“You don’t have the right to judge,” Mr. Dowd said, handing Dylan half a sandwich. “Eve has lived with the fear of having nothing for so long, she needs to work, or she’ll go crazy.”
“Crazy?” The word seemed like an extreme example. “I think you are exaggerating the situation.”
“Can’t say I know what goes on in her head,” the older man said around a mouthful of pastrami on rye. “One thing’s for certain, I’ve known her longer than you have. When Ellie died, Eve stepped up for Daisy without a second thought. Don’t know how she manages, but somehow, she stretches every hour to the limit without faltering. Not once.”
“I know you and your wife have helped,” Dylan said, not wanting Mr. Dowd to think he wasn’t aware of his contributions.
“What’s hard about babysitting a little girl for a few hours now and then,” Mr. Dowd asked with a wave of his hand. “I’d like to do more. Fact is, when something goes wrong, like a stopped-up sink or a flat tire, Eve never thinks to ask for help. She fixes the problem herself.”
“I know.” Dylan sighed. Wanting to ask Mr. Dowd a question he didn’t feel comfortable discussing with Eve, he hesitated. “About the money my brother sent.”
“Money?” A deep line appeared between Mr. Dowd’s eyebrows as he stopped to think. “Can’t recall Eve mentioning anything. Not that she would, mind you.”
“No,” Dylan agreed.
“Come to think of it, I do remember Ellie received a few checks in the mail. You’d have to ask Eve if the payments continued.” Mr. Dowd made a tsking noise between his teeth. “Didn’t take you for the type who would begrudge a young woman a few dollars.”
“I don’t,” Dylan rushed to assure him.
But ten thousand dollars wasn’t a few dollars. The way Eve lived, taking part-time jobs and living paycheck to paycheck, he couldn’t understand that if she received the money, why hadn’t she used it to make life a little easier.
“Hope not.” Mr. Dowd offered Dylan a potato chip.
“Thank you, no,” he said, respectfully declining.
“Worried about your figure?” Mr. Dowd cackled as he patted his potbelly. “One of the benefits of growing old is I stopped worrying about my waistline. Of course, my wife worries plenty for me.”
“Must be nice.” Dylan smiled. “She looks after you. You look after her. Makes a nice symmetry.”
“Do you have a woman waiting for you back in Seattle? Or a man.” Mr. Dowd shrugged. “Love is love, either way.”
“No, sir. I don’t have anyone special.” For some reason, Dylan had the desire to apologize.
“You’re still young enough to play the field. Though not as young as you might think.” Mr. Dowd tossed a piece of bread toward a lurking squirrel. The rodent snatched up the offering and scampered up a nearby tree. “Time passes faster than you think. Best thing I ever did was to marry my best girl and start a family.”
“You think I need someone to grow old with?” Dylan asked.
“Hell, no,” Mr. Dowd scoffed. “Old age will come soon enough. Find a person to be young with. Dance. Sing. Stay out to all hours. Most of all, love her like there’s no tomorrow. Especially in bed. Or wherever you prefer.”
“Damn, Mr. Dowd.” Dylan laughed. “When you give advice, you don’t hold back.”
“After almost fifty years, my wife is still my sweetheart.” The older man let out a happy sigh. “We may not be as hot and heavy as when we first were married. But now and then when the mood is right, we can still heat the sheets up. Don’t tell my children.”
Tell Mr. Dowd’s children? How could he untell himself? Dylan felt a blush heat his cheeks, something that hadn’t happened since he was thirteen years old and he shared his first kiss under the bleachers with a beautiful older woman—fifteen and prettier than a spring day in May.
“Memories are good things,” Mr. Dowd said, somehow reading Dylan’s mind. “Keep them close. But don’t forget to live for today.”
“I won’t,” Dylan promised.
“Eve doesn’t think she needs anyone. Probably doesn’t,” Mr. Dowd said with a chuckle. “However, need and want are two different kinds of animals.”
“I…” Dylan shrugged. “I’m not sure what I should say.”
“Stop talking and start doing.” A mischievous twinkle entered the older man’s pale blue eyes. “I’ve seen the way you look at Eve. And I’d have to be blind not to notice the way she tries her damnedest not to look at you.”
Dylan wasn’t convinced. Other than a few smiles and a ceasefire at dinner, Eve sniped at him. To be fair, he sniped back. He enjoyed their verbal sparring, even when she did her best to royally piss him off and he returned the favor.
“We don’t get along—most of the time.”
“Hell, son,” Mr. Dowd said with a delighted cackle. “There’s a dance that lovers do before they get together. The steps are different for every couple. You and Eve fight. I was so shy, I could barely string two words together when Mrs. Dowd was around.”
As outspoken and outgoing as the older man was, Dylan found the idea that Mr. Dowd had a problem communicating his feelings hard to believe.
“Shy? You?” Dylan winked. “Tell me another one.”
“I fell for a woman who likes to talk and wants her man to have an answer when she does.” Mr. Dowd smiled at the memory. “Figured if I wanted to keep her, I better learn to open my mouth. Once the words started flowing, well, they just never stopped.”
“As you said, everyone is different.” Dylan shrugged. “Eve and I have too many obstacles in front of us.”
“Name one,” the older man challenged.
“I’ll name three,” Dylan said, his competitive streak kicking in. “First, we can’t be in the same room for five minutes without finding something to disagree about. Second, we’ve known each other for less than a week. Third, because I need to get back to Seattle, the chances of overcoming number two are almost nonexistent.”
“Almost?” Mr.
