Page 12

Chapter 12

Jay

H aving discovered an important piece of information, possibly even a case breaker, I woke up Tuesday morning in a good mood. I left early enough to grab Grannie’s coffee and treats for the office and still arrive before everyone else.

My first step towards making amends.

The rich scent of fresh brewed coffee brought back memories from high school. How many girls had I hit on from behind that counter? How many coffees had I given away before Mom caught on and started charging me?

I shook off the memory. That felt like a lifetime ago.

“Jay.”

I turned towards my mom’s voice. “Morning, Ma.”

“Looks like you and Cate had the same idea.”

What the hell ? The smile melted from my face faster than chocolate on a sidewalk in the middle of July .

Maxwell walked out of the hall leading to the bathrooms, and just like that, my good mood deflated. When she saw me, anger flared in her eyes before she forced herself to smile.

“What’s the matter?” My mom asked. There was no way in hell Dad hadn’t mentioned my fuck up.

“Nothing,” I grunted.

“Jay, come here.” She led me to a booth at the far side of her coffee shop. “Sit.”

I sat, and stared at the dark wood tabletop.

“Is it really so bad you both want to make amends by buying coffee for the office?”

Classic Ma. She didn’t ask if that was my plan or what had killed my smile. She didn’t have to . All that time away and she could still read me like an open book.

“No, but-”

“No buts. You both made a mistake, and you both want to make amends. Neither of you had any malicious intent in coming here.”

Am I really so transparent ?

I nodded. “You’re right.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Go figure out a compromise with Cate.” Mom didn’t like calling Maxwell by her last name, like we did at the office, claiming it sounded too stiff. Meg, Emily, Beth, and Blake used the shortened version, Max, but Ma didn’t like that either, so she called Maxwell “Cate”.

I wonder what her friends call her . What about her boyfriends?

Nope. It didn’t matter and it was none of my business .

“Yes, ma’am.” I stood up and accepted her hug. I didn’t feel close to my family, always feeling like the black sheep and believing I didn’t measure up, but I’d never say no to one of my mom’s hugs. “Thanks.”

“Today’s a fresh start. Now go.”

“Hey, Maxwell. Great minds think alike, huh?” I put too much effort into sounding cheerful and ended up sounding deranged instead.

I took it as a good sign when she half-chuckled and said, “I guess they do.”

Look at us not fighting . I got an image of us throwing down in my mother’s coffee shop and broke out in a cold sweat. I’d take Dad threatening to fire me a thousand times over before I’d do something to incur the wrath of Mary Sheppard. Or worse, the disappointment.

Her verbal smack downs were legendary in our family. Having earned more in my teen years than my three siblings combined, I didn’t ever want to be on the receiving end again. Of course, that was nothing compared to hearing her say, “I’m disappointed in you.”

Those words shredded me every time I heard them.

Not that I’d stopped doing the stupid shit that earned them.

With any luck, this was the last time I’d do something stupid and have to see that look in her eye, or hear that tone in her voice.

“Any objection to me picking up apology muffins, since you beat me to the apology coffee?”

“No. ”

“What’s your favorite?” I asked. It never hurt to extend a tasty olive branch.

“Cinnamon,” she answered, lifting her hand to look at her phone.

Her right hand was swollen, and she had small cuts on her knuckles. Courtesy of my teeth.

“Morning, Beth. Can I have dozen muffins, at least four blueberry and three cinnamon.”

“Coming right up.”

Mom handed Maxwell her coffees. “See you at the office,” Maxwell said as she headed for the door.

I nodded and paid Beth.

When my mother handed me the bag, she said, “Remember what I said; let go of yesterday and start fresh.”

“Thanks, Ma. Bye, Beth.”

Before the masses could ransack the bag, I made sure Meg and Maxwell got their choice of muffin.

Luckily, no one mentioned the previous day’s fight. Luck has nothing to do with it. I could imagine the carefully crafted email my father sent, warning everyone to let it go. Otherwise, my split lip and Maxwell’s swollen hand, would have sparked good-natured ribbing.

Nothing like the black sheep of the family spinning out of control and living up to his team nickname, the Tasmanian Devil, and fucking shit up in the family business .

Back in our office, before we got down to business, Maxwell walked up to me and stuck out her hand. “Truce?”

I grasped her hand in mine, keeping the pressure light so I didn’t hurt her swollen hand. But not so light she could accuse me of going easy on her. “Truce.”

She nodded and turned, mumbling, “I won’t lose another job because of another asshole.”

What the hell does that mean “another job”? Had this happened before? And who was the other asshole? Did I have to go kill someone? What? No. Why would I even think that?

I was dying to know if Maxwell had hit a previous co-worker. Before this moment, I would have put all my money on no.

Remembering our truce, I bit my tongue and filed the information away for later.