Page 8 of Absinthe Minded

Theoperations, as he put it, were killing my profit margin on liquor. We were the only place in the Quarter that didn’t accept credit cards. Great if you launder drug money. Not so much if you intended to steer clear of the Sicilian mafia, aka the Cosa Nostra.

“I’ll see what I can do, but the new mayor’s making noise—”

“I’ll make a call. Remind him of our generous campaign contributions.”

I glanced at the picture and promised myself I wouldn’t cross the line and end up dead. I’d stick around to see Ella grow up.

“Don’t look so glum. It’s not such a hardship marrying Maggie Guthrie. Men would kill for those…” My father held his cupped hands in front of his chest, mimicking Maggie’s breasts.

“Yeah, she’s a looker all right.” I stood along with my father. I hated the way he spoke about her, and women in general for that matter, but I’d given up trying to change him years ago. We don’t choose our parents. All we can do is love them and fight like hell not to turn into them.

Joe barked out a laugh and clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Do it quick. I want to see you married before I go.”

“Pops, this custody hearing.”

“Will go away when you walk down the aisle.”

“Did you buy the judge?”

He clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Smart men do what they can to keep their wives happy. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Not trusting my voice, I nodded. It bothered me to see my dad so damned frail. In the couple of weeks since Christmas, he’d dropped a considerable amount of weight, his complexion had paled, and his cough had worsened. The demand that I marry Maggie could turn out to be my father’s dying wish.

How can I say no? Better yet, how can I convince her to say yes?

4

Maggie

With each tickof the clock, my heart raced faster. Still in sweats and a ponytail, I had thirty minutes before the babysitter arrived—a half-hour to make myself presentable for my date. It was early in the relationship, but we seemed to have things in common. Plus, unlike the others I’d gone out with, he didn’t smell like sour milk or use a calculator to split the check or kiss like a cow.

Admittedly, my standards were low.

The dog went ballistic in the other room. Judging by the tone of her barks, someone or something had stepped into the yard.

“Aunt Maggie, someone’s here,” Chloe called from the living room. At nine years old, she was allowed to answer the door, but only if I was home and only after she’d run through her safety procedures. “Who is it?”

I hurried to the front room and wrangled the dog.

“It’s Uncle Gabe.”

My lungs convulsed, sending all my oxygen out of my mouth. The absolute last person I expected to see stood on my front porch—the kids’ uncle, my brother-in-law’s brother, otherwise known as my ex-boyfriend.

This could not happen. Not now, not ever. Sure, I planned to write a column about him, but I’d decided to do it without ever setting foot in the same room with the man. I reminded myself of the reasons I hated him, but none of that seemed to matter to my heart.

Chloe barreled on before I’d decided what to do. Her eyes widened, along with her smile. “What’s the password?”

“Snicklefritz,” Gabe said through the door.

“Wrong!” The girl chewed her lip, likely to keep from laughing.

“Is Maggie home? It’s important.” His voice lost its humor.

I eased into the foyer and looked through the peephole. Although I had no idea what he wanted, I knew two things…one, I didn’t have time for this, and two, it couldn’t be good. “We’re a little busy, Gabe.”

My niece clamped her hands over her mouth and giggled.

“Come on, Mags. I need to talk to you.”

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