Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [535]
“Your mother asked for my advice before she gave you his name and address last December.”
“You’ve known all along? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was waiting for you to tell me. Why didn’t you tell me, Maggie?”
“I suppose I was waiting, too.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Courage.”
“Courage? I don’t think I understand. You’re one of the most courageous people I know, Margaret O’Dell.”
“We’ll see how courageous I am. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She dropped the phone into her pocket and was ready to give up—so much for courage when she couldn’t even find the place. Then she saw the sign pointing to Durham Hall. She stared at the building, hesitating. What the hell. She was here. It was silly to not go in.
She stopped at the front desk where a brunette with a nose piercing and pink eye shadow held an open textbook in her lap, a phone in one hand and a bottled water in the other.
“I know it’ll be on the exam. He only mentioned it about a thousand times.” She looked up at Maggie and without putting down the phone, asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Patrick Murphy.”
The girl glanced at a sign-out sheet on the corner of the desk. “He’s out until late this evening, but umm…You know, I think he’s working. You might be able to catch him there.” She pointed across the street.
At first Maggie wasn’t certain where she meant. Then she saw it, Champs Grill. A job to work his way through college, of course. It was one of the details she didn’t have in any of her files.
Champs Grill smelled of greasy fries, was dark and noisy and smoky with tall-backed booths, all packed with students. Maggie found a stool at the bar and began her search, looking out into the dining area and watching the waiters, wondering if she would be able to recognize him. And if she did, what would she say? How did you tell someone you’d never met before that you were his big sister? Maybe she should have sent a Hallmark card first. Didn’t Hallmark have a card for every occasion?
She saw a tall, dark-haired waiter at the corner table, laughing with the group as he took their order. Did his profile look familiar? He seemed to be the one making them all laugh and Maggie smiled, remembering how her father had been able to make her laugh so hard it hurt. She hadn’t laughed as hard since. So many of her memories of her father were overshadowed by his death. Instead of remembering his jokes and his hugs, she woke up in the middle of the night able to smell the scorched scent of his flesh, despite all the efforts the funeral home had made. Instead of remembering that medallion he had given her to wear for protection, one that matched his, all she could think about was that his hadn’t protected him when he ran into the inferno, only to be carried out a hero.
She fingered her own medallion now, though she kept it under her blouse. There were memories she needed to allow, reminders that didn’t need to be painful. She watched the waiter in the corner and she wondered if Patrick even knew who his father was. Had his mother shared that with him? Or had that been part of the bargain Maggie’s mother had made with his mother after their father’s death?
“Can I get you something to drink, ma’am?” she heard the bartender ask.
“A Diet Pepsi, please,” she said, when what she really wanted was a Scotch. She turned just enough to glance at him.
“Would you like that with a twist of lemon?”
“No, I really don’t—” She stopped in midsentence, staring at the bartender as if she were seeing a ghost. She was seeing a ghost. It was as if she were looking at her father, the exact same brown eyes, the same dimpled chin.
“No lemon?” he asked, smiling at her with her father’s smile.
“No, thanks.”
She tried not to stare while he tossed ice into a glass and poured her soda, setting it in front of her.
“It’s a buck fifty, but no hurry. There’s free refills on soda.”
She seemed to have been rendered speechless and could only smile and nod. He left her to serve others and she watched, feeling like a voyeur, studying his every move, mesmerized by his hands, the long fingers. He