A Man Worth Keeping

And just like that she was gone. Up the stairs and out of sight.

He stood still in the silence that she left behind, caught in an eddy that smelled of jasmine and fear.

Responsibility ate at him. The lingering ties that bound him to the oath he’d taken as a police officer cut off circulation to his brain and he had to fight the desire to go after her, to find out what was forcing her to the dark shadows.

He took some deep breaths. Told himself to see reason as he entered the dining room and reached over the bar to grab two beers from the fridge. He could see light under the door to the kitchen and he hoped that meant Gabe was up.

What about his responsibility to Gabe, to Alice and the Riverview? Shouldn’t he say something to them, warn them of the possible danger that had been delivered to their doorstep by Delia and Josie.

He shook his head. This was what he’d been trying to avoid for the past two years. This very spot between a rock and a hard place. He wanted no responsibility toward anyone, so that he couldn’t fail everyone. Again.

“Anyone home,” he said when he opened the kitchen door. From his office, Gabe grunted in reply. Max opened the fridge and found two of the chocolate cakes he was after—one sunken and slightly burnt on one side adorned with a note: Max, eat this one.

He grabbed it, two forks, the two beers and pushed open Gabe’s partially closed office door.

“Hi, Max,” Gabe said, barely looking up from his keyboard as he clacked away on something.

“Cake?” Max asked, sitting in the folding chair opposite the cluttered desk and the big wall calendar behind Gabe. It didn’t look good, that calendar. Through the summer and fall it had been filled with the names of guests, weddings, tour groups. So many names there had hardly been any white space beneath Gabe’s color-coded guest booking system.

Now it was all white space. The Christmas holiday marked off in black at the end of the month.

“Ah…” Gabe looked over the computer screen at Max’s cake. “Sure,” he finally said and Max extended it and the fork.

“Are we getting any more guests?” Max asked, waving his fork at the calendar. “Or am I going to have to take another cut in pay?”

“I’m paying you?”

They smirked at each other, their way of showing brotherly love. It was pretty juvenile, but it worked for them.

“Actually—” Gabe stuck the fork in his mouth, clicked on a few more keys then grabbed his blue marker from the mug at the corner of his desk and scrawled in arrival times and names on various weekends for the next two months “—I posted the spa services this morning and we got two reservations from that. The New Year’s package, once I added the complimentary massages, got three reservations. And this weekend, last minute, two women are coming from Arizona.” He added the names JoBeth Andrews and Sheila Whitefeather to Friday’s square.

“How long are they staying?”

“They didn’t say.”

“We’ve got a houseful of Southerners these days.”

Gabe turned and reached out his fork for more of the chocolate goo. “What do you mean?”

“Delia and Josie.”

“They’re from Indiana.”

Max shook his head. “No, they’re not.”

“Well, maybe not originally but that’s their last address.”

“Then why doesn’t Delia have a winter coat? And why is this the first time Josie has seen this much snow and—”

“Do you have a problem with Delia and Josie?” Gabe asked, leaning back in his chair.

Max could tell Gabe, right here and right now, that something was wrong. That he didn’t trust Delia, that she was hiding something and that his gut said that something was real bad. Gabe would believe him and Delia and Josie would be gone by the end of the day tomorrow and Max could go back to constructing useless buildings and forgetting.

But that mix of fear and courage in her voice still resonated in him like a struck bell. The way her hands fisted at her stomach told him more than words and her bravado that she needed a safe harbor.

“No,” he finally said. He couldn’t be responsible for the two of them being turned out, not until he knew what was at play.

“You sure? I mean, she’s a very beautiful woman…” Gabe trailed off as he reached for more cake and Max pulled it out of the way.

Gabe scowled and Max handed the cake over to him entirely. “Or—” Gabe lifted his eyebrows “—maybe you didn’t happen to notice her looks.”

“I noticed.” It was impossible not to. She was a neon sign in a dark window. He found it hard to look away, and when he did, her image lingered, burned into his eyes. “But she has made it real clear that I make her uncomfortable.”

“Did you hit on her?”

“Of course not.”

“Right.” Gabe nodded. “I forgot you’re working on unofficial monk status.”

“I’m in the middle of nowhere with my brother, my dad and my very pregnant sister-in-law. It’s not that hard to be a monk.”

“Daphne, from—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Max told him definitively. His love life was no one’s business.

“So, why do you make Delia uncomfortable?”

“I talked to her kid and it made her jumpy.”

“She’s pretty protective,” Gabe agreed, and took a swig of his beer. “But I guess pretty, single moms have to be.”

“That’s the third time you’ve mentioned Delia’s looks.” Now it was Max’s turn to be smug, to needle his brother. “You want me to tell Alice you’ve got your eye on another woman?”

“She’d never believe you,” Gabe said, as assured as a man could be. He practically oozed satisfaction. Happy wafted off him like stink from garbage and his wife was the same way. When she wasn’t complaining about having to lie down most of the time, or grumbling about the size of her ankles or her butt she had “the glow.” And when Gabe walked into the room she glowed harder.

It was nice.

Nice to be around such happiness. Such normality. It gave him back a kernel of faith in marriage and parenthood, faith the last years of his job had ripped all away.

“You heard from Dad?” Gabe asked, taking one last bite of cake then setting down his fork. He had been complaining of the sympathy weight he’d been putting on with his wife.

Max didn’t have such problems so he finished off the chocolate goo and shook his head. “It’s only been two days, Gabe. I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

“It’s so weird him taking off like that.”

“Because Dad’s been the picture of mental health since last summer?” Max asked, not sparing the sarcasm.

“You worried?”

“About what? That he’ll tell Mom to come even though we made it real clear we didn’t want to see her again?”

“Or that he went to see her?”

They were silent for a moment and Max wondered if Dad would actually do that. Mom had walked out on the three of them thirty years ago. Just packed up and left in the middle of the night, no note, no goodbyes, not even a hint that she was unhappy.

Then a few months ago she had contacted Dad asking to see all of them, like she had the right. Like the door she’d shut when she left would swing open because she wanted it to.

Max rubbed at his face. “He said he had to go talk to his lawyer about his life insurance. That he needed to get his things in order.”

Gabe shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like a lame excuse.”

“Maybe he’s off having a dirty weekend—”

Gabe shot him a shut-the-hell-up look. Max smiled and drank his beer.

“You’re not worried?”

“About Dad?” Gabe nodded and Max shook his head. “Nope. I don’t worry, Gabe. I let you do that.”

It was another reason why living here worked out for Max. He had shelter, clothes, food, company, gooey chocolate cakes and mindless work that kept him occupied—and he didn’t have to worry about any of it. Gabe worried enough for both of them.

And now, with him and Alice finally having a baby after years of effort, his mother hen ways were in overdrive.

Which was another reason not to say anything about Delia.

Max stood. “Where do you want to put those two women arriving on Friday?”

“Cabin four, I think. It’s the biggest, so if they want to stay, they won’t feel cramped.”

“All right.” Max grabbed the half-eaten cake, the two forks and the empty beer bottles. “I’ll go make sure it’s in good shape.”

“Now?” Gabe asked, looking at his watch. “It’s midnight.”

Max shrugged. “Why not?”

Gabe stared at him a little too long and all those questions his brother and father had been dying to ask since he got out of the hospital suddenly swirled around the room. They were never far away—the questions, concern and worry.

“I’m fine,” he said, forestalling the actually uttering of the questions. No one would truly understand what was wrong. The guilt he carried that had nothing to do with a dead father and a dead kid.

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