The Way They Were Read Online Free PDF Page A

again, not trusting herself to speak.
    “It’s the least we can do for him,” Julia said.
    “I know.”
    ***
    Georgeanne Redmond let the curtain fall into place and limped to the nearest chair. Rourke Flannigan was back in town. Good Lord what a mess. She unscrewed the cap and poured vodka to the line she’d marked with a blue Sharpie. One third cup, not a drop more. And one refill every three hours. Not a second before.
    She sipped the drink, savoring the pop it sent to her lungs, her mouth, her brain. Vodka put her on the alert and helped her reason. In moderation, of course. She’d never go back to the way she was before, draining bottle after bottle of whatever she could get her hands on. In those days, she’d swallowed Scope when she couldn’t get her fix.
    This drinking was different but Katie wouldn’t see it that way. She’d fuss and scold and frankly, Georgeanne had enough to deal with right now. Like Rourke Flannigan. She polished off the rest of the drink, perhaps a little more quickly than usual but still no sooner than eight minutes. Setting parameters would keep the drinking under control. One third undiluted every three hours, not to exceed five times a day and the drink must last at least eight minutes. Just like a doctor’s order.
    Georgeanne rubbed the outside of her right thigh, a slow massage which turned into a gradual kneading of the flesh beneath her cotton pants. It provided some relief to the damaged leg, but no amount of manipulation would ever make it normal again. The car accident that forced her into AA fourteen years ago also put a metal plate and screws in her hip. The pain served as a constant reminder of what she’d done to Rourke Flannigan.
    Why was the man here, dammit? Surely not to prey on poor Katie who he’d dallied with and dumped in the span of a summer. Georgeanne knew all about summer love—or lust as it were. She’d succumbed just like her daughter but Katie had been lucky because Clay had adored her and looked beyond her mistakes to what could be.
    It had all turned out just fine, better than Georgeanne could have imagined. All she’d had to do was steer her daughter in Clay Maden’s direction and convince Katie that Rourke Flannigan was gone for good, which proved true.
    But now Clay was dead and that damn man was back. Georgeanne lifted her glass and caught a few drops of vodka. The only question was why?
    ***
    Rourke sipped his scotch and tried the internet connection for the fifth time. This place was a technological disaster. Most visitors stayed with relatives or close friends. Since Rourke could claim neither, he’d opted for the historic elegance of Montpelier Manor. What he hadn’t counted on was the antiquated ambiance that quickly shifted to annoyance. At eighteen, he’d admired the rustic setting which proved very different than anything he’d seen in Chicago. There was a lot Montpelier offered that he’d never experienced before—hospitality, fresh air, Kate.
    “Rourke, this is ridiculous. How am I going to watch Real World ?”
    Abigail perched on the floor, pressing channels with her index finger. Two seconds after they moved in, she realized there was no remote to the television. Fifteen minutes of complaining netted her nothing from Rourke in the way of sympathy or understanding. She then resorted to manual channel surfing, but apparently three channels and no cable for longer than twenty-four hours was too much.
    He supposed he’d have to do something about it.
    “Rourke!”
    “Admittedly, this does not hold the same character and charm it once did.”
    “Like in the pre-historic ages?”
    “Keep it up and you won’t have any channels, Abigail.”
    She made a face at him. “Abbie. My name’s Abbie. Abbie, Abbie, Abbie.”
    “Keep it up and you won’t have any channels, Abbie .”
    “We can’t stay here, Rourke.”
    He stared at her and waited. In a matter of seconds, she’d barrage him with an entire list of reasons they