Sanctuary

pushing her away the way he did Mama. It matters, goddamn it, because there’s not one of us who knows how to be happy.”
    “I know how to be happy.” Lexy’s voice rose and stumbled as she shouted at him. She wanted to scream out the denial, to make it all a lie. “I’m going to be happy. I’m going to have everything I want.”
    “What the hell’s going on here?” Jo braced a hand on the doorjamb and stared. The raised voices had brought her out of her room, where she’d been trying to nap to make up for the sleep she’d lost worrying over Ginny.
    “Brian’s hateful. Just hateful.” On another wild sob, Lexy turned and rushed into Jo’s arms.
    The shock of that, and the sight of her brother and her father facing each other across the bar like boxers at the bell, had her gaping. Kate stood in the middle, weeping quietly.
    “What’s happening here?” Jo managed as her head began to throb. “Is it about Ginny?”
    “They don’t care about Ginny.” Lost in grief, Lexy sobbed into Jo’s shoulder. “They don’t care.”
    “It’s not about Ginny.” Sick now with fury and guilt, Brian stepped away from the bar. “It’s just a typical Hathaway evening. And I’ve had enough of it.”
    He strode out, pausing briefly by Lexy. He lifted a hand as if to stroke her hair, then dropped it again without making contact.
    Jo took a quiet, shallow breath. “Kate?”
    Kate brushed briskly at the tears on her cheeks. “Honey, will you take Lexy to your room for a bit? I’ll be along shortly.”
    “All right.” Jo took a quick glance at her father—the stony face, the enigmatic eyes, and decided it was best to save her questions. “Come on, Lexy,” she murmured. “Come on with me now.”
    When they’d gone, Kate took a hankie from her pocket and blew her nose. “Not that it’s any excuse for his behavior,” she began, “but Brian’s worried sick and exhausted. All of us are, but he’s been talking to the police and still running the inn on top of everything else. He’s just worn out, Sam.”
    “He’s also right.” Sam sipped, wondering if the liquor would wash the harsh taste of shame out of his throat. “I haven’t been a father to them since Belle walked out on us. I left it all up to you.”
    “Sam ...”
    He looked over at her. “Are you going to tell me that’s not true?”
    She sighed a little, then because her legs just seemed too tired to hold her up another minute, slid onto a stool at the bar. “No, there’s no point in lying.”
    Sam huffed out what passed for a laugh. “You’ve always been honest to a fault. It’s an admirable—and irritating—quality.”
    “I didn’t figure you paid much notice. I’ve been chorusing a more polite variation on what Brian’s just poured out for years.” She angled her head, and though her eyes were red-rimmed, they were steady when they met his. “Never made a dent in you.”
    “It made a few.” He set his glass down to rub his hands over his face. Maybe it was because he was tired, and heartsick, and remembering too damn clearly what he’d let fade, but the words he hadn’t known he could say were there. “I didn’t want them to need me. Didn’t want anyone to. And I sure as hell didn’t want to need them.”
    He started to leave it at that. It was more than he’d ever said before, to anyone other than himself. But she was watching him, so patiently, with such quiet compassion, he found the rest of it pouring out.
    “The fact is, Kate, Belle broke my heart. By the time I got over it, you were here and things seemed to run smooth enough.”
    “If I hadn’t stayed—”
    “They’d have had nobody. You did a good job with them, Kate. I don’t know that I realized that until that boy hit me between the eyes just now. It took guts to do that.”
    Kate shut her eyes. “I’ll never understand men, not if I live another half century. You’re proud of him for shouting at you, swearing at you?”
    “I respect him for it. It occurs to me that I haven’t shown him the proper respect a grown man deserves.”
    “Well, hallelujah,” she muttered and picked up Brian’s untouched bourbon and drank. And choked.
    Sam’s lips curved. She looked so pretty, he thought, sitting there thumping a fist to her heart with her face red and her eyes wide. “You’ve never been one for hard liquor.”
    She gulped in a breath, hissed it out because it burned like the flames of hell. “I’m making an exception tonight. I’m