Enright Family Collection (41 page)

Nick looked at the sky and glanced at his watch. “I think we’d better get moving. It will be getting dark soon, and I don’t like the thought of going across the inlet without lights. If any of the bigger boats are coming through, they won’t be able to see us.”

Zoey stuck out her bottom lip and pretended to pout.

“Sorry, sweetie. Maybe next year.”

“Yeah.” Zoey stood up and dusted off the back of her jeans and sighed.

“Corri, it’s time to leave,” India called to the child, who had gone to the end of the jetty.

“I’ll get her,” Nick told her.

“So, what did you think of your first day of birding?” India held out the glasses for Zoey to hold while she unzipped her jacket and slid the notebook into the inside pocket.

“It was fun.” Zoey nodded, focusing the field glasses on something behind India. “I’d do it again next year. If I’m invited.”

“Of course you’re invited.”

“Indy, what’s kind of big, sort of light blue gray on the bottom and has black streaks on its face?” Zoey asked.

“I don’t know, Zoey, what’s kind of big, light blue gray on the bottom and has…” India stopped. “Do you see something that looks like that?”

“Umm-hmm.” Zoey nodded. “It has yellow legs.”

“You’re making this up, right?” India asked.

“No. It’s right there, on that low branch. Here, take a look.”

“Damn!” India exclaimed, all but jumping up and down.
“I have never seen one out here this time of year. Never never
ever.”

“What?”

“It’s a yellow-crowned night heron,” India said, a touch of awe in her voice. “Nick, come see. Zoey found a yellow-crowned night heron.”

“No way,” he said, taking the proffered glasses from her hand. “I’ll be damned. I never saw one here before.”

“All right, you two.” Zoey put an arm around each of their shoulders. “This is very sweet. You pretend to see something neat, I’ll make a wish and we’ll all go home happy.”

Nick lowered the glasses. “You can wish for real on this baby.” He winked and held the glasses out to Corri, saying, “Come look. You might be old before you see one of these again in December.”

“Really?” Zoey asked. “Is it really like, uncommon?”

“Very.” India grinned.

“Really.” Zoey grinned back.

“Go ‘head, little sister. Make your wish so that we can go home.”

Zoey bit her lip and smiled, a big, glorious happy smile, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she said, “Okay, Nicky, we can go now.”

As he helped her into the boat, Nick asked, “So, what did you wish for on your wishing bird?”

“I wished for someone who would look at me the way you look at India,” she said, patting his cheek fondly, “so that I could look at him the way she looks at you.”

Nick kissed the top of her head. “Duchess, somewhere in this vast world there is a man who has spent the better part of his life wandering, just searching for you.” He sighed. “And someday, heaven help him, he’ll find you.”

Walking to the boat with Corri, India felt Ry’s presence as surely as she felt the wind rustling through her hair.

A shiver ran up her spine when Corri turned back to the Light and waved.

“Why did you do that?” India asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“I was saying goodbye to Ry,” Corri said matter-of-factly as she swung her little legs over the side of the boat.

India glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see the sun’s rays dip a fraction lower behind the lighthouse and spread soft beams through the second-floor windows. For a second she could almost imagine that the very structure had winked at her. “Bye, Ry,” she whispered, and she followed Corri into the boat.

“I’ll bet Georgia’s here.” Zoey hopped out of Nick’s car and raced across August’s front yard and up the steps like a shot.

“Yeah! Georgia!” Corri fled the backseat and raced behind Zoey.

“Are you going to hit the ground running and abandon me too?” Nick asked India.

“Never.”

“Well, this might be our only quiet moment for the rest of the day,” Nick said, reaching into his jacket pocket to withdraw a tiny box wrapped in gold foil, “so I should probably give you this now. Open it.”

He sat back, watching for her reaction when she opened the box.

“Oh, Nick, they’re beautiful.” India held up the earrings to admire their color. “Are they amethysts?”

“Actually, they are violet sapphires,” he told her. “I saw them in an antique store. They matched your eyes so perfectly I couldn’t resist.”

“They are wonderful.” She leaned across the console to wrap her arms around his neck. “I love them.”

“Good.” He beamed, accepting her thanks and her kisses.

