Rory opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I want to marry Patrick and move to Boston with him. He has a daughter there, and his first grandchild on the way. We might even travel a bit; I’ve barely seen any of my new country. But of course, it’s not just about me.”
Not just about her? What did she—oh. Rory swallowed and forced himself to straighten up and find a casual tone of voice. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“You’re my nephew,” she said. “Of course I’m worried about you.”
Her nephew. He waved his hand, like this was fine, his throat wasn’t closing. He wasnotgoing to be the thing that stood between Mrs. Brodigan and happiness. Not in a million years was he gonna tie her down. “You don’t gotta worry. Let’s close the shop. You get married and run off into the sunset with Mr. McIntyre.”
She didn’t look convinced. “And what are you going to do if you’re not working here?”
He scoffed. “I got about a million things I can do,” he lied. “I got magic, Mrs. B. I’ll be fine.”
“And you have Arthur,” she said, looking a little mollified as she picked her tea up again. “And you have Miss Robbins, and Mr. Zhang, and the Ivanovs.”
“’Course I do,” he lied again. Because he didn’t, not for this. They couldn’t take care of him when they all hadfamilies they needed to take care of, and he loved Mrs. B like a real aunt, but she was gonna have a real family of her own again.
He forced a smile. “I got so many options. You don’t have to worry about me at all. Marry your fella. I’m so happy for you.” The last part was the truth, and he didn’t have to force his smile as he said it.
She smiled back, tentative but hopeful. “You are?”
“So happy.” He set his tea down and took her hand. “Mr. McIntyre’s the luckiest man in the world, getting you,” he said tightly. “You’re the best family anyone could ever have.”
“Oh, lovey, stop, you’re going to make me cry,” she said, her voice thicker, and squeezed his hand. “This isn’t a forever goodbye. We’ll see each other—we’ll keep in touch—”
“’Course we will.” Rory let her hand go. Would they? Did anyone really keep in touch when they found a new family?
“And I’m not leaving you in the cold,” she said, as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know how I would have made it these last four years without you. You’ve never let me pay you what you’re worth, so I’ve set something aside every month. It’s not much, but it’s rightfully yours.”
“What? No,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “No, you gotta keep that, even if you’re married.Especiallyif you’re married. Everyone oughta have a savings that’s only their own, just in case.”
She gave him a watery side-eye. “That’s rather cynical of you, dear.”
“Sometimes people bail on the ones they’re supposed to take care of,” he said, voice strained. His emotions were already too raw; he didn’t want to think about his dad right now. “You keep the money, I got—Arthur.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only grudgingly let Arthur buy you two things, a hat and your glasses.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I’m gonna ask him for lotsa help now, so you can go get married.” And God help him, he needed to stop lying to Mrs. Brodigan. “I need you to keep it, because I need to know that you’re gonna be all right.”
She sighed. “We’ll talk about it,” she promised.
Sure they would. Rory made himself smile again. “Guess we better figure out how we’re gonna sell all this stuff.” He could be useful still. Then after that—he didn’t need to be needed by Mrs. Brodigan anymore. That was fine.
“Patrick will help us,” she said, and her faith in her new man was reassuring. “Selling items, cleaning, closing out the books, there’s so much to do.”
“Great.” He bit his lip.
Because among all the things he’d need to do was find a newspaper and the want ads.
Rory spent the last of the afternoon and most of the evening packing antiques into boxes and dusting shelves he already kept dust free. He made aGoing Out of Businesssign to put in the window in the morning that might prompt some bargain hunters to come in.
As he was locking the front door, Mrs. Brodigan came back in through the side door. “You’ve got another postcard from Arthur.”
Rory nearly tripped over his own feet in his scramble over to her. She passed it over with a soft smile.
The air was still chilly on his walk home to his boarding house. He bought copies of theSunand thePostoff a newsie and left most of the papers on the main table for the other tenants to read, pulling out just the ads and taking them up to his room, where he sat cross-legged on his bed and spread them out on his quilt.
Help Wanted.
