Holidays at Crescent Cove Read Online Free PDF Page B

right back to the court case, which led inevitably to her relationship, or nonrelationship, with her father. Why couldn’t he just be like other fathers, some working stiff that put in his time at the office and came home to watch television, instead of the brilliant, and—Grace was beginning to believe—unscrupulous lawyer he’d become.
    The tears she’d shed over the movie, she knew were partly for herself and her own family. Atticus had stood up for what he believed, even putting his children at risk, and for the first time she saw him in a new light. A man driven, yes, but was it purely altruistic? She clicked off the television and lay on the couch in the gathering dusk, not moving, but wondering what drove people to do what they did.
    Which was a stupid way to spend her day off, and a day that should be a celebration to boot. She went to the kitchen. There was a steak in the freezer, but a celebration for one wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
    She picked up her cell, which she now realized she’d turned off for the ceremony and forgotten to turn back on. Seeing that newspaper article had driven everything else out of her head. She turned it on and her message queue filled up.
    Several calls; two of them were the same. It was a number she knew—her parent’s landline. She deleted it without checking to see if there was a message. Stood clutching the phone as her anger surged again. He hadn’t bothered to call in the last three years. Why now? Warning her not to discuss the case? Who would she discuss it with? Who would even think to ask her opinion?
    Her part in the whole fiasco was long over. He needn’t have bothered. No way was she going to say anything. Not even something detrimental to his case. He could go to hell as far as she was concerned. Whether he won or lost, he was going there anyway.
    She scrolled down and deleted his second call.
    Which left her only marginally feeling better. She needed something to keep her mind off her father and the scum he was defending.
    She knew she could go out to Bri’s and share in their steamed eggs and rice.
    That made her smile. She wondered how Bri was adapting to a change from baguettes and wine to the simple Chinese fare the girls would eat. She admired her friend. She knew what she wanted, she went after it, persevered through a ridiculous amount of red tape, which Grace knew because she had helped Bri navigate through some of it.
    Or Margaux and Nick would welcome her, except they had little enough time for themselves. Which left . . .
    She scrolled through her contact list. Found the McGuire house phone number. After all, it was Seamus’s desire to reopen the carousel that had started the whole restoration and preservation idea.
    If anyone deserved to celebrate, it was the McGuires. She pressed Dial. It rang for a long time and she was about to hang up when Seamus said, “Hello?”
    He sounded as if he’d been sleeping. He was always so robust and jocular that it came as a surprise to hear him like this.
    â€œHi. It’s Grace Holcombe.”
    â€œWell, hello there, Gracie.”
    Grace smiled at the phone. It didn’t take him long to change into his Mr. Debonair mode. “Great ceremony we had this morning,” she extemporized.
    â€œCertainly was,” he agreed.
    â€œI thought if you and Jake had no plans for the evening, I’d take you out for a celebration dinner. I should have asked sooner, but I got tied up.”
    â€œWe’d love to.”
    â€œUh, Seamus. Shouldn’t you ask Jake if he’s free? Though you and I can go regardless.”
    â€œOh he’s free. Out in the shed, working on something or another. I’ll make sure he gets cleaned up nice. When should we pick you up?”
    â€œI’ll pick you up. Both of you. Say six-thirty? I’ll make reservations at the Rusty Nail.”
    â€œYes ma’am, but we’ll pick you up at