A Man Worth Keeping. Molly O'Keefe

clear we didn’t want to see her again?”

      “Or that he went to see her?”

      They were silent for a moment and Max wondered if Dad would actually do that. Mom had walked out on the three of them thirty years ago. Just packed up and left in the middle of the night, no note, no goodbyes, not even a hint that she was unhappy.

      Then a few months ago she had contacted Dad asking to see all of them, like she had the right. Like the door she’d shut when she left would swing open because she wanted it to.

      Max rubbed at his face. “He said he had to go talk to his lawyer about his life insurance. That he needed to get his things in order.”

      Gabe shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like a lame excuse.”

      “Maybe he’s off having a dirty weekend—”

      Gabe shot him a shut-the-hell-up look. Max smiled and drank his beer.

      “You’re not worried?”

      “About Dad?” Gabe nodded and Max shook his head. “Nope. I don’t worry, Gabe. I let you do that.”

      It was another reason why living here worked out for Max. He had shelter, clothes, food, company, gooey chocolate cakes and mindless work that kept him occupied—and he didn’t have to worry about any of it. Gabe worried enough for both of them.

      And now, with him and Alice finally having a baby after years of effort, his mother hen ways were in overdrive.

      Which was another reason not to say anything about Delia.

      Max stood. “Where do you want to put those two women arriving on Friday?”

      “Cabin four, I think. It’s the biggest, so if they want to stay, they won’t feel cramped.”

      “All right.” Max grabbed the half-eaten cake, the two forks and the empty beer bottles. “I’ll go make sure it’s in good shape.”

      “Now?” Gabe asked, looking at his watch. “It’s midnight.”

      Max shrugged. “Why not?”

      Gabe stared at him a little too long and all those questions his brother and father had been dying to ask since he got out of the hospital suddenly swirled around the room. They were never far away—the questions, concern and worry.

      “I’m fine,” he said, forestalling the actually uttering of the questions. No one would truly understand what was wrong. The guilt he carried that had nothing to do with a dead father and a dead kid.