Always and Forever (3 page)

“You’re
lucky all yours were born healthy,” Dylan said.

Pat cocked his head. “Do you know anything more?”

“Just what I said at Clay’s inauguration. Miscarriages run in her family. Her mother had two and her sister Becca had one. But there’s a history of problems on her mother’s side, too.”

“Is the tendency toward miscarriage hereditary?”

“The experts say no, there’s not a genetic link.
But certain conditions like cysts and endometriosis can be passed on, and those often do cause problems. Twenty-five percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriages anyway.”

His brother reached over and squeezed Dylan’s shoulder. “Geez, Dyl, I hope this works out for you two.”

Dylan watched Pat. He tried not to bring this up, either, but he worried like crazy about it. “Do you? There’s
still tension between you and her.”

“I’m tryin’. Honest.”

“I know you are. And you’re doing pretty good for you. You’re as overprotective of this family as I am. I’m working toward not being that way. I think Pa’s issues hurt us both.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s make a pact, like we used to when we were kids.”

“For what?”

“To be more easygoing. I told Rachel I’d work on it. And I bet
Brie would want you not to brood so much.”

“I know she would.”

“Good.” They shook and Dylan stood. “I’m off. I’m having lunch with Hogan at some new burger place before I pick up Rachel.”

“Have fun. See you later.” Dylan had made it to the front door when Pat called out, “Dyl?”

He turned back to see a dark expression on Pat’s face. “Yeah?”

“I’ll try harder with Rachel. I promise.”

“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.”

“Now go enjoy your day and the little miracle she’s carryin’.”

Dylan left the bar, hoping Pat could get past his negative feelings about Rachel. Then his thoughts turned to the doctor’s visit. He had Hogan, sure, and loved him to pieces, but he’d like to give Rachel a baby and have another of his own.

Brie smiled at the older man
who sat in the parlor having tea. The room was draped in heavy brocade window coverings and cluttered with knickknacks. Aubusson carpets spread out on the floors, tired remnants of a former time. Unlike many older homes, this one smelled of fresh air, so windows must be opened regularly.

Jonathan Forbes was eighty-some years old, bald and so lean the bones in his face were visible. His shoulders
hunched. Briefly, she wondered if Pat would lose his hair and his muscular build.

His companion had let her in, and she now stood next to him. Harlan Smith was the opposite of Dr. Forbes—tall, fit and quite handsome, with a shock of brown hair and dark eyes. “Jonathan, we have company.” Smith’s voice was deep, like an announcer’s.

Dr. Forbes looked up with rheumy eyes. He’d been an internist
in his youth, though he called his status general practitioner. “Gabriella. How nice to see you again.” When she’d come out in March to assess the job, she’d told him her given name.

“Hello, Dr. Forbes.”

She stepped aside. “This is Annie Cummings, my associate.”

A spitfire of a woman, Annie was about Brie’s age, nearing forty and had more energy than Brie ever had. “Hello, Dr. Forbes.”

Something flitted across his face. “Hello, my dear.” To Brie he said, “Did we discuss bringing another person?”

Cocking her head, Brie thought back to their first conversation. “Maybe not. But we rarely work alone.” She gestured to the parlor, stocked with knickknacks and pictures, books and magazines. “And you don’t want us here forever.” It had been months since she’d contracted the deal
because he’d gone for hip surgery. “The job will go faster with two people.”

“Fast isn’t always better, my dear.” His tone was melancholy. “But it is what it is.”

Harlan, who’d hovered next to her, asked, “Which room would you like them to begin with, Jonathan?”

“My wife’s sitting room and bedroom.”

Hmm, they hadn’t slept together? Well, he
was
eighty.

“Do you want to show
me the space, give me some direction, or should Mr. Smith take us upstairs?”

“No, I’m capable.”

He pivoted his wheelchair and rolled out from his spot near the bay windows. The chair was electric and emitted a slight hum. She and Annie followed him to the foyer, off of which was a grand winding staircase, equipped with a lift. “Do you need help getting onto the lift?” she asked.

“No,
I can manage. But walking’s difficult.”

The lift was slow, and they climbed at a snail’s pace up to the second of three floors. The ceilings in the corridor were high, with chandeliers guiding the way. Brie noticed everything was spotless.

