Page 3 of Absinthe Minded

I shook my head.

“This is going to kill your father, you know.” Her voice cracked, but it had nothing to do with the melodrama she’d dished out until then. This was real concern for her husband.

I dreaded the day when my father left this earth. For the usual reasons, of course, but also how my life would change. “How’s he doing? What are the docs saying?”

“The same. He refused the chemo.” She waved her hand. “This girl you impregnated… Dare I ask if she’s Catholic?”

“Atheist.”

After whispering a slew of curses in Italian, she turned her face toward the ceiling and prayed—also in Italian. “You will come here and live with us. You’re a good boy, but you’re like your father…you can’t keep it in your pants. You can’t raise a child—not a little angel like this one.”

“I got it covered, Ma. I just need a little help getting going.”

“No way will I let a grandbaby of mine grow up in a bachelor’s pad.” She lowered her voice as if we were in mixed company. “It’s bad enough that Guthrie girl is raising your niece and nephews.”

Maggie Guthrie, my brother’s sister-in-law, my ex, and the love of my life.

My chest tightened. I hadn’t seen her since Joe and Rebecca’s funerals, but I’d thought about her every damned day.

2

Maggie

I adjustedmy black jacket and fluffed my hair one last time before I pressed theenter conferencebutton. Within a couple of seconds, four faces, including my boss, stared back at me from the monitor and then it went blank.

“No, no, no.” Panic wrapped its cold hard fingers around my throat. I pressed various keys in rapid succession, checked the connection to the power cord on the laptop and the wall. Nothing. On hands and knees, I crawled under the dining room table and groaned. Someone had almost chewed the cord in half, and I knew who.

I glared at the dog. “Cocoa! What did you do?”

The chocolate lab lifted her head, snorted, and went back to sleep.

Grabbing my phone, I dialed Marlena’s cell.

No answer.

I tried again. “Come on, Marlena.”

On the verge of a meltdown, I called the office on my way to the garage. “Hello, this is Maggie Guthrie. I have a conference call with Marlena Dupree. I’m having technical difficulties. May I speak to her?”

“One moment, please,” the disembodied voice replied.

The duct tape sat on the shelf where I’d left it. Hurrying back to the computer, I stubbed my toe on the chair and had to bite back a groan when the receptionist came back on the line.

“Ms. Dupree isn’t in her office. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No. I know. I mean. We were on a conference call.”

“Do you know which room she’s in?”

“No. Can you find her? She’s not answering her cell.”

“Of course.” Hold music replaced the impatient voice as I dove under the table and wrapped a long strip of tape around the mangled cord. Praying to anyone who would listen, I poked my head out from beneath the table to check the monitor.

Nothing.

“Oh, come on.” I pinched the tape tighter, and the screen came to life. I banged my forehead on the table but managed to type my password into the welcome screen. What felt like an eternity later the machine booted up, and I re-entered the virtual conference call.

Four faces stared with varying degrees of concern. Marlena, my boss, spoke first, “Good morning, Maggie. Thank you for joining us. Is everything all right, dear?”

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