Page 105 of Sweet Caroline
“Yes, well…” He slots the plate between the prongs on the lower rack. “My daughter was born for the finer things in life. Finer things than we could give her, to be frank.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. Always had stars in her eyes, that girl. Wanted the latest fashions, the most expensive shoes. When Pete came along… well, he was able to provide something we couldn’t. She went headfirst into that life and never really looked back.”
“You two close at all?” I ask, remembering Caroline saying things are often strained between her and her mother. But there seems to be a kernel of love between them despite it all; Valerie had been shocked and upset—and rightly fucking so—when she found out about the fire on Halloween.
“Wish I could say we were,” George says. “But I’m glad she’s found something that makes her happy. At least, I hope she’s happy. I’m not sure sometimes, to be frank.” His expression is a bit sad. “But I’ll give credit where credit’s due: she looks after me. She’s a good daughter, even if we don’t relate much, you know?”
“Of course.”
“And she gave me one very special treasure,” he adds, leaning in slightly. “I know I’m not supposed to have a favorite grandchild, but,”—he pats a weathered hand on my arm—“between you and me, Caroline’s had that title since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
I grin, dropping my gaze to the dish I’m holding before passing it to George.
“She’s always been easy to love,” he adds—like it’s an afterthought.
My amusement falters.
Shit, a little warning before you drop that mic next time, George.
I can only nod as I shut off the faucet. Wiping my hands on a tea towel, I try to figure out how to respond.
“What are you two talking about?” Caroline’s voice rescues me from over my shoulder and we both turn.
Between that flowy navy skirt, her striped T-shirt, and the little scarf thing she’s got tied around her neck, she reminds me of a flight attendant—in all the right ways. She’s perfect.
“And Grandpa,” she adds, “you don’t need to help clean up. Miles and I can?—”
“Bah,” he says, waving her off. “It’s good for me to get off myduff. Plus, now it’s all done and you two can go enjoy the rest of your night. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She flicks a glance my way before returning her attention to George. “You gonna go read?”
“You bet.” He turns to me. “Thanks very much for dinner, Miles.” As he shuffles past Caroline to grab his walker, he nudges her arm. “This one’s a keeper.”
I drop my gaze to my feet and let my hips fall back against the edge of the counter.
If only I was.
My shame-filled confession on Halloween sharpens into focus, knotting my throat.
In my peripheral vision, Caroline moves away, clearly no more eager than I am to address the topic of whether we get tokeepeach other. Because we don’t.
When I look up, she’s wiping down the counter with a far-off expression on her face.
Gus warned me earlier to keep my priorities in check.
Sobriety first.
I know he’s right. And maybe I’m replacing one addiction with another, like Tiffany had said at the AA meeting. Still, something in my chest reaches for her—something that runs deeper than any craving.
I come up behind her slowly, closing my eyes as I graze my nose over her temple. “Leave it for tomorrow,” I whisper.
“It’ll only take a minute,” she replies, her voice slightly breathy. “I shouldn’t”—she inhales as I gather her hair in my hands, lifting it from her neck—“shouldn’t procrastinate.”
“Oh,” I rasp against her neck. “Don’t be so sure.”
She laughs and drapes the cloth over the faucet, then turns to face me.