“Cleaners come regularly,” Harlan said as if he’d read her thoughts. “You won’t have to deal with dust.”

Which was almost always her constant companion
on jobs like these. “That will be nice.”

“The last door on the right was her room.” Dr. Forbes’s tone was sad. Nostalgic. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much to it since she died three years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Harlan added, “We truly miss her.” The younger man’s voice was raw.

Huge, the sitting room sported upholstered high-backed
chairs with curved arms, another expensive rug over wooden floors and some faded wallpaper. A ceiling-high bookshelf filled with old tomes and photographs took up almost one wall. She bet there’d be some first editions in there. No TV in sight, nor had Brie noted one downstairs.

Dr. Forbes was staring blankly at the space, and Brie wondered what he was seeing. Finally, he said, “I can still
smell her perfume.”

Brie couldn’t. This room
did
smell musty, and though it had been cleaned, it had obviously been closed up afterward.

“But yes, we must begin.”

She approached the bookshelf and picked up a gilt-framed picture. A beautiful woman of about twenty stared at the camera. Most of it was in sepia tones, with her cheeks and lips tinged pink. “Is this Mrs. Forbes?”

He
nodded. “Francesca.”

“A beautiful name,” Annie put in.

Brie glanced at her. She was rubbing her palms on her thighs, itching to get her hands on things. “There are a lot of pictures in here. You said you wanted them boxed and stored, with the exception of a few left. Would you like to choose those you’ll save now?”

He looked up at her. “I wouldn’t be able to decide. You do that. Leave
five out.”

Slowly he wheeled to the large opening to the bedroom, which held an ornate canopy bed, three high dressers, an armoire and another set of bay windows.

“May I?” she asked, pointing at one of the dressers. When he nodded, she pulled open a deep drawer and found it filled with clothes. Lingerie. Night wear. He hadn’t cleaned out
anything
? “What would you like us to do with her
clothing?”

“Those you must discard. I haven’t been able to manage the task myself. Harlan offered to do it, but both of us still feel her loss.”

She drew open a bottom drawer and the scent of sachet rose up from it. “Dr. Forbes,” she said, taking out a satin robe. “The clothes appear very expensive.” And relatively unworn. “Won’t your family want some of her things?”

“We never had
children. Francesca was an only child, but I had one sister who died, Harlan’s mother. I have no nieces to give anything to. Perhaps you can find a suitable charity.” He noticed Annie had picked up a beautiful green robe. “If you two discover anything you like, feel free to take as much as you want.”

He leaned back in his chair, and Brie could tell he was getting tired. “Empty boxes are stored
in the closet. I’m going to rest. Let me know when you’re leaving. I’ll be in my sitting room right across the hall.”

“And I’ll be down the hall.” Harlan gave them a wan smile.

“We’ve budgeted three hours today.”

“Still, let me know when you’re done,” Forbes said. “A host always bids good-bye to his guests.”

After he left, she and Annie faced each other. “How sad,” Brie said. “Did
you see how lovingly everything is stored?”

“Man, how long were they married?” Annie wondered.

“He told me at the interview that he was eighteen and she seventeen when they met. If she died three years ago, probably about sixty years.”

“Steve and I are never gonna make that,” Annie groaned. They had a good marriage, but Annie said her teacher husband drove her nuts during the summer.

Brie thought of Pat. She hoped like hell the two of them would be together that long—forever, really. Sometimes she thought they would, and sometimes she didn’t know if they’d last another month. Unhappy about how tumultuous her marriage was, Brie turned to the sideboard. “Let’s get started.”

After lunch, while Liam met with a woman interviewing for the assistant cook position,
Patrick wiped up the bar then straightened out the chairs and tables, which Sophie had cleaned before she left. The crowd outside, used to closing hours by now, had scattered. He was humming along with a Righteous Brothers tune when someone knocked on the window. He crossed the bar and opened the door to a small woman, no more than five feet, with sandy-colored hair, clipped back. She held
the hand of a little one with the same color hair and a wary look. “Hello, Mr. O’Neil.”

“Ms. Ralston.” Her eyes were blue, the color of the sky in summer, as were the boy’s. “And you must be Ben.”

The three-year-old hid behind his mother’s legs.

