“Well if this isn’t just what I need. ”
“I was on the floor. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. ”
His gaze slides past me—a pointed reminder that I don’t belong here—and catches on the photographs on the mantel to my left.
Family photos.
With another curse, he storms out of the lodge and slams the door shut behind him.
Outside, I hear the car engine start, and wheels sputtering on wet gravel. Only then do I move.
I turn to the mantel, pick up one of the photographs. In it, Bobby is a pudgy-faced baby in a blue snowsuit. Daniel is smiling brightly and holding a beautiful, dark-haired woman close. There’s no mistaking the love in their eyes.
No wonder Daniel is rude to me. This time is tough enough on him and Bobby without an uninvited spectator.
For the next ha
lf hour, I busy myself in the kitchen, making lunch and then cleaning up my mess. When I’m done, I return to my room, where I wash out my other clothes and hang them over the shower rod to dry, then I wander back to the lobby.
The fire is fading now, falling apart in a shower of sparks.
I am standing in front of it, warming my hands when they return.
Bobby comes in first, looking utterly dejected. “Hey, Joy. Dad says I can’t play my GameBoy for two days. And I didn’t start nothin’. ”
I turn to face them.
Daniel sits in the chair opposite me. I can tell by the way he looks at Bobby that he’s been as bruised by this fight as his son. He doesn’t look angry; rather, I see sadness in him. “This is a family matter,” he says pointedly. “Don’t talk to her. Talk to me. ”
Shut up, Joy.
Shut up.
I can’t do it. Daniel’s been out of his son’s life for a few years; maybe he hasn’t been around children in that time. “Kids get in fights,” I say as gently as I can. “I’m a high school librarian. Believe me, I know. ”
“Not my dad,” Bobby says, sidling up beside me.
“Not me what?” Daniel says, irritated. When he looks at us—Bobby and me—he’s not smiling.
“You’d never get punched at school. ” Bobby’s voice quivers. In the tremor, I hear how much he wants not to have disappointed his father.
To my surprise, Daniel smiles. “When I was a lad in Dublin, I got into plenty of scraps. ”
“Really?”
“Aye. And I got my arse kicked, I’ll tell you. My own Da used to go after me. He said he didn’t wanna raise no Mama’s boy. ” His smile fades. “There’s nothing wrong with bein’ a mama’s boy. She loved you something fierce, Bobby. ”
“I know. ”
“But she wouldn’t want you fighting at church group. ”
“I know that. ”
I want to jump in with some stellar bit of advice that changes their lives and draws them together, but I know it’s not my place.
For too long, we’re all quiet.
Finally Daniel stands. “I’d best get to work on the bedrooms upstairs. No one is going to buy this place in the shape it’s in. You coming?”