Enright Family Collection (79 page)

“Careful, Zoey,” he whispered. “I’m not feeling very big brotherly right now.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, and pulled his mouth back to hers.

Oblivious to everything else, she backed toward the porch railing and danced him around slowly, still kissing him, as she eased him against the rail and leaned into his embrace. She fought the sudden urge to rip his shirt off, to run her hands down his chest, touch his bare skin, and . . .

“Zoey?” Georgia’s voice called from the hallway.

“Zoey, someone is calling you.” He disengaged his mouth from hers.

“It’s my sister,” Zoey grumbled. “Her timing has always been lousy.”

“Actually,” he whispered, “her timing couldn’t have been better. A few more minutes alone out here with you, under the moonlight, and I would not have been responsible for the consequences.”

“Zoe?”

Zoey sighed and called, “Out here, Georgia.”

“Oh, there you are.” Georgia stepped outside and stopped at the sight of her sister, with her flushed face
and swollen lips, and was torn between being embarrassed at having interrupted an intimate moment, and wanting to see who it was who had her sister all but panting. Not that it was her business.

Which of course did not stop her from continuing across the porch deck to hug Zoey and see what she could see.

Zoey returned her sister’s affectionate greeting. “Georgia, you remember Ben Pierce.”

“Ben? I heard you were back!” Georgia reached behind Zoey pointedly to offer Ben her hand.

“Little Georgia!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. Look at you.”

Georgia grinned. “All grown up now, Ben.”

“I’ll say you are. You look wonderful.”

“So. Did you just arrive?” Zoey asked her sister.

“A while ago. I was schmoozing with the guests.” Georgia made herself comfortable on the railing next to Ben as if oblivious to the current that ran between the couple on the porch. “Nicky tells me you’ve been racing cars in Europe. How exciting. I want to hear all about it.”

“And one of these days, you shall. Now, don’t you think you should see if Mom needs any help?”

“Help doing what?” Georgia pretended not to understand.

“With whatever it is she is doing.”

Georgia dismissed Zoey’s concern aside with a wave of her hand and a perfectly innocent straight face.

“Mom is fine. Isn’t it a lovely night? Look at the pond, the moon is reflected so totally perfectly in the water.”

“It was perfect up until about sixty seconds ago,” Zoey hissed.

Unable to contain herself, Georgia tilted her head back and laughed.

“Actually, August sent me to find you. Mother is going to make the formal announcement of Nick and India’s engagement now, and wanted you both to be there.”

“Oh. Of course.” Zoey nodded with little enthusiasm.

Georgia grinned and said, “Can I tell Mom three minutes?”

“Better make it five.”

“But no more than five, okay? I think there were some guests who were preparing to leave and Mom convinced them to wait just a few for the toast.”

“We’ll be right in,” Zoey told her, all but shooing her sister toward the door.

“Georgia looks terrific,” he said.

“Yes. She does.”

“And she’s right about the moonlight there on the pond,” he continued, drawing her back to him inch by inch. “It’s almost magical, don’t you think? A moon that big and bright . . .”

“Ummm. Magical.” She permitted herself to be encircled in his arms and nuzzled the side of his neck, catching the trace of aftershave that hinted of musk, then toyed with his bottom lip, just to give him something to think about later, after the party when he was back at his grandfather’s condo. “Peter Pan.”

“What?”

“My father used to call it a ‘Peter Pan’ moon.”

He held her at arm’s length for a second, then said, “I’ve never heard you—or Georgia, for that matter, mention your father. Nick used to talk about him, but I don’t recall that you ever did.”

“He’s not been a factor in our lives. You know that he left us and closed the door a long time ago, Ben. Right after Georgia was born. She has no recollection of him at all. My memories are very sketchy. Being the oldest, Nick would remember him the best. We just don’t have much reason to talk about him anymore.”

“Do you ever wonder where he is? If he’s alive?”

Zoey shrugged noncommittally. “Not really. Other than to wonder why he walked out on my mother and his three children and just never looked back.”

“Do you know for a fact that he never did?”

“What? Look back?” She shook her head. “He remarried
eighteen years ago. He has another family. We don’t exist as far as he is concerned.”

“It’s a very strange thing, don’t you think?” He ran his hands slowly up and down her arms as if to warm them in the cool spring air, an almost unconscious yet familiar gesture. “Why he left, why he cut all ties . . .”

“I used to think it was because of something that I had done,” she whispered into his chest, as if afraid to face him with the admission. “Then, a few years ago, Georgia said she thought it was because of her. That since he left so soon after her birth, it must have been because of her. Nicky, however, was convinced that somehow it had been his fault.”

“Funny, isn’t it, that as children, we think we have this huge power, that everything that happens is somehow a result of something we had done or thought. That somehow we were responsible, even though we rarely ever are.”

“Well, as adults, we all understand that now. But it has taken a long time to have come to that realization, for all three of us.”

“And none of you ever asked your mother?”

“I never did. I suspect that Georgia has not, either. If Nicky did, he kept it to himself. I always felt that there was something very deep there, something she could not talk about. That if she could have, she would have.”

“Zoey, everyone’s waiting for you,” Georgia called from the doorway.

“We’re coming.” She disengaged herself from Ben’s arms reluctantly. It had been comforting, for just a moment, to have someone to share an old deep hurt with. She tugged on his hand.

“I hate to waste such moonlight.” He looked back over his shoulder at the pond, where the shimmering light caused the shadows of the trees to reflect on the mirrored surface of the still water. “Maybe we can steal out for just one more dance before the night is over.”

“Maybe,” she grinned, walking backward toward the
open doors and taking him with her. “You never know what a night like this might hold.”