She said, “He’s shy.” Her chin lifted. “I’m not, which is important in a waitress. And before you ask, I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

“I’m not jumpin’ to any conclusions.” He pointed to the corner. “Let’s sit over there.” Smiling at Ben, Pat said, “I brought some of my daughter’s toys out for you to play with, Ben.”

“’kay.”

When they were all situated, Jamie stared over at Pat. “I didn’t put Isabella together with you until you hung up. I’ve met her. She’s darling.”

“That she is.”

“She doesn’t come to the center
much anymore.”

“No, we hired a nanny because of my wife’s work hours.”

A delicate brow arched. “Not yours?”

“Excuse me.”

Her expression was…disapproving. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, tell me what you were gonna say.”

“I can’t.” Now her eyes were full of mirth. “I want this job.”

He waited.

“It’s just that I don’t believe child care is a woman’s task.
And I hate when men come in with their kids and say they’re babysitting.”

“You’d fit right in with all the O’Neil women, then.”

She laughed. The feminine tinkle sounded throughout the pub.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“I’m twenty-six. I’ve been pursuing a degree from Hunter College, so I can teach elementary school. I like working at the day care center because it gives me so
much time with Ben.”

“And Ben’s father?”

“Not in the picture.” Sadness flitted across her face. “Never was, never will be.” She looked toward her son, and her hair swung around. Wow, it hung all the way down to her waist. “But it is what it is. Thank God for Grandma. She owns a house bought decades ago, in the area. I help take care of her and it, too.”

Pat cocked his head. “Are you
takin’ classes now?”

“One for the summer, but it’s online.”

“Will you have time for another job?”

“Yes, I can work dinners easily. What would it be, four or five hours a night?”

“About that.”

“I can handle it.”

“You have experience, I saw on your resume.”

“I worked at Izzy’s to save money before I started college. That and scholarships are the only way I can go.”

Pat sighed. He hated to give this job to a woman who already seemed overworked. Who was raising a child on her own and taking care of a grandmother plus going to school.

She must have caught his hesitancy. “Is something wrong, Mr. O’Neil?”

Hell, he’d just tell her.

After he did, she was thoughtful. “I guess that’s nice, that you’d be worried. But you should know that if I don’t get
this job, I’ll find another.”

That was probably true.

“Did you pick Bailey’s Pub because of my sister?”

“The First Lady? Nah. I don’t impress easily.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Okay. Let’s talk about work hours and what you’d be doin’.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When they’d finished, Pat was impressed. She’d asked pointed questions and agreed with all the duties she’d have.
“In fairness, I have two other interviews today, then I’ll get together with my brothers and decide who to hire. We may even need more than one employee, we’ve gotten so busy.”

Her expression was serious. “I do have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“If Ben gets sick—you know more than a cold or something little—I’d have to miss work. I wouldn’t expect to be paid.”

“The guys and I
already talked about that. And Bailey, who doesn’t impress you. We’re prepared to give sick leave for up to ten days. You can use them for family members.”

“Wow! That’s cool.”

“We strongly believe in family, Ms. Ralston.”

“Call me Jamie. And I’ll call you Pat.”

“It’s a deal.” He stood when she did.

“Come on, Ben. It’s time to go.”

He came right over. Again, Pat knelt. The
scent of baby shampoo reminded him of bathing his kids. “So what do you think, Benno? Want to spend some time here again?”

“Ben.” The boy frowned. “Not Benno.”

“No? A guy on my football team was named Benno and you look like him.”

That tickled the child.

Jamie bent down, scooped up the little boy and kissed him on the cheek. “Ready to go, buddy?”

“Uh-huh.” Ben stuck his fingers
in his mouth and buried his face in her neck.

“Do you have a stroller?”

“No. Walking’s good for us both. We came from the day care.”

“Isn’t he heavy?”

“Nah. I told you I was strong. Besides, he’ll walk some of the way, too.” She smiled at him. “You really should hire me.”

He saw her to the door, watched as she carried her son down the street. And decided he liked her. He wasn’t
sure she could do the job, though. But was it fair for him to decide that? Brie would say no, he shouldn’t prejudge her. He should give her a chance. Maybe he’d talk to Brie later after she got back from cleaning out Mr. Moneybags’s house.