Rolling in the Deep by Rebecca Rogers Maher Read Free Book Online Page A

That quiets my hormones, thank God, and gets me back where I need to be—thinking of a plan. For myself and Holly both. Because it’s not just her who’s winning this money. It’s her child. She can provide for him now in ways she never could have dreamed of before. I can’t imagine how that must feel.
    I think of my own mother, of how she would have reacted to this at Holly’s age—to be relieved of the burden of working so hard for Tony and me. I think of her going on vacation, of taking a break, and it hits me so hard in the chest I actually gasp.
    “Ray?” Holly reaches for my hand, and that only deepens the feeling. It spreads it out, like a wildfire, so that now there are tears in my eyes, too. On another day I might have been able to contain that. But not today. Nothing is fitting inside its container anymore. It’s spilling out everywhere.
    Holly rises and comes around to my side of the booth. She doesn’t speak. Just presses her shoulder against mine, and although it sends a seismic tremor through my midsection, it’s exactly the right thing. I lean into her for a minute, and close my eyes.
    “My mom died in December.” I wipe my face with both hands. “She would have been able to, you know…”
    “She could have been part of this.”
    “Yeah.” I move away slightly, partly to break the overwhelming physical contact with Holly, and partly so I can see her face. And she can see mine. “You know the reason I moved up here?”
    She tilts her head. “I was wondering.”
    “I’m supposed to apply to the Culinary. Mom made me promise, before she died.”
    “You’re a chef?” Holly smiles.
    I laugh a little. “Not yet. I’ve cooked a lot of plates of eggs. But I’m not a chef. I want to be. I mean, I think I do.”
    “Did you apply, then? Are you waiting to see if you’ve been accepted?”
    “I’m too chickenshit.”
    Holly snorts. “Yeah, right.”
    “No. Seriously. I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m scared as hell of failing at it.”
    “That’s honest.”
    “Yeah, well, honesty’s all I got.”
    Holly eyes me. “That and about two hundred million dollars.”
    Lord—this woman. “There is that.”
    She smiles. “Yes.”
    “And what about you?” I lean back against the wall, crammed in between the jukebox and the back of the booth. “Do you have a dream job? Or would you just retire? I mean, will you. It’s not a matter of ifs anymore, is it.”
    She huffs out a thick breath. “I guess not.”
    “What will you do?”
    Holly props an elbow on the table and grabs a sugar packet to play with. She shakes it nervously. “I don’t know.”
    “Is there something that you love?”
    Her eyes fill up again. “Gardening. Flowers. You know, planting.”
    I can’t help it—I rest my hand against her cheek, and wipe a tear away with my thumb. “Why are you crying?”
    She leans against my hand.
God in heaven.
    “Because…” She grabs a napkin from the table dispenser and dabs it against her face. “Because…I don’t know. I can have a house now, maybe. And there’s this community garden where I volunteer? We never have enough money for supplies. Everyone kicks in whatever they can afford, but it’s never…And now I can—”
    “You can buy the whole damn city and plant flowers on it.”
    She laughs. “Not quite.”
    “You could have your own garden.” I smile at that—at the image of her in a backyard, with a big floppy hat and a tiny little shovel. “You could, I don’t know, build other people’s gardens.”
    “Landscaping.” She sniffs, and hides a smile behind her scrunched-up napkin.
    “Right.” Her other hand taps against the tabletop. I cover it with my fingers. “You could be a landscape gardener.”
    She turns her hand over and presses her palm against mine. “And you could buy your own restaurant.”
    “Whoa. You’re right.”
    She breathes in unevenly, her gaze fixed with mine, and I realize both of my hands are on her now—one in her hair, one on