Chapter 8
“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
Tony decided that Peaches had wasted his time huntinghim down in the unfinished rooms to take this call. Hedidn’t want to find out who wanted to talk to him after all.
“Hi, Vince,” he greeted his youngest brother with patience and foreboding. “Who made you call?”
Tony could almost see his stocky, much-too-seriousbrother straighten in protest. “Nobody made me call.”
“Who’ve you been talking to?” Tony asked anyway, hisattention half on his family and half on the ordered clutteraround him in Claire’s office as he settled a hip on the corner of her desk. “It was Mom, right? She called and saidthat she hadn’t heard from me and she was worried. And then maybe Victoria called and said that she’d talked to Mom and Mom was worried. And then Dad called—”
“So what? They’re worried about you.”
Guilt by committee. The Riordan way. Tony had to smile.He could just imagine all the time wasted on those clandestine phone calls so somebody’d call Tony and find out whatwas going on up in Richmond.
“Tell them all I’m fine. I’ve joined an order of Cistercians, and they’re teaching me how to make brandy.”
Vince struggled to keep the humor from his voice. “That’sthe Benedictines.”
“Oh. Yeah. The Benedictines. The Cistercians make wellsor something. I forgot.”
“Gina says she’s pretty.”
“Gina’s beautiful. That’s why I’m hiding her out with abunch of celibate monks.”
Vince’s huff of frustration was very real. At this verymoment, he was probably rubbing a hand through thinning hair. Tony didn’t care. He had better things to do thandefuse the family. He’d just noticed a drawing on Claire’sbulletin board. A jet, drawn with the kind of precision thatbetrayed obsession. It was signed “John Michael Henderson, Third Grade.” Awfully old for a new whim. But then,Tony wasn’t surprised. Kids with passing fancies didn’t gettheir pilot’s licenses at sixteen and then spend the majorityof their weekends racking up hours in the air. It was aproblem Claire wasn’t going to be able to avoid just because she wanted to. Tony was afraid for her. Afraid forJohnny, who only wanted to soar.
Tony was afraid for himself, because he didn’t knowwhether he was helping or hurting.
He wasn’t doing anything as long as he had his brother onthe phone, so he brought his attention back to the business at hand.
“I have the time, she has the historic house,” he explained evenly. “And it isn’t like I’ve never expressed a desire to do this in my life.”
“Do this? Do this? Just what is this, Tony?”
Tony struggled to hold on to his temper. “You’re beginning to sound like Dad, Vince. I’m building bathrooms. Areyou happy?”
“Tony, this is nuts. I mean, Gina told us you were goingand all, but we didn’t think you’d make this woman yourlife work.”
Vince was fifteen years too young to remember Vietnam.He’d been dragged along to the VAto visit Tony once during his rehab days, but one look at conditions had convinced their mother it was no place for a five-year-old boy. Until now, it hadn’t mattered.
But Vince, like all the Riordans, only bulldozed his waythrough his siblings’ lives because he cared. Tony turned hisback on Claire’s problem and dealt with his own.
“Actually,” he said, just to annoy his baby brother, “I’mlate for an appointment at a historic-fixtures store. You’dprobably get a kick out of it.”
Vince’s answer was succinct and unmistakable. But then,Vince was a here-and-now kind of guy.
“What am I gonna tell Ma and Dad?” he demanded.
Tony didn’t bat an eye. “Tell them to send me books onColonial brick houses. I’m gonna need all the help I canget.”
“Maybe we should come down there and check this out.”
“Come up here, Vince. It’s north of you, remember?”
“But I thought you were going to talk to a nurse.”
“It’s her house.”
