Free Shore Lights by Barbara Bretton

hell am I making it worse? I think he could parlay that chili of his into something big. I said he could maybe be on TV. Is that a fucking crime?”
    â€œJesus H. Christ!” Bud sounded close to a meltdown. “You’d do anything to get some work for that ambulance-chaser kid of yours.”
    Snap! Crackle! Pop! A symphony of arthritic knees sounded as Mel and Bud jumped to their feet.
    â€œSay that again,” Mel dared, “and I’ll stuff those dentures up your wrinkled old—”
    â€œHey, guys!” Claire and Billy Jr. breezed through the front door on a gust of winter wind. It took her maybe all of three seconds to assess the situation. “To the office with you,” she said to Billy as she pointed him toward the hall. “I’ll bring you milk and cookies in a few minutes.” She glanced around the room. “Maybe I should bring out some milk and cookies for the rest of you children.”
    â€œDamn, you’re good,” Aidan said as he followed her into the kitchen. “I was afraid we were going to need a defibrillator out there.”
    Claire’s gaze was direct. She wasn’t known for her patience. “Mel and Bud looked like they were about to mix it up out there.” She swung open the fridge and pulled out a container of milk. “Football, hockey, or politics?”
    â€œWho knows.” He pulled down Billy Jr.’s favorite glass from the open cabinet over the double sink. “Tomorrow it’ll be something else.”
    She narrowed her eyes and peered up at him. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing’s wrong.”
    â€œYou aren’t still upset about losing that teapot, are you?”
    â€œAsk me again after I tell Kelly about it.”
    He knew he wasn’t the most sensitive of men. Changes in the emotional landscape around him needed to be a 9 on the Richter scale before he took note, but even he couldn’t miss the way Claire’s expression shifted when he mentioned his daughter’s name.
    â€œWhat?” he asked, dumping some cookies on a plate for Billy Jr. while Claire poured the milk.
    â€œWhat do you mean, what?” she countered, eyes focused on the milk container and the rapidly filling glass.
    â€œKelly. You looked funny when I mentioned her. What’s wrong?”
    Claire wiped up a spilled drop of milk with a square of paper towel. “I saw her with Seth while I was waiting for the school bus.”
    He did a little math. “They cut class?”
    â€œLooks like it.”
    â€œWhere were they going?”
    â€œI don’t know. They sailed by in Seth’s brother’s Honda.”
    â€œShe was probably on the way to one of her club meetings.”
    â€œCould be,” said Claire.
    â€œYou think she skipped class?” She had to be kidding. They all knew Kelly was the type of kid who loved school so much she would sleep there if they let her.
    â€œWho knows,” Claire said, sidestepping his question. “All I know is that I saw her.”
    From the look on her face, she obviously wished she had never told him.
    â€œI trust her,” he said, meaning every word. “If she was out there with Seth, there was a good reason.” This was the kid who had lost her mother when she was three years old. This was the kid who had changed his bandages when the sight of the left side of his face had been enough to bring grown men to their knees. His little girl never flinched. She did what needed to be done and did it without fanfare or shouts of “Look at me!”
    She had earned his trust. More than that, she deserved it.
    â€œKelly’s a good kid,” he said to Claire. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
    â€œShe’s seventeen,” Claire retorted. “There’s plenty to worry about. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
    Kathleen, Claire’s oldest, was nineteen and a