Mrs. Sampson took the towels from Darcy. “I’ve managed to take care of myself all these years while you’ve been up north with your big city job.”
Darcy’s defenses rose. But instead of taking the bait, she went to the swinging doors that led to the dining room so that she could calm the customers.
To her surprise, the row of booths covered in green vinyl and the seats around the mahogany bar were empty.
She checked her watch. Two o’clock. The lunch hour had passed, but normally there’d be a half a dozen folks eating a late lunch.
As she glanced around the deserted room, she realized the place hadn’t changed in twenty years. It still smelled of stale cigarettes and beer and was decorated with her brother’s football memorabilia, including jerseys from his peewee days through his brief time with the Pittsburgh Steelers.
Growing up, Darcy had jokingly called the room The Shrine, though deep inside it hurt knowing her parents’ world revolved solely around her brother. She’d been all but invisible to them.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. She ignored the tightness in her chest and walked back into the kitchen.
“We don’t open for lunch anymore.” Her mother surveyed the mess around the stove as she pushed a trembling hand through her short gray hair. “We open at five now.”
That surprised her. “Why? The lunch crowd was always profitable.”
Her mother got a broom from a small closet by the back door. “Trevor says lunch is more trouble than it is worth. The real money is made at dinner and the bar.”
Her brother, Trevor, had become the tavern manager after their father’s death last year. Trevor had just been cut from the Steelers and was at loose ends. At the time, his managing the restaurant had seemed like a win-win solution for everyone.
“Dad never missed an opportunity to make money. He only closed on Christmas Day. Trevor’s decision must have Dad rolling in his grave.”
Jan Sampson shot an annoyed glance her daughter’s way. She wasn’t willing to discuss Trevor’s managerial decisions. But instead of saying so, she diverted the conversation to another topic. “Good Lord, I’ve never seen a fire jump like that.”
Darcy could feel a headache coming on. “I get the hint—Trevor is perfect.” It had been six years since she’d moved away from home, but it surprised her how deep old resentments still ran.
Her mother ignored the comment.
Darcy drew in a calming breath. This visit home was going to work. “What caused the fire, Mom?”
Her mother tugged down the edges of her Steelers yellow T-shirt. “I was frying potatoes when I noticed there were dishes to be put away. I got distracted. The next thing I know, you’re screaming fire.”
“You could have burned the whole place down.”
Anger flashed in her mother’s eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?”
Darcy pushed aside her annoyance. She’d come home for a story—not a tender family reunion. “I was fired.” The lie tumbled over her lips easily. She’d decided on the drive down that honesty wasn’t the best policy if she were going to get Gannon to talk to her. Her mother couldn’t keep a secret.
Mrs. Sampson stopped her sweeping. “Fired?”
Darcy shoved her hands in her pockets. She’d rehearsed this conversation on the drive down. “A week ago.”
“You were always in the center of trouble as a kid.”
“Straight As was how I remember it,” she said, her anger rising. “And I worked in our family’s restaurant full time all the way through college.”
Mrs. Sampson ignored what Darcy had said. “Why did they fire you?”
There was no point arguing. “I wrote an exposé on a developer. He used shoddy materials in his buildings. Turns out he was a major advertiser with the paper. I refused to drop the story. I got fired.” It all had sounded plausible when she’d made it up, but now she found she had trouble meeting her mother’s gaze.
Mrs. Sampson started to sweep up the burned flour, again. “That doesn’t make sense. I see your name in the paper a lot. Your articles are good enough.”
Unreasonably pleased, she stood a little taller. “You get The Post?”
Mrs. Sampson shrugged. “From time to time. I buy it from the drugstore.”
Darcy stood five inches taller than her mother, yet she still felt like a five-year-old at times. “Any articles you liked in particular?”
“No. Would you get the dustpan?”
Grateful for the task, she dug the pan out of the broom closet and knelt down so her mother could sweep the pile of flour onto the pan.
“You should have listened to your boss, Darcy.”
Darcy picked up the full pan and dumped it in the trash can. “You’re right.”
Her mother studied her an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure if Darcy was being sarcastic or not. Darcy tried to look sincere.
Mrs. Sampson softened a fraction. “What about that boyfriend of yours?”
“We broke up almost a year ago.”
Mrs. Sampson swept up the rest of the flour and dumped it into the trash can. “I saw that Stephen guy on the Today Show when he was reporting on those fires in Washington last year. I thought his smile was too quick.”
“And fake too. Would you believe he spent thousands on caps?” His new, rich girlfriend had paid for them. “I still can’t believe I wasted two years with him.”
Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “So you’ve nowhere else to go and you’ve come home.”
Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “I know I’ve not been the best daughter. Dad and I fought so much and I didn’t even stay for the reception after the funeral.”
The apology caught Mrs. Sampson by surprise. More tension drained from her shoulders. “Your father wasn’t the easiest man either, Darcy. I knew he could be difficult.”
An unexpected lump formed in her throat. “I was hoping I could crash here for a while.”
Mrs. Sampson was silent for a moment. “Of course, you can stay here for a while. In fact, I’ve an opening for a waitress. Our waitress quit just yesterday. I’ll have to check with Trevor of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t work the tables like you used to.”
“That would be great.” The idea of working in the restaurant didn’t appeal, but it would be the perfect cover story.
Her mother nodded. “You can start by taking out this trash. Then, when you get your bags put away, you can start prepping for the dinner crowd. My cook, George, is on break now but he’ll be back within the hour.”
“George? What happened to Dave?” Dave had cooked for the Varsity since she’d been in elementary school.
Mrs. Sampson sighed. “He quit about six months ago.”
There was a time when she’d known everything about the Varsity. Now she was the outsider. “Everything all right with him?”
She stood a little straighter. “He just wanted more money than we could pay.”
“That doesn’t sound like Dave.” The tall, lean man always enjoyed a good joke and kept Eskimo Pies for Darcy in the freezer.
“People change.”
The tone in her mother’s voice told