Sweet Caroline (11 page)

IN LESS THAN half an hour, a renewed Caroline breezed across the hall. She was dressed in khaki jeans and a white oxford shirt open to the second button. She had to go into the office at some point today and wanted to look reasonably businesslike if she saw any of her colleagues. She wore two of her favorite gold chains around her neck, and one of the large novelty watches Travis had given her for Christmas. She completed the outfit with a pair of gold Native American earrings.

"Hello. Am I too early?" she called before stepping inside.

"Right on time." Mick answered from the kitchen. "Come on in. The maestro is almost ready to serve." Mick's apartment was similar to hers only bigger, and far more sparsely furnished. She remembered his description of his sisters' handiwork; frou-frou and frills. Like Ian's office, Mick decorated with a starkness that belied his playfulness. He had chosen heavy oak, hand-carved and polished to a high gloss, an opposition to Ian's choice of teak.

101

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

The floors were made with oak planks, well maintained. In fact, Caroline noted, the entire apartment was far neater than she would have expected of any man. It wasn't close to the mess her brother made simply walking through a room. A narrow hallway led from the door to the living room, which was separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. Beyond the kitchen, built into the curve of a bay window, she saw a small breakfast table, only big enough for two. The window faced the mountains, and what she guessed was the ocean beyond. This morning, the table was covered with neatly stacked newspapers and file folders. Cheerful mats and cloth napkins were set side-by-side at the breakfast bar with plates and mugs of heavy crockery. The work of a skilled potter, and hand painted. She watched him, amazed. He should have awakened with the mother of all hangovers, not making a run at Martha Stewart.

Caroline groaned. She couldn't remember the last time she'd dragged out "the good stuff."

"We're still a minute or two away," Mick said. "Have a look around."

This is almost too easy.
"Thanks." She turned her attention to the living room walls. To her left, she saw that three of the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with hardbound books, paperbacks, CDs, and DVDs The remaining wall was covered floor to ceiling with photographs. They drew her like kittens to milk.

"Are you a photographer, too? Or a collector?" Mick stood with his back to her, stirring something on the stove. "A little of both."

102

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

He'd changed from jeans to a pair of tan shorts and a green pullover. She remembered from their meeting in the hallway that he wore jogging shoes and white athletic socks, although now the lower half of his body was hidden by the countertop. Muscles bulged in his forearms as he stirred and shook the contents in the pan. Whatever he was cooking smelled wonderful, but not nearly as wonderful as he looked from this angle.

Stop it! Not until you've solved the puzzle.
She returned her attention to the wall. She had no trouble picking out photographs of the youngster Mick, or of Brian. From facial similarities, posture and stance, she picked out their brother, Gabe, and twin sisters, Gabby and Mikey. She recognized Tony DeSantis, too, in a wedding photograph where he'd stood beaming while he held the hand of his lovely bride—Mick's mother—who carried a glorious bouquet of white calla lilies.

The Mahoney siblings lined up on either side of the wedding couple. Mick, tall and lanky stood next to his mother, then Gabe. Both tall for their ages, the boys had faces that showed they were still quite young, no more than eight or nine. Gabe smiled from ear to ear under a puddin' bowl haircut, but Mick scowled into the camera, displeased. On the other side of the groom, Mick's twin sisters, dressed identically, held hands. They were no more than four or five. Sitting in a stroller in front of the bride and groom was a pudgy toddler who could only be Brian.

"What a sourpuss." Caroline pointed at the pouting Mick.

"Remind me not to invite you to my wedding." 103

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Mick didn't laugh. In a low, tight voice he said, "Not my finest hour."

Did she dare pursue it? Would he think her too curious and wonder why? Or had he given her a natural opening? She had to throw caution aside, or she'd never learn anything. Luckily, her gaze fell on a photo of Mick as an older teen. He stood with his arm around Tony, both of them laughing at something likely long forgotten. Caroline saw genuine warmth and love in the way Mick looked at the older man. "Your stepfather seems like a very nice man from these pictures."

