“Afternoon tea is a ritual that will appeal to a lot of the women in town,” she replied. “You want to draw the largest possible customer base, don’t you? And everyone in Chesapeake Shores knows I make the best scones. They sell out at every bake sale and church bazaar. Yours need to reflect my teaching so you don’t embarrass me.”
He sighed and kept kneading, then glanced at his brother, who still hadn’t wiped the amused expression off his face as he busily emailed the pictures to the family grapevine. “Why are you here, aside from a desire to torment me?”
“I wanted to let you know that the shipping company called. The bar will be here day after tomorrow.”
Luke stilled. “Will we be ready to install it?”
Matthew shook his head. “I’m trying to stall them for at least another couple of days. If the piece is as old as you say, we don’t want it getting damaged while we’re still under construction.”
“What did they say?”
“They’ll try to work with us, but they say it’s huge and they’ll need to send it when they have the right truck available.” He gave Luke a concerned look. “Did you actually measure it?”
Luke stilled. “Not exactly.”
“You either did or you didn’t,” Matthew said impatiently. “Listening to this guy talk, I got the impression of really, really big. That’s not a size that’s going to fit across the back of the room.”
“It’ll fit,” Luke said grimly. “It has to.”
“I’d feel better if you had the measurements to back that up.”
“Then I’ll drive to the port in Baltimore and get them,” Luke said grimly, heading for the sink to wash his sticky, flour-coated hands.
Gram gestured for him to return to the task at hand, then turned a pointed look on his brother. “Or Matthew could call this man back and ask him to take the measurements,” she said, then added, “Since you’re so worried about it, shouldn’t you have asked when you had him on the phone?”
Matthew leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You always took Luke’s side over mine. It’s because he’s the youngest, isn’t it? You love him best.”
Gram rolled her eyes. “Nonsense, and I am not taking anyone’s side. I’m just trying to get these scones made so they’re edible. Right now your brother is trying to pound that dough into submission.”
Luke sighed. “I think baking may be beyond me, Gram.”
“Nothing is beyond you,” she insisted. “Start over.”
Luke stared at her. “You want me to start from scratch?”
“Only way I know to learn,” she said blithely. “Matthew, if you intend to stick around, put on an apron and get busy. It wouldn’t hurt you to learn how to make something. You never know when Luke will need backup in the kitchen. In this family we pull together in a crisis, no matter what kind it is.”
“But that’s why he has you,” Matthew protested, already heading for the door. “Love you, Gram. Good luck with those scones, Luke. I’ll go make that call.”
Luke wished he had the nerve to go after his brother, but he was the one who’d asked for these cooking lessons. Gram clearly intended to see that he was a master Irish chef before she was through with him. He gave her a plaintive look now.
“Isn’t there some way to salvage this dough?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’ll be too tough. Bake up a few and compare them. You’ll see what I mean.” She picked up a catalog that had come in the mail and fanned herself.
Luke regarded her worriedly. “Are you okay?”
“Just a little warm,” she said, her breath hitching slightly, as if she couldn’t quite catch it. “It’s sitting in here with the oven on. I should have opened the windows first.”
“I’ll do it,” Luke said at once, then took another look at her flushed cheeks. “Are you sure that’s all it is, Gram? You seem a little short of breath.”
She gave him a defiant look. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now get back to work. I don’t have all day to spend on this. I have preparations of my own to make. There will be a crowd here in a few days to welcome Dillon to town. I want to get most of the food done early, so I’ll be able to relax and enjoy the party.”
“You know everyone would be happy to pitch in and help,” he protested. “Don’t wear yourself out.”
“We both know there’s not another soul in this family who cooks as well as I do,” she countered. “And I won’t have Jess asking Gail at the inn to cater a meal for us, not on Dillon’s first night in town.” She gave him a wry look. “And though you’re improving, you’re not up to the task yet, either.”
Luke smiled at her. “You’re really looking forward to his visit, aren’t you?”
This time he had the feeling that the blush in her cheeks had nothing to do with being overheated. “I am,” she admitted. She hesitated, then said, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to do everything in my power to convince him to stay right here,” she said, defiant sparks in her eyes. “I imagine Mick will have a thing or two to say about that, but it’s my decision. And Dillon’s, of course.”
Luke knew his own surprise was nothing compared to the tizzy Uncle Mick would have over this news. He tried to tread carefully. “Have you and Dillon already discussed it? I thought the plan was for you both to travel back and forth.”
“Plans sometimes have to change,” she said, her voice turning sad. “I think Christmas was probably my last visit to Ireland.”
Once again Luke had the sense that there was much more to the story that she wasn’t telling him. “Gram, what’s going on?”
After only the faintest flicker of despondency on her face, something so brief he couldn’t even be sure he’d seen it, her expression brightened. “Not a thing,” she said. “I’m just being realistic. It’s a long way to go at my age.”
“Are you sure Dillon will want to pack up and leave the life he’s always known?”
“I’m certain of only one thing,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “The only way to know a thing like that is to ask, and I intend to do just that. It’s advice you might consider taking to heart.”
