I grasp his cast and say a hushed, “I know. You’re right. Question withdrawn.” To my relief he lets it rest. Truth be told, I don’t care what Lily plans for the fall. I care about making this man comfortable. Opting for distraction, I gesture at the plate before me. “Is this Joy’s breakfast?”
He regards the half-eaten avocado toast. “I believe.”
Taking the fork, I set to finishing what my daughter has left. Between bites, aiming for light conversation, I say, “I also met Lina. She seems nice. How did you come to hire her?”
He lifts the newspaper and, using his full right hand and the fingers of the left that are free above the cast, shakes it into its proper folds. When he has it right, he sets it aside. “Hire who?”
“Lina. Your housekeeper?”
“I know who Lina is,” he snaps but he doesn’t answer the question, seems to have forgotten that, too. Having settled the newspaper, his focus is on the kitchen.
As I eat, I try to guess at his thoughts. The good thing is that his outburst didn’t draw attention. No one in the shop is paying him much heed. But that may be the bad thing, too. He is used to being noticed. He used to thrive on it. When Elizabeth disappeared, people weren’t sure what to say and gave him space, but Anne told me things are back to normal. If so, he should be the retired judge holding court right here, with a reverent audience greeting him on their way in or out.
That isn’t happening. Only locals would recognize him, of course. Looking around to decide how many of those are here now, I spot Deanna Smith. She is sitting with a family of four, but quickly rises and weaves between tables to Dad’s.
“Mallory.” I barely have time to set down my fork when she gives me a hug. “I heard you were here.” Addressing my father, she aims a sideways finger at me and says, “Does she look amazing, or what?” Then she’s back to me. “New York, huh? Photography, huh?Real estate,huh?” She grins at the last, seeming pleased that we finally have something in common.
I’m not sure where she got her information, whether it is newly obtained or older. It would make sense to think she may have occasionally asked Anne about me, and there’s no reason Anne wouldn’t tell. Nor is there reason for me to be nervous that I’ve been discovered, since I knew what I was doing when I sat down with Dad. Still the past returns.
I remember Deanna in grade school, always the head of the pack. Come middle school, she was a woman while we were still girls. By high school, she was head cheerleaderandpresident of the class. Around Deanna, I felt out of my element. But when I try now to conjure something she might have done to make me feel that way, I can’t—which suggests the problem was me. She loved the limelight, I avoided it. She partied, I studied. She was the one everyone wanted to be with, I was not. Sure, my father was a judge, but thatcould have gone either way—been a source of status or a cause for distance. Margo certainly had plenty of friends. Me, not so much. And I hadn’t minded. I didn’t want to be noticed. To be noticed was to risk criticism, and Lord knew, I had enough of that at home.
But I don’t want to be that Mallory now. I want to be the one with a good career and a super daughter and a Facebook page followed by real friends. Sitting straighter, I say an upbeat, “Yup, real estate photography. And look at you, gorgeous, as always. Sophisticated. Successful.” I glance at her table. “Clients?”
“Yes.” She drops her voice. “I’m sorry. I’d love to talk. Actually, I want to milk your brain for ideas that can help me sell. The middle market is fine, but the high end? I’ll bet you do a lot of that. Around here, lately, it’s a tough sell,” she hitches her head to indicate her current clients and adds in a whisper, “even with unlimited money in startups. Can we talk another time?”
“Sure,” I say, which restores her grin. I hate that I love being in her sights, but I do.
Holding up a be-right-back finger, she returns to her table and is right back with a business card. “Do you have one?”
Not here. Nope. Naturally, not. She is chic, and I’m sweaty. What else is new?
But hey, I’m on vacation. I’ve earned the right to travel light. “Back at the house,” I say and, taking my father’s pen from the breast pocket of his shirt, write my phone number on a paper napkin. “Not fancy, but it’ll get you to my phone.”
Grinning, she scrunches herself up, like she’s controlling excitement, then gives a little wave and rejoins her clients.
I start to return Dad’s pen but pause. Taking it from his pocket had been reflex, but there was an intimacy to the gesture. And why not? He was my father. He always kept a pen there, and he never minded when we borrowed it. If we dared to walk off with it, well, that was something else.
Gingerly, I slip it back into his pocket. “That was nice,” I say, meaning Deanna stopping by.
But he is still focused on the kitchen, and his expression is dark. I never knew what to say when he was this way before, and I’m even more unsure now. So I sip my coffee and try not to make things worse.
Then the darkness lifts. I know even before I turn that Lily is on her way.
“Hey there, Judge,” she says with a big Elizabeth smile. “How’re you doing today?”
He raises his silver brows. “Not bad. Not bad. Where you been?”
“I overslept. Your granddaughter is adorable.”
“Granddaughter.”
She tosses back a glance. “Joy?”
“Huh. Joy.”
“She was good to fill in for me, but I’d better see who needs food.”
“Amazing,” I say once she is gone, because the resemblance truly is. “Did you know she was coming to town?”
