“It doesn’t matter. I’d never get them off and I’m not asking one of the aides to help me.”
“The sight of you in tights would get all the old ladies excited.”
“The sight of you in tights would.”
Gabe let that comment slide past him. They resumed their walk, the path looping past empty birdfeeders, ready to be filled for winter, back toward the sunroom.
“Your father had a rough time after your mother died,” his grandfather said, his gait steady as he walked next to Gabe. “He’s got his act together these days. Well.” He gave a slight, knowing grin. “As much as he ever will, Mickey being Mickey. He’s got a new woman in his life, but he still misses your mother. They didn’t always bring out the wisest in each other, but they were a pair.”
“That they were,” Gabe said with a rush of affection.
When they returned to his grandfather’s apartment, Mickey Flanagan was just arriving.
“Hey, Pops, I thought I’d find you napping in the sunroom, and you’re out plotting to take over the world with Gabe.” He nodded to his younger son. “Hey, there.”
“I was going to stop by after visiting Gramps.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His father grinned, deep lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair had turned gray but he was as rail thin as ever—no change there. “You never could lie worth a damn. That’s a good thing, by the way.”
Truth had rarely been a casualty in the Flanagan family, but frankness often had been, if only to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. Gabe had overcompensated, perhaps, by being blunt—often more so than he needed to be. Hence, his fight with Felicity that wintry February morning. He’d learned to be more diplomatic since then. Oddly enough, one of his tactics to avoid saying too much was to say nothing at all, with romantic partners in particular. He wouldn’t lie so much as avoid the truth when it was uncomfortable. He’d never had the urge to avoid and dissemble with Felicity, but look what’d happened when he’d blurted what had been on his mind? No brownies and three years of the cold shoulder.
Not that he’d done anything about it.
“Thanks, Dad,” Gabe said. “You’re looking good. Getting close to retiring, aren’t you?”
“I’ll never retire. I love working on cars and will as long as I can. I like working at home. I’ve fixed up the shed out back since you were there last. I’m restoring a couple of classic motorcycles.”
“That’s great,” Gabe said.
His grandfather hung his cane on a hook by his favorite chair and sat down with a sigh. “Wear a helmet, Mickey. Your luck, you’ll ram one of those motorcycles into a stone wall.”
“I didn’t say I’d be riding them.”
“You will be. It’s how you’re wired.”
Gabe didn’t come between them. His father and grandfather had a relationship built on unconditional love but tested by their different takes on life. Both were devoted to family and friends, but for Johnny Flanagan, stability, duty and predictability mattered more than ambition, risk and crazy dreams. “Best to want what you have,” he’d tell Gabe. For Mickey Flanagan, the grass was always greener doing what he wasn’t doing at the moment. He’d settled down some in recent years, but it hadn’t happened overnight.
They visited for a few minutes, but Gabe could see his grandfather was tired. His father leaned over and kissed the old man on the cheek. “I’ll walk Gabe out. You take care, Pop, okay? I’ll see you next week.”
Gabe gave his grandfather a hug, realizing, as he had for the past few years, this visit could be their last. He hoped it wouldn’t be. California suddenly seemed so damn far away when he’d tried telling himself it was just a plane ride, but Boston might as well have been the moon for his father and grandfather.
“You take care,” Gabe said, hearing the catch in his voice.
“Call me anytime, Gabe. Grace Webster knows how to do video calls. Says it’s easy. Skype or FaceTime or some damn thing.”
“We’ll set one up,” Gabe promised.
His grandfather yawned. “I’ll take a short nap. I’ve got to be ready for that tea.”
“Not giving in on the tights?” Mickey asked, grinning.
“I don’t want to give any of the girls a heart attack.”
On that note, Gabe left with his father, neither speaking until they were outside. His father had parked his motorcycle next to Gabe’s car. “Nice,” his father said. He nodded back toward the building. “I visit at least once a week. It was his choice to move in here. He didn’t want to come live with me.”
“It was an option?”
“Yeah. I have a spare bedroom. You’re welcome to it next visit. I’m on my own at the moment. I have a lady friend but we’re not...you know. I don’t live in a fancy town or a fancy neighborhood, but it suits me.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Gabe said, meaning it.
His father squinted at him in the hot sun. “I hear you stayed at the house you and Mark built out on the river. Does it bug you Felicity MacGregor owns it now?”
“It doesn’t bug me, but I’d have bought it.”
“Might have mentioned that to your brother.”
Gabe shrugged, smiling. “Might have.”
“It’s just as well.” His father held up a hand. “I know you, Gabe. I know how you think. I know you better than you give me credit for.”
“Know what I’m thinking now?”
His father sighed. “Do I want to know?”
“Sure. I’m thinking I’d like to give that old motorcycle of yours a spin when you get it restored.”
“It’s a beauty.” His expression turned serious. “You’ll stay in touch, won’t you?”
“Sure, Dad. Always.”
“You’re doing okay?”
Gabe nodded. “Just fine. No worries.”
“You’re doing fine financially. What about the rest of your life?”
“We’ll see,” Gabe said, leaving it there.
His father hesitated. “All right, I won’t go there. It’s your life.” He looked down at his feet—he had on old sport sandals—and then raised his eyes again to Gabe. “The woman I’m seeing is
