Rick watched Joey with his audience. It was hard to stay impatient with him. When they first started setting up the place Rick suggested they replace the kitchen wall with glass so diners could watch Joey perform. Turned out to be too expensive, so they put it off. Otherwise they would have done it. Rick was used to Joey being the center of attention. He really didn't mind. Sometimes he joined in and played Joey's straight man. As kids they actually did bits at family gatherings with Rick doing the setup and Joey getting the punch line. Everyone thought it was cute because Rick was a couple years older and bigger, a bit taller, back then.
As teenagers they were each other's best friend. During the summers they chased girls together on Pensacola Beach until Rick finally admitted he really didn't like girls all that much. Even that admission had been something they worked through together, with Joey being the first one to say it wasn't that big of a deal. It just meant less competition for him.
In college, Joey studied culinary arts, and Rick, business management. Opening a restaurant together seemed a no-brainer for both of them. But keeping it open would perhaps be a miracle. Especially since they had no silent partner, no rich beneficiary or obligated family members.
Rick's family wasn't interested and Joey refused to accept help from his father. Rick wasn't sure why Joey was being so stubborn. Uncle Vic, at least, wanted to help and unlike Rick's dad, Uncle Vic had never called Rick "a queer" or told the two they'd "never make it." Hard to believe the two men were brothers.
Rick had honored Joey's wishes. But Joey had no idea how much it cost to run things each month, each week. Rick knew their meager summer profit would never get them through a slow winter. If they had to close the doors any one of the area's restaurants would snatch up the opportunity to have Joey Ragazzi. But Rick? What would he do? Get a job at one of the local accounting firms?
Hell, this was his one chance. So when the envelope from Uncle Vic came about a week ago—to Rick, not Joey—he decided not to tell Joey, but not to send it back, either. Made sense. Even Uncle Vic understood his son wouldn't take his help, but maybe his cousin would. There was a thousand dollars in cash. Rick had counted it twice then put it back inside the sealed Ziploc plastic bag it came in.
He justified his secrecy by telling himself a thousand dollars wasn't enough to make or break them. It wasn't a big deal. And yet this week with the refrigerator compressor going out, a thousand dollars could change everything.
CHAPTER
20
Newburgh Heights, Virginia
R.J. Tully mashed cooked carrots into the stainless-steel bowl. He knew the routine and in case he forgot, Maggie had instructions on a laminated note card attached to the inside cupboard door. His partner rarely asked favors and the few times she had all involved taking care of Harvey.
He looked out the kitchen window at the white Lab catching the glow-in-the-dark Frisbee each time, no matter how wild of a throw Emma sent him. Tully shook his head. She'd never been good at athletics. Maybe his fault. Their father-daughter sports outings included a remote and recliners more often than a glove and a baseball.
He pushed up his already folded shirtsleeves and added dry dog food to the bowl. Then he stirred in the mess of carrots. He was glad he had stopped and picked up his daughter. She had a special connection with Maggie's dog, Harvey. He liked watching them together.
Being with Harvey was one of the few times Emma let her guard down. She could run and laugh and be silly with the dog. Tully felt like he was seeing a snapshot in time, a time not that long ago, and it reminded him of that ache—half awe, half protectiveness. He used to get that feeling just looking at her when she was a baby and then a toddler. He'd catch himself watching her and shake his head in disbelief that he was a father of such a beautiful, smart and funny little girl.
"How about putting on a sweatshirt?" he yelled out the back door.
She ignored him. He expected it despite his reminiscing. He'd give them a few more minutes before he let Harvey know his dinner was ready.
Tully filled the water bowl and cleaned up the counter. The kitchen was huge. The house, the backyard, the property was huge, especially compared to Tully's two-bedroom bungalow in Reston. He understood Maggie had bought the place in this prestigious neighborhood with some sort of trust her father had left her. She kept the house nice and simple but classy with a few scattered pieces that made it feel like a home. The place seemed sparse, again, perhaps only compared to his messy, overflowing bungalow.
Still, he knew the house and décor had little to do with why Maggie had bought this property. The purchase had more to with the natural barrier of the river that ran behind the house and the privacy fence surrounding it along with the state-of-the-art security system.
Tully looked around the well-stocked kitchen and wondered if Maggie ever cooked. Her best friend, Gwen Patterson, was a gourmet cook, just one of her many talents that Tully appreciated. They'd sort of been seeing each other officially for several months. Though he wasn't quite sure if she'd agree their relationship was "official." They hadn't really declared it as such and he had no idea what criteria had to be met to make it official. Maybe it was just in his own mind. He hadn't been with another woman since his divorce from Caroline. Gwen thought he was doing her a favor by letting them take things slow. Tully let her believe the favor was one-sided. It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. Fact was, anything more serious scared the hell out of him.
"He's hungry." Emma came racing in with Harvey wagging behind her. She didn't wait for Tully. She grabbed the bowl off the counter and presented the food to Harvey, making him go to his designated eating place, telling him to sit and then setting the bowl down.
Yes, she sure did remind him of when she was little, bright eyes and lopsided grin, sitting on the floor next to the dog with knees up, one pink scar showing through the threadbare denim. She looked…happy. Amazing that a dog could do what a father couldn't.
"Is Maggie okay?" she asked.
The question surprised Tully. For one thing it was a grown-up question and he was reminiscing about his little girl. Also Emma rarely asked about anyone unless it somehow concerned her. She wasn't rude, she was just a teenager. That stage where everything and everyone in the world either didn't exist or existed only to revolve around them.
"She'll be okay," he said. And he knew that was true, despite her panic. Actually Maggie had been good at hiding her panic. No one else probably saw it. He almost wished he hadn't. It didn't seem natural to see Maggie vulnerable.
"So what's up with the special delivery?"
Emma pointed to the bouquet of flowers they had found wrapped neatly in tissue and left at Maggie's front door. It looked to Tully that the local florist knew exactly where to tuck them on the portico, safe from the wind and drive-by viewers, as if the florist was used to delivering to this address. Tully knew Maggie had been getting flowers at Quantico, too. And although she didn't explain or comment, he gathered that she wasn't too happy about the deliveries, but at the same time she didn't seem distressed.
Women. Sometimes Tully thought he'd never figure them out.
"A secret admirer," Tully told Emma.
"Oh, so she's not, like, sick and dying or something?"
"No. God no," Tully said before he caught himself. Then he smiled, trying to defuse any indication in his voice that might have said otherwise. He hoped that wasn't the case, that she was seriously sick. Of course that wasn't the case.