"Tony? He's the best," Mick said. "Brian was only a couple of days old when our dad died. Tony raised him like his own. In fact, he raised all of us." Then, with a tinge of bitterness in his voice, added, "Even before my dad died."
Oops. Maybe I've stumbled onto something more than I
want to know.
"Brian was such a little cutie," she said, glad she could find neutral ground again.

"Yeah, and a real pain in the butt." This time she heard affection in his voice. "Ready? I'm dishing out." That gave Caroline about sixty seconds to zip through the fifty-odd photographs that remained, and remember them until she had time to compare what she saw to the faces in her postcard. She was glancing swiftly from one side of the wall to the other when she happened on the picture of a teenaged girl that grabbed her and wouldn't let go. In the five-by-seven colored glossy, the girl looked back at her, her eyes challenging, her lips curved in a mischievous smile. She wore little make-up, but her spirit shined through her pale skin and transcended the single dimension of the snapshot. 104

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Bright red hair shooting out in all directions, and like Mick and Caroline, she had the same violet eyes and perfect white teeth. There was something so viscerally familiar about her, Caroline felt the breath seep out of her.

"That's Annie," Mick said.

Startled, Caroline stepped back from the wall. He'd snuck up behind her again.

"Jumpy, aren't you?"

She ignored the remark. "Who's Annie?"

"Sister Anne," he said. "She was eighteen in that picture, the day before she left for the convent."

"She was lovely."

"Still is. She's my best friend." Caroline couldn't tell the age of the photograph. "Did you grow up together?"

He shook his head. "I was ten when she left. I cursed God for months afterward." He grinned. "Good thing she was praying for me, eh?"

Caroline looked at him. He was staring at the photograph, but even his crooked smile could not hide the sadness and the loss he'd known so many years before.

"Is she part of your family?" Caroline spoke quietly. He sighed and clucked his tongue, like someone recalling a joke. "Yes and no. Mum and dad brought her back from Ireland after their honeymoon. She was six. I grew up thinking she was my sister. Sometimes Gabe and I called her our cousin, and sometimes our aunt. We've heard a dozen different stories about who she really is and how Sheila and 105

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Michael found her, but it doesn't make any difference. She's a Mahoney. That's all that matters."

Caroline rested her hand on Mick's arm. Her eyes misted and her heart ached to be a part of a family so wondrously close and dear. "You're very lucky, Mick. I always wanted a big family, but there's only my brother Travis and me." Mick covered her hand with his. "Family is everything. I'd lay down my life for any of them."A HALF AN HOUR later, Caroline placed her knife and fork on the edge of her plate and groaned. "I'm stuffed." But not too stuffed to finish the last bits of one of the most delicious cranberry muffins she'd ever eaten. She looked Mick square in the eye and said, "Is there anything you don't do well?"

Mick threw his head back and laughed. "Ask a couple of my clients. They'll be glad to chant a litany of my shortcomings."

"As a matter of fact, what do you do? I've seen all the letters after your name, but I'm not familiar with some of them."

"You're a Texan. Surely you've heard of Red Adair?"

"You don't have to be a Texan to know about a living legend. He's the preeminent expert on suppressing oil well fires and capping wild wells."

"Very good. You get an A in petroleum history."

"You're not going to tell me you're challenging Red Adair." He laughed again before scraping up the last of the muffin crumbs. "'Fraid not. I'm the guy who comes in after the fact to figure out what happened in the first place." She cocked her head to one side. "Really?" 106

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

"My family has been in demolitions since a stray spark blew the first hole in one of our ancestors' caves. At the time my father died, the family had crews all over the world. After his ... after he died, they scaled back." How far would he take the story? To the curse?

"Gabe and the twins' husbands still work with my uncles. My mother retained my father's share of the business until Brian was old enough to decide he didn't have the stomach for it."

"What about you, Mick?"

