He gave a short laugh that died quickly. “Yeah.” He nodded, as if he was still trying to talk himself into what he was saying. “Yeah, it’s time. A man can’t just screw around—pardon the expression—forever.” He looked at me a little sheepishly. “I really was sorry to hear about you and Phoebe. It seemed like maybe you might have been considering settling down too. At least, that’s what the rumor was.” I glanced at him to see his expression was genuinely sympathetic, the same way it’d been when he brought it up at the blueberry festival.
I gave a small nod, followed by a shrug. “She wasn’t the one.”
“No, I guess not. Well, there’s someone out there for you, buddy.” He gave me a slap on the back that made me want to punch him in his face. I gave my head a small shake, trying to dispel the sudden bout of hostility.
“Anyway,” Gage went on, putting his elbows on the counter and lacing his fingers, sighing. “Do you think there’s any chance she might stick around?”
“Nothing she’s said indicates that. Plus, she’s traveling with her brother so it’s not only up to her.”
“Hmm.” His face suddenly broke into that grin that had cost me the win with any number of potential girlfriends growing up. “Maybe I can convince her.”
I felt a small internal pinch. Part of me hoped he would convince Haven to stay because I didn’t like to think of her driving out of Pelion. This town seemed to suit her. As she said, she’d found a place that provided peace. But another part of me absolutely did not, because it would mean she was staying for him and I’d have to watch them together for the remainder of my days. Maybe I deserved as much.
You either lose it all. Or lose it all.
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I pulled my wallet out and retrieved a ten, placing it on the counter just as my phone rang. I snatched it up without glancing at who was calling.
“Travis?”
“Hi, Mom.” I sighed internally, standing up, covering the mouthpiece. “See you around, Gage.”
He gave me a tip of his chin. “Travis.”
I gave Maggie and Norm a wave as I headed for the door. “What’s going on?” I asked my mother because if she was calling, it was always something.
“There’s a bad leak in my apartment.”
I opened the door to my cruiser, getting inside. “Call a plumber,” I said. I was up to my eyeballs in leaks already.
“I don’t have the money for a plumber,” she whined, “because of those medical bills I had to pay last month.”
Medical bills.
She’d been to her plastic surgeon for something that wasn’t overtly obvious and I didn’t ask about.
I ran a hand over my face, about to tell her I’d call a plumber for her. It would be yet another expense when I was still fighting with my insurance company over what they wouldn’t cover, facing the likelihood that I’d have to buy at least several pieces of new furniture, not to mention the cost of staying at the B&B. And I was saving every penny possible to start building on my land sometime in the next decade.
“And I have something I want to give to you. Something that was your father’s.”
That old yearning crept over me. Something that was your father’s. “What is it?”
“Some photo albums . . . papers, things like that.”
I sighed. “How quickly do you need me there?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I might be flooded by tomorrow! Drowned in my bed!”
I scrubbed my hand down my face again. Melodrama. Christ. I came by it honestly.
“Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll come check it out after work.”
**********
My mother’s apartment was small, but nice. Not the nice by which Tori Hale had become accustomed to once upon a time, but nice by any other objective standards. There were hardwood floors, granite countertops, and even some custom molding. I’d helped her out with extras when necessary, but I lived on a small-town chief’s salary, without the benefit of the town income my father had enjoyed, and so that’s all I could reasonably do while paying my own rent and saving so I could retire before I was ninety-five. Frankly, it could be argued that I shouldn’t do anything at all. She probably deserved to live in a homeless shelter after what she’d done, and what might have resulted. But . . . she was my mother, and I didn’t have the heart