*  *  *

Delia stood on the third step from the bottom of the handsome, wide stairwell, and watched as family and friends gathered below, the black-tied waiters circulating with silver trays of champagne in fine fluted glasses of delicate crystal. She cherished each face that her eyes set upon, her children, several of her cousins, several of their children. Longtime neighbors and friends. All of the people who were most dear to her, most important in her life.

All but one.

She sighed the thought away. In good time, the picture would be complete. Only not just yet. It hurt her terribly to see that empty place where someone else should be standing with Georgia and Zoey and Nicky. She would have given anything to have had that last link returned tonight, after all these years.

Soon, she reminded herself as she bit back the tears she had cried every night, every morning, for thirty-five years. Soon, they would be tears of joy. Soon, the canvas will be complete.

But not tonight. Tonight was Nicky’s night. Nicky’s and India’s. The rest can wait. Her eyes glistened as she looked into the face of her son, and a look of such deep compassion and love passed between them that she wished for just the briefest moment that she could be alone to weep, to cry it out. Nicky was the only one who knew her secret, the only one she had told. He had wept with her,
for
her, the depth of his understanding nearly breaking Delia’s heart.

She looked for her daughters, and found them huddled, faces tilted toward each other, whispering and giggling together, as so often she had seen them do through the years.

Will they be as understanding as their brother, when they find out that I have lived a lie for all these years?

These thoughts were not for tonight. She pushed away
her fears and forced herself to stand just a little taller, forced gaiety into her smile as she tapped her fingertips on the side of her glass to signal she was about to begin. This moment belonged to his son and this wonderful woman who would become his wife.

She flashed the smile she had become famous for, and raised her glass slightly as she proposed a toast to the happy couple.

There would be time enough to weep later.

Chapter
17
 

A narrow sleeve of morning sunlight elbowed through the gauzy white curtain, and Zoey stretched in its warmth like an overgrown cat, momentarily disoriented when she opened her eyes and found herself in her old bed in her old room in her mother’s house. Knowing that the party would most likely last till the wee hours, she had packed an overnight bag and planned to stay. Besides, she had wanted to spend as much time this weekend with her mother and siblings, her future sister-in-law and her family. Her nose caught a whiff of something wonderful being prepared for breakfast. Sausage and pancakes, most likely, one of Nick’s favorites. She smiled. Mrs. Colson always did love to spoil Nicky.

She flopped back on the pillow, and raised her arms above her head. It had been a lovely party. She sighed, remembering it all.

Had that really been her, dancing in the moonlight with Ben Pierce? And had that really been Ben, kissing her like he meant it?

It had! It had!
A little voice inside her head crowed.

She grinned, then laughed out loud.

Kissing Ben was every bit as wonderful, every bit as exciting, as she had known it would be. His lips were
that
warm, his tongue
that
knowing and clever . . .

Just thinking about it brought that coil of anticipation back to her gut and caused her breath to catch in her throat.

“Careful, Zoey,”
he had said.
“I’m not feeling very big brotherly right now.
”

“And
that
is the best news I’ve gotten in a very long time,” she said aloud to the menagerie of her old stuffed animals that crowded a shelf on the opposite side of the room, “particularly since
sisterly
is the last word I’d use to describe how I feel about you, Bennett Pierce.”

She hopped out of bed and into the bathroom, all but dancing. Delia had invited Ben for brunch. He would be here in less than an hour.

Maybe, before the day was over, she’d get the chance to kiss him again.

*  *  *

“You’re in an awfully good mood this morning,” Georgia noted as Zoey bustled into the dining room where she sat alone at the long table, still laden with the elaborate centerpiece from the night before.

“Umm.” Zoey patted her sister on the back on the way to the buffet, where all manner of delectable dishes had been set to tempt the diners. “Oh, wow, eggs Benedict.”

Zoey opened the door leading into the kitchen and called, “I love you, Mrs. Colson.”

“I love you too, Zoey,” came the cheerful reply. “Enjoy your eggs.”

“I will, I will.”

“Where is everyone?” Zoey asked Georgia, who was sorting through the basket of herbal tea bags on the sideboard. “Has everyone else eaten already?”

“August just went down to the barn to get India and Corri, who, being Corri, wanted to give the ponies each an apple for their breakfasts. Mom and Nicky are outside.” She waved a hand toward the window, where,
beyond, at the foot of the garden path, her mother stood with her brother.

Zoey glanced out the window, then resumed pouring her first cup of coffee, but something drew her eyes back toward the garden as she turned to walk to the table. There was something in her mother’s face as she looked up into Nick’s, something Zoey could not quite identify.
Sorrow,
the word echoed in her head. Sorrow and pain and regret, all in their purest forms.

Drawn closer to the glass by the sharp awareness that what she was witnessing was the breaking of another’s heart, Zoey pushed the curtain all the way back. Nick had his arm around Delia and was bent close to the side of her face, as if whispering something that was meant for no ears but hers, even though there was no one else around, and his look held such tenderness that for a moment it appeared that he had assumed the role of gentle parent and Delia that of the child who was being comforted. Unexpectedly, it disconcerted Zoey, this thought that her mother, Delia the ever strong, ever mighty, would require such ministrations from anyone, least of all one of her children.

She watched from the window as Nick ran his thumbs ever so gently under Delia’s eyes, and it was then that Zoey realized that her mother was crying.

This, too, was a foreign concept, and she tried to recall when she had last seen her mother cry. Oh, there had been a few random tears over the years—a woman with a flair for drama always had a tear to shed for a sentimental birthday card or maternal pride—but this was different. These were real tears. Real enough to shake Delia’s shoulders. Zoey wished she could see Nick’s face.