Though the obvious inference would have been to assume she was talking about the call she’d advised him to make to determine the measurements of the bar, Luke knew better. It was her subtle way of reminding him not to wait too long to ask Moira to be a part of his life.
What bothered him wasn’t that she’d made the suggestion, but the urgency he sensed behind it and behind her own plan to invite Dillon to stay. Something was wrong, and he knew in his gut he needed to find out what it was. What he didn’t know was how he was going to pull that off without offending his grandmother’s independent spirit.
Everyone in the family credited Jo O’Brien with being the most practical, sensible O’Brien aside from Nell. Luke was still in awe of how well his mother had handled Susie’s ovarian cancer and kept everyone else from falling apart. He concluded that she was his best bet to get to the bottom of what was going on with his grandmother.
She was easy enough to track down. After school, where she was both a teacher and a women’s track coach, she was usually at practice with her team. Luke found her standing at the edge of the track with a stopwatch in one hand and a whistle in the other. With her hair caught up in a messy ponytail and dressed in jeans and a hoodie on the cool early May afternoon, she looked little older than her students.
“Hey, Mom!” he called out as he joined her.
Barely taking her eyes off the track for more than a split second, she gave him a smile. “What brings you by? I thought you were swamped getting the pub ready to open.”
“I am, but I need to talk to you. Can you spare a couple of minutes? If not now, could you drop
by the pub when you’re finished here?”
She must have heard something in his voice, because she blew her whistle to get the attention of the girls. “That’s it, ladies. It was a good practice. Take your showers and head on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When they were finally on their way, she gestured toward the bleachers, then followed Luke over. “What’s up?”
“I’m worried about Gram,” he blurted. “Something’s going on with her, and I don’t think she’s told anyone about it.”
His mother regarded him with surprise. “Are you sure? She’s seemed fine to me when I’ve seen her the past few Sundays.”
“She can put on a good show for a couple of hours,” he said. “I’ve been spending more time with her lately. She’s said a couple of things. When I called her on one of them, she told me I wasn’t to blab.”
“And yet here you are,” Jo said. “Since I know you wouldn’t break your word lightly, what exactly has happened?”
He told her about the casual mention of blood pressure medicine, then today’s incident, when Nell had seemed overheated and short of breath. “It doesn’t sound like much when I say it, but that’s not all. She was talking about wanting Dillon to stay on here, about not being able to make another trip to Ireland herself. She sounded—I don’t know—resigned or something.”
To his relief—yet in a way his regret—his mother didn’t laugh off his concerns. “That doesn’t sound like Nell,” she conceded. “You’re right about that. When we got back from Ireland, all she could talk about was the next trip over there.”
“Will you speak to her? Maybe she’ll open up to you.”
“Nell’s not going to open up to anyone unless she wants them to know what’s going on. It’s not her way. I will keep closer tabs on her and, if I sense that it’s necessary, I’ll get your father, Mick and Thomas to look into it.”
“Do you really want to get them all worked up, especially Mick? You know how he is. He’ll haul her off to Johns Hopkins to be checked out whether she wants to go or not.”
His mother laughed. “He would, wouldn’t he? Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. She has a lot going on right now. I’m sure she’s overly tired with all this planning for Dillon’s visit. I’ll go by this afternoon and offer to help.” When Luke started to protest, she held up a hand. “I know she won’t let me near her kitchen, but she might let me dust and vacuum for her.”
Luke nodded. “I should have thought of that. The kitchen could use a good scrubbing, too. I offered to do it before I left this morning, but she told me she had her own ways of doing things.”
“She didn’t get to this age by not being independent and stubborn, like the rest of the O’Briens,” Jo said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Luke responded.
She squeezed his hand. “It’s a good trait some of the time. Thanks for telling me about this. It’s good she has you around so much right now. I know she’s enjoying these lessons. Last Sunday at Mick’s, your progress—or lack thereof—was all she could talk about while we were in the kitchen cleaning up.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Today might have tested her limits,” he said, explaining about the mess he’d made of two batches of scones. “If she offers you one, I’d advise against taking it unless it comes with an affidavit that it’s one she baked.”
Jo laughed. “Trust me, if yours were that awful, they’re in the trash by now or she’s fed them to the birds.”
“Poor robins,” Luke said with a shake of his head.
“You’ll get the knack of it. I believe in you. So does Nell. I can hardly wait to see how the pub is coming along.”
“Stop by anytime,” he said, though he’d been discouraging visitors. He wanted the family to be wowed by the finished product.
“I’ll wait,” she said. “I know you want to knock all our socks off on opening night. Have you set the date?”
“Tentatively,” he confessed. “I’d like to open before Dillon goes home again. He made a lot of introductions for me in Ireland. I’d like him to see how much they helped.”
“Oh, he’ll love that,” she said, then gave him a sly look. “Shouldn’t you be inviting Moira over for the grand opening as well? She played a role in this, too, didn’t she?”
