Page 4 of Heat Exchange
Ashley snorted. “Becky was like eight girlfriends ago. Karen. We like her and it’s been like four months now, which might be a record for Rick.”
Lydia looked down at the sundress she’d thrown on that morning because it was comfortable and the pale pink not only looked great with her dark coloring, but also cheered her up. It was a little wrinkled from travel, but not too bad. It wasn’t as if Kincaid’s was known for being a fashion hot spot. “And Karen couldn’t keep on helping him out?”
“She’s an ER nurse. Works crazy hours, I guess, so she helps out, but can’t commit to a set schedule. And you know how Dad is about family.”
“It’s Kincaid’s Pub so, by God, there should be a Kincaid in it,” Lydia said in a low, gruff voice that made Ashley laugh.
Even as she smiled at her sister’s amusement, Lydia had to tamp down on the old resentment. There had been no inspirationalyou can be the President of the United States if you want tospeeches for Tommy’s daughters. His two daughters working the bar at Kincaid’s Pub while being wonderfully supportive firefighters’ wives was a dream come true for their old man.
Lydia had been the first to disappoint him. Her unwillingness to give the alcoholic serial cheaterjust one more chancehad been the first blow, and then her leaving Kincaid’s and moving to New Hampshire had really pissed him off.
Sometimes she wondered how their lives would have turned out if their mom hadn’t died of breast cancer when Lydia and Ashley were just thirteen and fourteen. Scotty had been only nine, but he was his father’s pride and joy. Joyce Kincaid hadn’t taken any shit from her gruff, old-school husband, and Lydia thought maybe she would have pushed hard for her daughters to dream big. And then she would have helped them fight to make those dreams come true.
Or maybe their lives wouldn’t have turned out any different and it was just Lydia spinning what-ifs into pretty fairy tales.
After carrying her bag upstairs to the guest room, Lydia brushed her hair and exchanged her flip-flops for cute little tennis shoes that matched her dress and would be better for walking.
“Are you sure you want to walk?” Ashley asked. “It’s a bit of a hike.”
“It’s not that far, and I won’t have to find a place to park.”
“I’d go with you, but...”
But her not wanting to be at Kincaid’s was the entire reason Lydia had uprooted herself and come home. “I get it. And I won’t be long. I’ll be spending enough time there as it is, so I’m just going to pop in, say hi and get the hell out.”
Ashley snorted. “Good luck with that.”
It was a fifteen-minute walk from the Walsh house to Kincaid’s Pub, but Lydia stretched it out a bit. The sights. The sounds. The smells. No matter how reluctant she was to come back here or how many years she was away, this would always be home.
A few people called to her, but she just waved and kept walking. Every once in a while she’d step up the pace to make it look like she was in a hurry. But the street was fairly quiet and in no time, she was standing in front of Kincaid’s Pub.
It was housed in the lower floor of an unassuming brick building. Okay, ugly. It was ugly, with a glass door and two high, long windows. A small sign with the name in a plain type was screwed to the brick over the door, making it easy to overlook. It was open to anybody, of course, but the locals were their bread and butter, and they liked it just the way it was.
Her dad had invested in the place—becoming a partner to help out the guy who owned it—almost ten years before his heart attack hastened his retirement from fighting fires, and he’d bought the original owner out when he was back on his feet. Once it was solely Tommy’s, he’d changed the name to Kincaid’s Pub, and Ashley and Lydia had assumed their places behind the bar.
After taking a deep breath, she pulled open the heavy door and walked inside. All the old brick and wood seemed to absorb the light from the many antique-looking fixtures, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
It looked just the same, with sports and firefighting memorabilia and photographs covering the brick walls. The bar was a massive U-shape with a hand-polished surface, and a dozen tables, each seating four, were scattered around the room. In an alcove to one side was a pool table, along with a few more seating groups.
Because there wasn’t a game on, the two televisions—one over the bar and one hung to be seen from most of the tables—were on Mute, with closed-captioning running across the bottom. The music was turned down low because Kincaid’s was loud enough without people shouting to be heard over the radio.
Lydia loved this place. And she hated it a little, too. But in some ways it seemed as though Kincaid’s Pub was woven into the fabric of her being, and she wasn’t sorry to be there again.
“Lydia!” Her father’s voice boomed across the bar, and she made a beeline to him.
Tommy Kincaid was a big man starting to go soft around the middle, but he still had arms like tree trunks. They wrapped around her and she squealed a little when he lifted her off her feet. “I’ve missed you, girl.”
She got a little choked up as he set her down and gave her a good looking over. Their relationship could be problematic at times—like most of the time—but Lydia never doubted for a second he loved her with all his heart. Once upon a time, he’d had the same thick, dark hair she shared with her siblings, but the gray had almost totally taken over.
He looked pretty good, though, and she smiled. “I’m glad you missed me, because it sounds like you’ll be seeing a lot of me for a while.”
A scowl drew his thick eyebrows and the corners of his mouth downward. “That sister of yours. I don’t know what’s going through her mind.”
She gave him a bright smile. “Plenty of time for that later. Right now I just want to see everybody and have a beer.”
A blonde woman who was probably a few years older than her smiled from behind the bar. “I’m Karen. Karen Shea.”
Lydia reached across and shook her hand. “We really appreciate you being able to help out.”