"I prefer the science to the application. I've been blessed with a gift, Caroline, the facility to see through the rubble to what others missed. My investigations yield answers that lead to prevention. It's not a showy thing, like the implosion of a huge skyscraper. Crowds don't line the perimeters to watch me work. It's tedious, sometimes taking weeks or months of squatting in blackened earth to find the root cause. Other times, it takes me only a day or two. After that, I prepare a report and usually appear in court as an expert witness. I have a law degree, which helps me articulate what the courts are looking for, and an MBA for the business side of business. Frankly, I've not much of a stomach for either."

"My brother's an attorney, and so was my dad." He shrugged. "More power to them. I prefer a microscope to a jury."

"I suppose you travel a lot."

"I do, and my clients are very generous. They do their best to provide comfortable accommodations, even in the worst 107

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

places. Unfortunately, I think I'm becomin' a wee bit aged to be flyin' around the world twice in a week." Caroline stared, fascinated. In some way their lives forged a parallel path. Generous clients, world travel, finding the linchpin to subsequent verdicts or settlements. In other ways, they were different. He considered himself blessed with a gift. She credited her success to hard work and good genes, although her CV paled in comparison to what he'd racked up in degrees.

"You're a scientist, an attorney, a restaurateur, a marvelous dancer, superb chef, you run with sheiks, and babies adore you. If you tell me you design and sew your own clothes and fix cars in your spare time, I'll slink back into the land of the worthless."

He took her hand and ran his thumb gently across her fingertips. "I've repaired a sail or two that's torn at sea, but you're not likely to find me with a needle and thread."

"Ah-ha, so there is one qualification you'd seek in a wife." He raised her fingertips to his lips and brushed them. He caught and held her gaze. "Two," he said, leaving no room for speculation about what the other might be.

Caroline shivered and drew her hand away, hoping he didn't notice. "That was a wonderful breakfast, Mick." She slid off the tall captain's chair and started to take up the plates.

"You cooked, I'll clean up."

"No way. This is your day. You've been here almost a week. It's time you had a look around."

"Oh, Mick, I'd love to, but—"

108

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

"No buts allowed." He placed his hands on her shoulder and turned her toward the door. "Get your purse and a jacket. I'll meet you at the car in five."

"I have to go into the office," she protested, not very strongly.

"The longer you argue, the later I'll bring you back. Go on with you now. Downstairs in four minutes."

"Four? A minute ago it was five."

"That's right, and in another it'll be three."

"You are impossible," she called over her shoulder on her way out.

"Two and counting."

* * * *

SHE BRUSHED HER teeth, refreshed her make-up, and changed her shoes twice before flying down the backstairs. Mick waited at the car. He leaned on one hip against the front fender and dramatically checked his watch as she burst out the door.

"I'm sorry. I hurried."

"A likely story," he said with an exaggerated scowl.

"Women!"

"Oh-ho, we're not going to go there, are we?" A broad grin creased his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks. "No, we'll save that for ... later." Caroline had never before heard the word "later" uttered with such intimacy.

Remember who he is, or might be, she warned herself, but that warning did nothing to cool the heat building inside her. 109

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

For the next three hours, Mick spared not a single doorway or side attraction of the city of 8,000 people and growing. They visited the bookstores, a live theatre that seated only 10, watched fudge being made from scratch, and stayed far too long and spent way too much in a "record" store that sold only CDs. The store was a living museum to the rock-and-roll classics of the 60s and 70s, including prints drawn by the late Jim Morrison of the Doors and tee shirts to fit the taste of every Dead Head still following what was left of the Grateful Dead.

At the northeastern edge of town, Caroline saw a sign for the Shoppe of the Seventh Moon. Thinking that meant New Age, she asked Mick to stop. One of her close friends fancied herself a white witch, and longed for the day she could move to the Bay Area to practice Wicca in a shop of her own. Inside Caroline discovered a hint of New Age and a very large dose of the erotic—in the clothes, the incense, the books and tapes, the posters and other adult playthings to enhance intimacy, self-awareness, and to make sex interesting.