The thought had occurred to Luke more than once, but he’d vetoed it. As much as he’d like to have Moira here to share the big opening, a part of him was afraid she might make too much of the invitation. He didn’t want to send any more mixed signals than he already had.
No, when he invited Moira to come to Chesapeake Shores, it would be because he was ready for more than a date to a party, albeit the most important party of his life.
4
“Chesapeake Shores is a long way to go chasing after a man,” Kiera said when she learned of Moira’s trip. “You’ll only be disappointed.”
Moira regarded her mother with annoyance. “Thank you for the support. Are you sure it’s not that you’re jealous that Grandfather is taking me and not you?”
She saw that she’d hit the mark by the tightening of her mother’s lips. Surprisingly, Moira felt bad about it, which proved just how much her attitude toward her mum had changed now that she’d finally put some distance between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of such a thing.”
Kiera sighed. “It’s never wrong to speak the truth,” she said, sounding weary. “I suppose I am a wee bit jealous that you have this chance and I don’t.” She held Moira’s gaze. “But my concern for you is genuine. I don’t want you to go over there with high expectations about what will happen when you and Luke are reunited. Men like Luke move on at a whim.”
“The way Dad did?” Moira said, understanding with unexpected clarity exactly where the concern came from—her mother’s own experience.
“Yes, as your father did,” Kiera said, her usual bitterness giving way to what almost sounded like sorrow.
Moira hesitated then asked the question she’d never dared to utter before. “Was it me? Was I too much for him?”
Kiera looked startled. “Is that what you think?” she asked in dismay. “That your father left because of you?”
“It’s what I’ve always believed,” Moira admitted. The timing of his departure could hardly allow for any other conclusion.
“Oh, my darling girl, it had nothing to do with you,” Kiera said at once. “It was all of it—the pressure of me wanting more and more for our children, a job he hated, needing to come home at night rather than spending his time and money in a pub. He wasn’t meant to be a family man. He liked things easy. In truth, the only surprise wasn’t that he left, but that it took him so long.”
Moira felt an odd sense of relief at that, but then thought about what her mum had actually revealed. She couldn’t help wondering if the same mind-set applied to Luke. It was hardly the first time such a thought had crossed her mind.
“Does Luke remind you of Dad?” she asked. “Is that really why you’re so worried about my going over there?”
To her dismay, her mother nodded. “I see some similarities, yes. And hearing that’s he’s opening a pub?” She shook her head. “It brings back too many memories of the pull such places had for your father.”
“Was Dad a drinker, then?” Moira asked.
Her mother nodded. “He had a problem. I didn’t see it when we met, because all our friends liked to have a pint or two and enjoy the music on a Friday or Saturday night. It was only later, after we were married, that he spent more and more time with his mates and came home reeling. I can’t tell you how often we argued about it. Ask your brothers. They’re old enough to remember some of it, I’m sure, though we’ve never spoken of it.”
“And isn’t that our way?” Moira said with a touch of bitterness. “To never
speak of the things that matter? How many years did it take before you even acknowledged we had grandparents living in Dublin? It was only when your mother became ill and Grandfather came looking for you that we discovered we had family.”
Kiera sighed heavily. “You’re right again,” she conceded. “I’m sorry.”
Moira found herself apologizing as well. “But Luke’s not like Dad in that way—a drinker, I mean,” she said earnestly. “I know he’s not. In all that time we spent together and in so many different pubs, he rarely had anything to drink. He was totally focused on his research. It wasn’t about the drinking, not at all.”
“He wouldn’t be the first man to open a pub so he’d have a ready excuse for being around alcohol,” Kiera said.
Though Moira understood that it was Kiera’s own experiences that had shaped her opinion, Moira still found it worrisome. She believed her defense of Luke and seized on Peter McDonough to prove it. “I’ve never seen Peter lift even a pint of ale during the course of an evening,” she said. “How long has he owned that pub? Twenty years? Even longer?”
“Peter’s a paragon, he is,” Kiera said wryly. “Your grandfather has told me that often enough.”
Moira couldn’t hide her shock at the innuendo. “Grandfather has been encouraging something between you and Peter? For how long?”
“Since I was in my teens,” Kiera admitted. “He was cited as the epitome of respectability, which I stupidly ignored in my pursuit of rebellion. Now that my marriage is over, his name is dropped into the conversation every chance your grandfather can find. Didn’t you notice how many times it was suggested we drop in at McDonough’s over the holidays?”
Moira tried to imagine a romance between her mother and Peter. Surprisingly, she could see it, though she wasn’t sure she could explain just why. Maybe it had to do with Peter’s easygoing nature, his willingness to meet people as they were and enjoy their company. Had he spent more time than usual hovering over the family when they’d made those holiday stops? Had the extra attention been about more than respect for her grandfather? As Luke had done with Moira, Peter had certainly been able to ignore Kiera’s stubborn testiness and find ways to coax her into laughter. He’d even gotten her onto the dance floor a time or two, fighting off her reluctance with teasing determination.
The Summer Garden Page 5