Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
And perhaps that was why I’d cut my last meeting of the day short. For some strange reason, I wanted to be at the house when Ada arrived to collect her father’s belongings. Shamefully, I admit I looked through the old photo albums. There were endless childhood photographs of Ada and her sister, the tall red head from the funeral. Some at the beach and others at their house for birthday parties and special occasions. It was difficult to imagine Conor Rose compiling all those pictures. It just didn’t mesh with the man I knew him to be. Perhaps he hadn’t put the albums together. Ada’s mother could’ve done it, and the albums had just so happened to end up in his possession.
Speaking of her mother, the older red head had also been at the funeral. She’d had the tan and style of dress of someone who lived in a sunnier climate, and she’d approached me at the bar a few hours after I’d spoken with Ada, who’d left at that point.
My half sister, Maggie, had come with me for moral support, but she’d also gone home by then. I’d sat by the bar like a lonely, miserable sod, nursing a glass of bourbon while listening to people talk about my late mother and her husband. I’d volunteered myself for the agony of hearing about times other people spent with Mam, times I hadn’t gotten to enjoy. Jealousy and regret had threatened to consume me.
I’d been staring at my drink, wading through internal misery, when she’d approached.
Ada looked nothing like her mother, who was tall and slim like the sister, attractive for her age. What I hadn’t found attractive was how her attention had flicked to my watch, her eyes flaring like she knew exactly how much it had cost. I expected that was the reason for the coy, interested smile she’d bestowed upon me.
“Hello again.”
“Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested,” I’d told her gruffly. Her eyebrows had jumped. Unfortunately, my rudeness hadn’t deterred her.
“It’s never good to wallow in grief alone. Always better to have some company,” she’d replied and placed her hand atop mine. I’d almost snorted. She was confident, I’d give her that.
Moving my hand away from hers, I’d lifted my drink, downed the last of it and then stood. “Like I said, I’m not interested.”
“Are you interested in Ada?”
I’d stilled.
“My daughter,” she’d went on when I gave no response. “I saw the way you looked at her, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Ada likes boring, safe men.” She’d paused to eye me. “And I have a feeling you’re anything but.”
Something about the statement had bothered me. She’d thought she was buttering me up, but I’d only found her irksome. Who the hell spoke about their own daughter that way? Ada deserved better than for her mother to deride her choices in men as boring. And sure, I certainly didn’t consider myself boring, but I wasn’t unsafe. Did I look like the kind of man who went around breaking women’s hearts? Because that certainly wasn’t the case. One could argue the opposite was true.
“It’s a good thing I’m not interested in your daughter, then. Goodnight.”
With that, I’d left.
And now, I stood by my mother’s kitchen window, watching as Ada Rose parked her Yaris outside the house, the engine loud like it needed to be put on life support. It was late in the day, almost full dark. She’d said she’d come from work, and I wondered what she did for a living. She didn’t emerge right away. Instead, several minutes passed while I waited for her to appear. What was she doing? Making a phone call? Taking a bloody nap?
More to the point, why the hell was I so impatient to see her? Maybe it was because of Mam, the closeness they clearly shared judging by how she’d spoken of her at the funeral.
At last, the car door opened, and the first thing I saw was a cane. Then, Ada appeared, looking far worse for wear than the last time I’d seen her. Had something happened? I moved away from the window so she didn’t catch me observing her. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair tied back, but it looked unwashed, and she relied on the cane to walk. Was she sick? Had she been in an accident? Her slow, uneven gait as she approached the house with the cane in hand certainly seemed to indicate it.
Before she had a chance to lift the knocker, I opened the door.
Her eyes flared. “Oh.” A weighty pause. “You’re here.”
“Therese was busy.”
“I can come back a different day.”
“No need. What happened to you?”
My question took her off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you walking with that?” I indicated the cane. “You look terrible.” The moment the statement left my mouth, I wanted to snatch it back. Ada’s face flashed with offence, like I’d hurt her feelings.