“I want to put them on.” She slipped the slender gold hoops from her earlobes and replaced them with the big oval-shaped stones. Pulling the visor down to look into the mirror, she murmured, “They’re the prettiest stones I ever saw. Gorgeous. Thank you, Nick.”

“You are very welcome. Now let’s go show Mother how perfect they look on you.”

“Your mother already saw them?”

“She was with me when I found them in Baltimore, the weekend we went down to watch Georgia dance.” He
hopped out the driver’s side and slammed the door, then waited for India at the end of the walk. “So were Georgia and Zoey. The consensus was that I would never again find stones such a perfect match to your eyes and that you had to have them. I almost think if I hadn’t bought them for you, my mother would have.”

India slipped her hand through his arm, thinking about all the Enrights gathered around the counter discussing the color of her eyes in a Baltimore antique store, and she smiled. She could see and feel the circle of her life expanding to hold them all, Nick and his sisters, his mother, and the smallest seed of joy began to expand slightly inside her chest.

“Where’s my baby sister?” Nick asked from the hallway.

“We’re all in here,” Delia called from the dining room. “You’re just in time. August and I have dinner just about ready to serve.”

“Mother, you’ve been cooking again,” Nick teased, knowing that his mother hadn’t prepared an entire meal in fifteen years, having employed a full-time cook to do the honors for her. He swept Georgia off her feet, spinning the tiny elfinlike blonde around the room, before gently setting her down.

“Yes, I have been cooking, darling.” Delia kissed his cheek. “And it’s been fun. August and I have had a wonderful time. India, dear, let me see those earrings on you. Oh, yes, perfect with your eyes. Look, girls, India is wearing the sapphire earrings.”

Swept up in the Enrights’ descent upon her earlobes, India found herself laughing. The Enright women were filled with love and the warmth of the holiday spirit, and in seeing them all together, India thought perhaps she had found the genesis of Nick’s sensitivity and gentleness, of his ease with women and his understanding of the opposite sex. He was, she knew, a man who without apology wore his heart on his sleeve. It was all there in the toast he offered at the dinner table.

“To the extraordinary women in my life.” He stood, his glass of Christmas wine held aloft in a gold-rimmed goblet. “To Miss Corri Devlin”—he addressed the child who sat at his left—“who delights us all just by being Corri. To
August, a woman of great strength and wisdom, who shared her wonderful family with me and permitted me to feel a part of it. To Georgia, the iron butterfly, who looks so delicate but who we know is solid as a rock; and to Zoey, who brings spirit and life to everything she touches. And Mother, who is the glue who holds us all together, and who always inspired us to follow our hearts. … And to India”—his voice dropped just slightly—“who has filled all those tiny places in my life that I never even knew needed filling. … Thank you all for sharing this wonderful holiday season with me.”

There was a silence as the women at the table sipped at their wine, all hoping to dislodge the lump in their throats.

“Thank you, Nick.” August sniffed. “And if I may, I’d like to offer a blessing on our children, Delia.” August looked to the opposite end of the table, where Delia occupied the head, and said, “Those who are with us, and those who are not.”

Delia nodded slowly, then raised her glass to her lips. “To
all
of our children.”

Delia and August exchanged a look of quiet sympathy.

“Well then, Delia, shall we feed the ones we have with us today?” August rose, motioning for India to help serve the many dishes that were lined up on the sideboard, waiting to become part of the holiday feast.

“That was lovely, Nicky.” Zoey sighed. “Sometimes it’s just so hard to believe that you’re the same brutish beast who used to tie us up and leave us in the orchard and tell Mother that we ran away from home.”

“I only did that once,” he reminded her.

“No, it was more than once,” Georgia corrected him. “It was at least three times that I remember.”

“I think you have me confused with Ben,” Nick replied innocently. “It was Ben who used to like to torture you.”

“Nice try, Nicky. But as I recall, it was Ben who always saved us from you.” Zoey sipped at her wine and peered at him across the long, low centerpiece of greens, pineapples and pomegranates that marched down the center of the antique dining table.

“I wonder where Ben is these days,” Georgia mused.

“I’ve wondered that many times myself,” Nick said as he
rose at the silent command from his mother to come into the kitchen.

“Me, too.” Zoey swirled her wine slowly in the thin crystal goblet.

