or that Girard was involved.”
“Yes, China told me.”
“Well, I couldn’t believe my mother wasn’t coming back.” He stared across the room, the memories playing themselves out on some screen Janet couldn’t see. “Every night for years, I sat at my window and watched for her to return. I was sure she’d miss me. Even after your mother married our father, I was sure Susannah would return one day.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No. She died right after Brian was born, but we didn’t know that. Anyway, the night you were taken, I joined a sleepover at a friend’s house. Your mother was wonderful and I was finally beginning to realize that she loved me more than Susannah ever did. So I left my post and went to the party.” He turned to her, speaking the words as if searching for absolution. “And you were kidnapped. Had I been looking out that window, I might have seen someone approach the house or leave with you.”
She took his hand and squeezed it, feeling just a little of what he must have suffered. “Oh, Killian. I’m so sorry. What a burden you’ve placed on yourself, when it wasn’t your fault at all.”
He nodded glumly. “I know. But I was a kid whose mother left him without a second thought. I was sure I had to be pretty bad. It was easy to blame myself for yet another family tragedy.”
Tears filled her eyes and burned her throat. She imagined a serious little boy burdened by all that darkness. And she realized for the first time all the love that must have been hers when she was born.
He saw her brimming eyes and gave her his handkerchief. “Please don’t cry. It’s all over now. And it wasn’t just me. We all felt responsible. Sawyer thought he was the stand-in big brother since I was gone, so it was his fault. And Campbell threw you out of his room that afternoon because you were a destructive little devil and broke one of his precious trucks. So he had to live with the knowledge that his last contact with you was a shout for your mother to get you out of his room.”
She absorbed this information with quiet dismay.
“But all’s well that ends well,” he said, suddenly brisk. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this when we’re so, so lucky to have you back.”
“I’m the lucky one. Now I feel guilty that you all beat yourselves up because of me.”
He leaned over to wrap her in a hug. “That would really be silly. We all have to focus on the fact that you’re back, not that you were gone.”
That made sense. Still, she hated the mystery that had caused her family so much pain. Though she’d been the victim, she’d escaped relatively unscathed. She found that upsetting. But Killian seemed to be trying to put the past behind them and she wanted to support him. “You’re absolutely right,” she said.
“I am. And try to give some thought to how much fun it would be to work together.” He stood, offered her a hand up, then walked her toward the kitchen, telling her about the companies that made up the conglomerate of Abbott Mills, and the different ways her talents could be put to good use. She smiled and gave him her full attention, but she was troubled by what he’d told her.
JOE FANELLI WAS several inches shorter than Brian and more thickly built. He helped Brian restock the shelves after closing, a frown of concentration on his face. Considering he was putting laundry detergent on the same shelf with canned vegetables, Brian figured his focus wasn’t working.
Brian opened two refrigerated colas and invited Joe to join him at the chairs near the potbellied stove that occupied the middle of the shop. Joe looked surprised. “I’m almost finished,” he said, holding up his last bottle of detergent.
Brian nodded. “But look at where you’re putting it.”
Joe turned back to the shelf. His head tipped back in exasperation. “I’m sorry,” he said, gathering up bottles. “It’ll just take me a—”
“That can wait a few minutes,” Brian insisted. “We haven’t had much time to talk since I hired you.” He held up the cola invitingly. “Come and sit down.”
Joe took the place opposite Brian, a dark blue apron over his jeans and white T-shirt emblazoned with the store’s logo. He looked wary as he accepted the can of soda.
“You’re going to tell me I’m not doing a good job,” he said, slightly defensive.
“No,” Brian corrected him. “When we work together, you do a very good job. But over the next couple of weeks, I’m going to have to leave you alone for a few hours every few days. My friend’s getting married and I’m going to be in the wedding. Lots of fussy stuff to do.”
Joe smiled hesitantly. “The Abbotts?”
“Yes.”
“My mom’s been talking about it. She’s helping my grandfather with the catering. She says you don’t see a double wedding every day.”
“Yeah. That’s why I asked you to work tomorrow morning. I have to get fitted for a tux.”
Joe made a face. “When you’re used to shorts and T-shirts, a tux makes you feel like you’re choking.”
Brian remembered. “I used to have to wear one a lot. I even had my own. It does feel like you’re going to strangle.”
Joe nodded, his manner relaxing. “When you were in the November Corporation? Before your father—” He stopped abruptly, his face going pale. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Brian took a swig of cola. “I know people talk about it. Life’s full of all kinds of things you can’t do much about, and, unfortunately, people find gossip interesting. Probably because they all have their own problems, and they like to talk about stuff that doesn’t affect them.”
Joe seemed surprised by that candor, then a flush replaced his pallor. “Yeah, I know.”
“My concern,” Brian said, “is that the good work you do while I’m watching you doesn’t change when I’m not around.”
Joe’s flush deepened. “That woman complained,” he guessed, “about the afternoon you went to Springfield.”
Before Brian could concur that it was Mrs. Lindell, Joe went on to describe her. “Short, round lady with big, old-fashioned hair?”
“Yes. Mrs. Lindell. I’ve only owned this place a couple of months, but she’s been coming here for years, and we want her to keep it up.”
“I’m sorry.” Joe appeared sincere. “I knew she was going to be mad. She was trying to find this hair stuff I never heard of, and I took her to where we stock hair products. Then Natty called—that’s my girlfriend—and she wanted to talk about this…this problem we’re having.” He lowered his eyes and picked at the rim of the can with his thumbnail. “I tried to tell her I was busy, but we have a big problem and I…I felt like I had to listen. For that minute…it was more important than the work.”
At this point, Brian wished he didn’t know what Joe’s problem was. It would have been easier to tell him that when he was on the job, nothing was more important than the work. But he was Brian Girard, not Corbin. He knew there were times when life was much more important
