Page 29 of Absinthe Minded

I set my hand on my mother’s shoulder to draw her attention away from him. “You remember Gabe? He’s Joe’s brother.”

“Oh, yes.” She forced a smile. “What brings you to Algiers Point?”

“I’m staying here while some work is done on my house in the Quarter,” he said without hesitation.

I forced my shoulders to relax. Gabe had lied so smoothly. I wondered if he actually planned to renovate his place. “Mom, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Isn’t today Chloe’s recital?”

“No, it’s next weekend.” I motioned for her to sit.

“Mary Margaret, I’m quite sure you told me it was today. You need to get yourself together. Buy a planner.”

“Mimi, can I spend the night with you?” Chloe pressed her hands together in front of her chest. “Please.”

“Of course, darling. Go pack a bag for you and Ryan.” Nadine smiled as if the matter had been settled regardless of my thoughts.

“I’ll go help them pack.” Gabe lifted Ryan and followed Chloe out of the room.

“Nice to see you again.” Nadine called after him, then turned her gaze on me. Her lips pursed and she shook her head ever-so-slightly. “Please tell me that man isn’t staying here.”

“It’s Joe and Rebecca’s house,” I whispered.

“That doesn’t give him the right to stay here. You know how I feel about the Marchionni family. They’re responsible for your sister’s death.”

“Joe and Rebecca had an accident.” I hated that she’d never accepted the truth. “Besides, it’s only for a short while, and he’ll be on his way.”

“Good. The last thing you need to do is get a crush on someone like him.” Nadine sniffed and turned her head.

“He’s not my type, mother.” I sighed, remembering the year Gabe had been exactly my type.

Nadine patted my hand. “No, he isn’t. A man like that dates women like Rebecca. He’d never be happy with you.”

“I know.” I smiled to reassure my mother, but something fragile inside me curled into a tight ball and died.

11

Gabe

I hadn’t seenMaggie since the debacle with her mother that morning. And I thought I had it bad? Nadine made my mom look like Mary-Fucking-Poppins.

I listened at her door for signs of life and knocked. “Mags? What time are you heading out?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she called from inside the room.

“Why?” I frowned and set my hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”

“No. I don’t feel well.” Her voice sounded nasally like she’d spent the afternoon crying.

“I’m coming in.” Ignoring her puffy eyes, I sat on the edge of the bed. “What happened to girls’ night?”

“I cancelled.” She blew her nose into a tissue, then set it with a pile of others on the nightstand.

I pressed my hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“That’s good, I guess.

“Come on, get up.” I stood and tugged her hand. I refused to let her wallow. She needed cheering up, and I needed dinner. A win-win in my book.

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