“You always had such a crush on him,” Georgia recalled.

“Who is that, dear?” Delia entered the room ahead of her son, who carried the golden Christmas goose on an ornate silver tray.

“We were talking about Ben Pierce,” Georgia told her, “and wondering whatever happened to him.”

“I’ve gotten the occasional card from him over the years.” Delia said, placing a silver serving bowl of mashed potatoes and leeks on the table.

“I didn’t know that.” Zoey turned to look at her mother. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? When was the last time?”

Delia shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me, I suppose. Or maybe you were on one of your little jaunts when it arrived, Zoey, I don’t really recall. The last card was for my birthday, maybe two or three years ago. I believe I mentioned it to Nicky.”

“I think that last one was posted in London,” Nick added.

“Yes, that sounds right,” Delia said over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.

“London?” Zoey looked at Nick. “I wonder what Ben would be doing in London.”

“Same thing he could be doing anywhere,” Nick said with a shrug, “since we don’t know what he does for a living. Or maybe he was on vacation.”

“Isn’t it odd that he remembered Mother’s birthday after all these years?” Zoey mused thoughtfully.

“Yes and no,” Nick said. “I think Mother is his link to a
time
in his life. Maybe every once in a while, he thinks back to that time.”

“And it just conveniently happens to be around Mother’s birthday?” Zoey took the bowl of Brussels sprouts from India’s hands and placed them on the table.

“Now, this is your childhood friend whose mother worked for your mother?” India placed the oyster, corn-bread and sausage stuffing on the table near Corri, who had developed a real fondness for this old Devlin family special.

“Oh, Maureen was far more than an employee to me,” Delia said, looking at the table to see if anything was missing. Satisfied that the appropriate dishes had made their way into the dining room, she nodded to August and the two women seated themselves at their respective ends of the table. “She was like that sister I never had. She ran my house, ran my life, so that I could work those first very important years while I was struggling to make my literary mark. Ben was like a second son to me. I loved that boy, I willingly admit it. I hated to see his grandfather take him after Maureen died, but he was his only living relative. He had every right to want to raise his grandson.”

“And you just lost track of him after that?” August asked.

“I wrote to him several times over the years, but I never got an answer. I think maybe it hurt him too much to think back to those days when we were all together, when his mother was still alive,” Nick said.

“I think you might be right, dear. It was terribly hard for Ben.” Delia nodded. “I know he wasn’t happy with his grandfather. I’ve always thought that someday our paths would cross his again, though.”

“Maybe someday they will,” Georgia said, then turned to Zoey and frowned. “Why are you putting food on my plate?”

“Because you haven’t put anything there yourself,” her sister snapped.

“I did so.” Georgia speared an extra Brussels sprout and plopped it onto Zoey’s plate.

“Two Brussels sprouts. One very small, very thin piece of goose. A tablespoon of stuffing. Six—make that seven— very tiny carrots.” Zoey proceeded with a roll call of the contents of Georgia’s plate.

“Zoey, may I remind you that I have a mother, and that she is, in fact, in this room? You might note that she is not giving me grief.”

“Georgia, you are so thin you look like an afterthought,” Zoey defended herself.

“Zoey, I dance for a living. It’s sort of like doing aerobics all day long.”

“That’s why you need to eat. You need energy.” Zoey spooned a heap of dressing onto Georgia’s plate.

Georgia heaped it back onto Zoey’s. “I am not dancing today. I don’t need—”

“Girls, that’s enough. Zoey, leave your sister alone. Georgia, Zoey’s merely concerned about you, as we all are. It’s obvious that over the past several months you’ve lost weight that you clearly can’t afford to lose. And we’ll discuss that later.” Delia adeptly shelved the topic of her youngest child’s weight.

“This is a very handsome room, Miss Devlin,” Georgia ventured after a few moments of studied silence. “I feel like I’m sitting in a colonial museum.”

August leaned over to pat Georgia’s hand. “Thank you, dear. I feel that way myself some days. It’s almost overwhelming to think how many generations of Devlins called this house home. Now, this room is the original keeping room—circa 1720, possibly a little earlier—which accounts for a fireplace of those proportions.” She pointed to the opposite side of the spacious room.