess.”

Peggy laughed. “I like what we do here. I think I could be happy forever serving black and tans.”

Casey felt one more stab of alarm in a rapidly growing series. “Look, I know right this minute I’m not much of a role model, but there are better things to be doing with your life.”

“Then why aren’t
you
doing them? You’re the one who always said you’d never come back here.”

“Maybe I’m just taking a break.”

Peggy looked up from her tray. “Maybe I am, too.”

Casey blurted out her worst fear. “You’re not going back to school, are you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Casey fell silent.

“Okay, I dropped out for the semester,” Peggy admitted. “That’s all I’m sure of for now. And don’t worry. Over the years, I’ve taken so many extra credits that I can still graduate this summer.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I’m working things out, Casey. That’s all. And I haven’t told Megan any of this. Let me tell her in my own way, okay? She’s going to fall apart.”

“Megan? Fall apart?”

“Of course. When it comes to us, she’s a basket case. She’ll be sure everything’s her fault. She didn’t try hard enough to keep me with her twenty-four hours a day. She didn’t do a good enough job of teaching me what’s really important. She still blames herself for your leaving. That’s why I haven’t told her.”

Casey felt a stab of guilt, then her eyes narrowed. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Terrified.”

“Well, I know she’s worried.”

“I’ll get around to it when the time’s right.”

Casey knew the subject was closed again. “I’m glad you’re here, and you know she can use you as long as you need to stay. Ashley’s taken to you, too.”

“Ashley’s the quietest little girl I’ve ever met.”

Ashley was
too
quiet, too pale, too wide-eyed. Casey had seen too many children like Ashley, children with dark circles under their eyes, children afraid to speak, afraid that anything they said could change the precarious balance of their sad little worlds.

“She’s enjoying day care,” Casey said, and it seemed to be true. The excellent teachers at St. Brigid’s had experience with children from difficult family situations.

“Seems to me you’ve been having trouble getting her out the door in the mornings.”

“She doesn’t want to go, but once she’s there, her teacher says she’s fine. She keeps to herself too much, but I guess that’s to be expected.”

“She’ll come out of her shell once her mother sends for her.”

Since there was nothing she could say about that, Casey circled the bar and filled two glasses with ice and 7-Up. Peggy took them back to the big table.

Casey was scooping dirty glasses into a sink of hot dishwater behind the bar when she realized that the man sitting in front of her wasn’t the one who had been there a moment ago. She almost dropped a glass.

“Jon!”

“You’re always so surprised to see me.”

“You’re a lousy sneak. You know that?”

“Missed me, huh?”

“Are you trying out for the part of the Invisible Man? Now you see him, now you don’t?”

“I’ve got a busy life. I don’t have time to hang around.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.”

“Something smells wonderful. Is that corned beef and cabbage?”

The scent still lingered.

She gestured to the chalkboard at the side of the room listing the day’s specials. “Megan only cooks it once a month. Today was the lucky day.”

“I’m glad I showed up.”

“Why? You probably won’t stay around long enough to eat it.”

“I’d like to, if you’ll quit sniping at me.”

“Sniping? You think this is sniping?”

Lots of things had changed about Jon Kovats. Now she realized that one of them was his smile. It was lazier and more confident, and there was something about the way he assessed her at the same time that was particularly appealing.

“I used to love it when you argued with me.” He propped his forearms on the counter and leaned forward. “Your eyes dance when your brain’s engaged. When you were excited about an idea and trying to defend it, you were beautiful.”

“Jon, you weren’t thinking about my eyes. You were thinking about how you were going to get a higher grade on a calculus quiz or whether you could convince old Mrs. Egan your mother really was dying so you could skip biology lab.”

“Not true.”

He didn’t seem to be teasing. She was taken aback. “Hey, don’t change the past. Your friendship was the only thing I could count on in high school.”

“I’m just telling you that when your eyes dance, you’re beautiful. And add a side order of corned beef and cabbage with it, will you?”