Free Holly Blues by Susan Wittig Albert Page A

sweet little smile that always turns my heart inside out. “I’m glad you’ll be here.”
    “Me, too.” Sally looked around the table. “It’ll be just like family. All of us together at Christmas.”
    McQuaid glanced up. He was opening his mouth to say something—I hate to think what—but Brian leaned over and whispered something, sotto voce . I’m sure I couldn’t have heard it right, for it sounded like “Peace out, cub scout.”
    McQuaid sighed. “Pass the rolls,” he said.
    We were clearing the table when Sally turned to McQuaid. “I wonder if you and I could have a little talk this evening, Mike. I really need your help. I—”
    “Sorry.” McQuaid put his dishes in the sink, where Brian was rinsing, and went to pour another cup of coffee. “I’m grading exams.”
    “But it’s important,” she said in a low voice. “It’s the reason I came to Pecan Springs—other than being with Brian, I mean,” she added hastily, seeing his shoulders stiffen. “It’s about what happened in—”
    “I said I’m sorry.” McQuaid’s voice was hard. He picked up his coffee and headed for the door. “It can wait until I’ve turned in my grades.”
    “Can I help you?” I asked sympathetically, wishing that McQuaid had been just a little nicer, especially with Brian in the room. He knows that his parents aren’t exactly good friends, and when the animosity gets ugly, he tries to tune it out. But it has to hurt.
    “Help me?” Sally pressed her lips together. “I wish you could, China, but I don’t see how. Mike is an investigator. I was hoping he would—” She stopped, sighing. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and try again, when he’s in a better mood.”
    Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to tell me, but there was something in her voice that made me think she was telling the truth. I wondered what kind of trouble she was in this time.
    A moment later, Caitlin bounced downstairs and asked Sally if she’d like to come up and look at fairy pictures. Which left Brian and me to do the dishes. It was actually Caitlin’s turn to help Brian, but she and Sally were getting along so well. I was happy to promote the friendship by giving her a night off.
    Brian had a different opinion. He didn’t say anything until he had finished wiping the counter. I was putting soap in the dishwasher when he came to stand beside me. “Mom,” he said in a low, troubled voice. “Do you think it’s cool for Caitie to get involved with my mother?”
    I looked up at him. Brian is two inches taller than I am now, and as he’s grown older, he looks even more like his father. His craggy face is still unformed at sixteen, but has McQuaid’s strong nose and firm jaw. They have the same shock of dark hair and the same steel blue eyes. Brian lacks his father’s broken nose (courtesy of a quarterback sack at the ten-yard line) and the jagged scar across the forehead (courtesy of a druggie’s knife in a parking lot arrest). Personally, I love McQuaid’s crooked nose and even his jagged scar, and I would never deny Brian any of life’s challenging experiences. But I secretly hope he manages to get through life without football, and I don’t mind hoping out loud that he can avoid crazy, knife-wielding dopers, as well.
    “I don’t think we need to worry too much about involvement,” I said judiciously, wondering if there might be some jealousy here. “I think they’re just talking fairies.”
    “Maybe,” Brian said in a serious tone. “But you know Sally.” He looked at me to judge my reaction. It was the first time I had heard him call his mother by her first name.
    “How do you mean?” I asked. Looking at him, I couldn’t see any jealousy. His gaze was too direct, too serious.
    “I mean—” He took a deep breath. “You can’t count on her,” he said, and in those five bleak words, I could hear the whole history of their relationship. “She says one thing and does something else. She promises, but she