AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She shook her head as she picked up a remote control and turned the TV on. “Those were all William’s—including the romances. He was the reader, not me. The only thing I ever really read was the TV Guide, back in the day.”
He took a drink of whiskey, appreciating the smooth burn and looked back at the bookshelves, thinking about Mrs. Harte not as a barracuda, but as a woman who kept a thousand of her dead husband’s books. Books that she’d never read. “How long ago did he die?”
She didn’t immediately answer as she concentrated on finding ESPN, then frowned when she saw the Rangers were trailing by two with only a minute left in the game. “Twelve years ago. But every day, it feels like yesterday.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Harte gave him a quick smile, then took a long drink of her own bourbon. “We had many good years together, and when I join him, we’ll have many more.”
“Paige and I only had seven.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for that. But maybe you’ll have more.”
He gave her a surprised look.
“What? I figure that’s where you want it to go, right? Or are you really just going to date her for a while, and then not marry her?”
“No, that’s where I want it to go.”
“Then maybe you should quit having so many misunderstandings with her,” she pointed out.
“You’re right.”
She tilted her head at him. “You seem like a good boy—for the most part—so it shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”
He didn’t know what caught him off guard the most, the ‘good’ part, or the ‘boy’ part, but he decided to address the latter. “I’m thirty-five.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just meant, you know, that being thirty-five makes me a grown man. Not a boy.”
“I’m seventy, so you’re still a boy to me,” she said, then changed the subject. “So, what did you do this time?”
“I thought I was a good boy.” He was mostly asking out of curiosity since he had done ‘something’ this time.
“Good boys aren’t perfect. William was one of the best, but he put himself in the doghouse many times. And you were waiting for Paige in her parking lot and not the other way around, so the odds you did something wrong are pretty strong,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Not to mention, you seem awfully defensive.”
“Well, that’s not fair. And I’m not being defensive,” he said, sounding even more defensive, because she was totally right.
“Not fair? Didn’t you just say you’re a grown man?”
David was about to defend himself when the sound of a buzzer stopped him. Mrs. Harte glanced at the TV, frowning when she saw the Rangers had just been scored on again, and turning away in disgust as the final seconds ran off the clock.
“You a big Rangers fan?” he asked.
“Only when I have money on them. And tonight I did.” She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have bet against the Penguins at home.”
“How much did you bet?”
“A hundred dollars.”
He raised his eyebrows. It seemed like a very large amount for someone on a fixed income, but what did he know? The lady had top-shelf booze. “That’s a pretty heavy bet.”
“It was my bingo winnings from last week.”
“Damn. I didn’t realize bingo was that … lucrative.”
“Of course. Did you think I play it just for fun? Because honestly, it’s not that much fun.” Then, in whiplash like fashion, she turned off the TV and changed the subject back to what it had been before it veered off into side bets. “So, what did you do?”
