Broken Pieces: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

could read her customers’ woes simply by the set of their shoulders or the tone of their voice.
    “So you’ve heard?”
    She leaned forward. “Honey, everybody’s heard.” She gestured toward a wall of photos where another of our childhood friends had hung a collection of photographs documenting special moments in the town’s everyday life.
    “I’m surprised someone didn’t capture his arrival and post it front and center on the wall. One of Paris’s most famous sons,” she said in a mock announcer voice.
    “And lousiest fathers,” I added.
    “There is that.” Her expression turned serious. “He was in here this morning.”
    “Here?” I frowned. “I was hoping he’d be on his way back to New York.”
    Jessica shook her head. “Stopped by for a stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee. Said he’d see me tomorrow.”
    Disbelief pushed at the high I still felt after my presentation. “You have got to be kidding me.”
    “Nope.” She slid a chocolate-glazed doughnut with sprinkles in front of me. “Why the surprise visit?”
    I took a bite of doughnut, gave Jessica the thumbs-up, chewed, and swallowed. “To quote the mighty Albert Jones, ‘Can’t a father visit his daughter?’”
    Jessica glanced from one end of the counter to the other, checking on her customers; then she wiped the counter in front of me, by all appearances working a stubborn spot.
    “It’s a valid question,” she said, her voice soft.
    All my life, she’d had a knack for saying exactly what I needed to hear. This statement, however, was ridiculous.
    “You’re kidding, right?” I set down my doughnut.
    Two new customers settled at the counter. Jessica gave each a warm greeting, handed them menus, then moved back to where I sat.
    “You used to complain about not seeing him,” she said.
    I laughed. “I haven’t complained in a very long time.”
    “Fair enough,” she said. “Look, I’ll never forgive him for the way he faded from your life, but what if he wants a second chance?”
    I held up a hand to stop her train of thought.
    Had I ever considered what I’d do if my father did ask me for a second chance? Sure. Twenty years ago. Hell, even ten years ago.
    But now?
    “Too little, too late,” I said flatly. “Ask me about the opera house instead.”
    Jessica’s brows wrinkled momentarily, suggesting she didn’t quite believe me; then she smiled. “Tell me. I’ve been dying to hear.”
    I shoved away all thoughts of Albert Jones and relived every moment, doing my best to ignore the fact that a measure of my excitement had faded after talking about my father.
    “I’ve got a good feeling,” Jessica said.
    She gave my hand a pat just as a gathering of Clipper Club members hooted and hollered from the back corner of the restaurant, their favorite meeting place.
    “Bucket-list day,” Jessica explained. “Mona had this crazy idea that if she added ‘theme’ days, the club would take on a new life.”
    Jessica’s grandmother had started the coupon-clipping club at the height of the extreme-saving craze, but the group’s focus had become more social than anything else.
    “What’s on yours?” I asked.
    “Healthy kids. Happy family. You?”
    I ignored her question. “What about your plans to take over the restaurant world?”
    She grinned, pulling a snapshot from her apron pocket. In it she stood behind her son and daughter, her arms wrapped tightly around their shoulders, pride and love shining in her posture and expression.
    “I’ve got everything I need right there.” She tapped the photo. “Your turn,” she said, as she tucked the picture safely away.
    I frowned, as if I didn’t understand what she meant.
    She simply said, “Answer.”
    I took a swallow of hot coffee.
    A long time ago there had been only one thing on my bucket list—one thing I could never have again.
    My mother. My father. My family.
    Just as we’d once been. Happy. Whole. Untouched by illness, and death, and