Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk Page 0,59
a sage-colored hoodie, Keenan’s sister’s smile was friendly, even as her gaze darted around the dining area.
Betsy cocked her head. “Where’s Keenan?”
As Betsy and Ryan hadn’t been at the café this morning when Keenan took the call, it was an understandable question.
“He flew to Omaha this afternoon. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Betsy said.
This time it was Mitzi who glanced around the dining area. “Are Ryan and the baby with you?”
“They’re home. Nate fell asleep and I was in the mood to get out of the house, so I volunteered to pick up a pizza.”
“I’m waiting for one, too.” Mitzi gestured to a chair. “Join me. We can kill time together.”
As soon as Betsy took a seat in the chair opposite her, Mitzi realized this was the chance she’d been waiting for, an opportunity to set things right between them. Mitzi opened her mouth, but Betsy spoke first.
“It must seem strange not to have Keenan around.” Betsy flushed when Mitzi cocked her head. “I mean, lately you two have been inseparable. Last week we invited him over for Sunday-night dinner, but he told us that’s your ‘movie night.’”
Mitzi gave a little laugh. “We’ve become like a couple of old people holding to our routines, but he certainly should have accepted your invitation.”
“Ryan and I love our little routines, too.”
Mitzi exchanged a smile of understanding with Betsy. As much as she was enjoying the conversation, she needed to get some business out of the way first.
“Your brother is a wonderful man.” Mitzi held Betsy’s gaze. “I’m so incredibly sorry about what I said that night. I was wrong. Totally, completely, wrong. And I hope you will forgive me.”
There was no reason to go into detail on what night she was referring to or what was said; they both remembered. Those stupid, thoughtless words she’d uttered had become the elephant in the room whenever their paths crossed.
“It sounds like you care about Keenan,” Betsy said slowly, as if having difficulty wrapping her mind around the notion. “Genuinely care.”
Mitzi cleared her throat, took a sip of her iced tea. “I do.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Betsy’s eyes darkened with worry. “How is he doing today?”
Mitzi straightened and concern wrapped tightly around her like a too-small sweater. “He’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be fine?”
Betsy shifted her gaze out the window for several seconds. “Today is, was,” she corrected, “our mother’s birthday.”
“Gloria’s birthday?”
Surprise flickered in Betsy’s eyes. “He’s spoken of her?”
“Keenan has nothing good to say about her.”
“She was horrible to him.”
“Why?” Mitzi’s confusion was real. Who could be mean to a nice guy like Keenan?
“Crazy as it sounds, I think it was because he has such a good heart. Though, after the incident with the flowers, he rarely let that side of him show, except to me.”
Though Mitzi hadn’t yet heard the story, anger at the faceless Gloria had begun to build.
“What happened?” A cold chill settled over Mitzi. “What did she do to him?”
“Our mother was a Jekyll and Hyde. Probably because of the drinking. Or maybe that’s what led her to drink. I don’t know, but right before her birthday that year Mom seemed better. We’d even done a few fun things as a family. I was five. Keenan was ten.” Betsy closed her eyes for a second. “For her birthday he gave her flowers he’d picked from the neighbor’s yard.”
Betsy’s eyes grew bleak. Tears welled up but didn’t fall.
Mitzi knew the story was about to take a bad turn and her heart wrenched for the man she loved.
Snatching a couple of napkins from the table dispenser, Mitzi pressed one into Betsy’s hand and kept the other for herself.
Betsy dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat. “Keenan didn’t know Gloria had started drinking that morning right after he left for school. She was a mean drunk.”
Mitzi balled her hands into fists, and when she spoke her voice was ice. “Tell me what she did.”
Betsy met Mitzi’s gaze. “She flung the flowers in his face and said she didn’t want a bunch of stupid weeds. I still remember the shock in his eyes. He didn’t cry, not really.”
Mitzi could scarcely breathe past the tightness gripping her chest.
“The pain he tried so hard to hide fueled her anger.” Betsy’s eyes darkened with memories as she continued. “She pushed him around, taunting, telling him he needed to toughen up. Told him if he put his heart out there, he’d better be prepared to have someone stomp it, because that’s what always happened.”
“He was