“That keg still fresh?”
“Yeah. I think you’d benefit from a twenty-four hour period off it though,” Antony said, pissing him off.
“Last time I checked you’re not my father, my doctor, or my wife.”
“Lucky me,” Antony said, still not moving. The silence expanded between them.
“Fine. I gotta go anyway.” Kieran swung his legs over the side of the chair away from the judgmental asshole.
“Wait, listen.”
“No thanks. I’m good. I gotta go.”
Once the dizziness passed, he shuffled away from the pool toward his car.
“Don’t you want some dry clothes?”
He kept walking without acknowledging the question.
“Kieran Francesco Love.” The sound of his mother’s voice sliced through the steamy air. “Come up to the house before you go. Please.”
Weighing the relative value of ignoring her versus the hell he’d catch the next time he showed his face here, he stopped.
“Frankie Loooooove,” Antony crooned from behind him.
“Go to hell,” he muttered under his breath as he stomped past the pool on his way to the lower entry of his boyhood home.
“Son, I’m concerned for you. You’re drinking too much, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I will say I’ve noticed that Melinda’s absence.” Lindsay sat in her rocker, cane at her side in case she needed support for her bad hip, some sort of random mending in her lap. “I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but my mama radar is humming to beat the band. Sit. Spill it.”
She patted the couch next to her recliner. He remained standing, his skin pebbling from the air conditioning combined with his wet hair and shirt. Lindsay stayed quiet, waiting for him to obey her. He resisted it. She kept waiting.
With a huge sigh he sat, keeping his gaze trained down at the rug’s pattern he’d memorized long ago.
“Melinda’s busy. She’s been out of town. Got home today. I’m going there. Now.” His jerky, automatic answers would never fly and he knew it.
“I don’t need the woman’s itinerary. Talk to me about you.” She put her small hand on his clenched ones. He gritted his teeth in an attempt not to respond to her soothing vibe.
“I, um, well, the school, they...laid me off. Budget cuts and all. Can’t find a permanent place, I guess. I don’t know.”
She tightened her grip on him but kept silent. Remembering this trick of hers didn’t change the fact of his helplessness in the face of it.
“It’s bad. I mean, I don’t have work, you know? An income? Shit.”
Frowning, she let go of him.
“Sorry.” He reached automatically into his pocket for a dollar. When she fluttered her fingers, indicating he should hold onto it he suppressed a groan.
“Well, that Melinda has a good-paying job, right? I mean until you find a new teaching spot.”
At that split second his mouth watered. “Let’s have a drink.” He lurched to his feet, and seeking to avoid the frown lines between her eyes, he headed for the liquor cabinet.
“I don’t require a drink this early in the day, son.”
A mystery bottle caught his attention. “He did it, didn’t he?” Facing his mother, the woman who calmed and terrified him at the same time, he thrust the brown bottle that had a utilitarian yet super-cool label with the words “Dominic’s Cut” at her.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “The son of a bitch did it.”
He snagged two rocks glasses from the shelf above the sideboard, set them down on the coffee table with coasters underneath, and poured them each a healthy portion. “Dom did it! Why didn’t you guys do a release party? Why didn’t Daddy say anything?”
Lindsay raised her glass to the light shining in through the picture window. Kieran did the same, admiring the perfect amber hue and the rich, caramel scent when he stuck his nose down into the glass.
“To the brewer, now master distiller,” he said as they clinked glasses. The young whiskey made his chest warm in an entirely pleasant way. “Wow. Very smooth and sweet. Sort of Irish.”
“Aye,” his mother nodded, holding her glass close to her body. “It didn’t finish the way he wanted, although we think it’s lovely. You know your brother. Anything shy of self-perceived perfection and he rejects it. He wouldn’t allow us to announce it, make it available for sale, or even for tasting, much less throw a release party.” She set the untouched drink on the table between them.
“So, son, I guess you and that Melinda have a contingency plan?” She focused on her mending, a familiar maternal diversion tool he well knew.