Enright Family Collection (85 page)

The message he had left on Zoey’s answering machine the night before—and then again this morning—had been very simple. “Call me as soon as you get this message, Zoey. Please.” Since he had not heard from her, he assumed she had not gotten the message, or was simply choosing to ignore it. Either way, he didn’t like the possibilities.

His hand on the receiver, he debated on whether or not he should call her again. He dialed not her number, but his own, to play back the message she had left for him the night before. He had played it over and over, but had not erased it.

“Ben, I have to cancel tonight. I’m sorry. Something’s . . . come up. I need to . . . I’ll talk to you. I’m sorry.”

Something’s
. . .
come up.

The tremble in her voice, the hesitation, the shallow breathing—all told him that whatever that “something” was, it had her totally rattled. He realized that he knew so little about her life that he could not even begin to guess what could have prompted such a reaction in her. As children they had been as close as siblings. They had known how to make each other laugh, what could make the other cry. Now, as adults, they hardly knew each other at all. Except, he thought wryly, how to make each other sweat in the most primal and elemental way.

Well, that would change. He planned to get to know this grown-up Zoey every bit as completely as he had known the rough-and-tumble tomboy she had once been. Better, he told himself. I want to know her inside and out. I want to learn her dreams, and then, I want to make them come true.

He flipped on the radio behind his desk, then laughed out loud. Robert Palmer. “Bad Case of Loving You.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he muttered.

Ben glanced out the window, then did a double take. Nick Enright was walking toward the building, his stride long and purposeful. Ben went to the window, then leaned closer to the glass for a better view. Nick’s eyebrows all but ran into each other, forming a dark slash across his forehead. Something was definitely troubling him.

Something must have happened to Zoey. Without thinking, Ben shot from the window and through the door, past his startled secretary and directly to the elevator that led to the lobby. He punched the button to close the door and counted the seconds until he felt the tiny lurch that signaled the stop. He was through the doors as they opened, and spotting Nick near the guard desk, called to him.

“Hello, Ben.” Nick turned, trying, it would seem, to compose his features.

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Ben asked immediately.

“That’s an odd greeting.” Nick extended his hand, and Ben took it uncertainly.

“You don’t look as if you’re making a social call.”

“Actually, I wanted to see my sister.” Nick smiled, and Ben saw right through it.

“That makes two of us.”

“She’s not here?” Nick tried again to be casual, but there was a definite edge behind his practiced nonchalance.

“And she’s not returning phone calls.” Ben led him by the arm toward the elevator. “I have several calls in to her.”

“So do I,” Nick said, and the facade began to drop.

“Well, obviously you must have some idea of what’s going on, Nick. I don’t recall that you’ve dropped in before just to say hi.”

Nick sighed as if debating just how much to tell Ben as they walked from the elevator into Ben’s office. Ben went directly to the window. Zoey’s spot was as empty as it had been the last time he had looked.

He turned back to Nick, motioned for him to sit, then lifted the receiver and asked Beth for two cups of coffee.

“Oh, and Beth . . . can you check to see when Zoey Enright is scheduled today? Her brother stopped by and was hoping to surprise her. When? Oh, fine. Thanks.”

To Nick, he said, “She’s scheduled at noon. She’s usually in by now. They expect her any minute.”

Nick nodded and turned as the door opened and Beth came in with a tray bearing two mugs, a small creamer and sugar bowl, each bearing a Canadian goose in flight, and a tall black and gold carafe. She smiled at Nick and placed the tray on Ben’s desk.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Just ask the guard at the front door to have Zoey stop here as soon as she arrives, if you would.”

“Sure thing.” Beth smiled again at Nick as she left the room.

“So.” Ben poured coffee into one of the cups and passed it to his old friend. “Are you going to let me in on what’s going on?”

“Zoey’s all right, Ben. I think she may have just . . .”—Nick seemed to struggle for a moment—“gotten some news that may have upset her.”

“How upset?”

“Very.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just be there for her.”

“I intend to.”

Nick smiled. So, India had been right. Ben was, as she had phrased it, totally
end over end
over Zoey.

Ben turned to the window as the small red car pulled in and parked. “She’s here.” Zoey was out in a flash and, hoisting a large nylon bag over her shoulder, set off across the parking lot toward the building.

Oh, boy,
Nick thought, watching the expression on Ben’s face as he watched Zoey all but jog down the walkway, waving somewhat absentmindedly to a group of three or four who were headed toward the lot.
End over end
didn’t begin to touch what he saw there.

Enamored?

Nick’s eyes followed Ben to the door of the office, which he opened and peeked through, then leaned against the doorjamb, as if waiting. He
was
waiting, Nick knew. He was waiting for Zoey.

Besotted?

Nick saw the change in his old friend’s face even before the elevator doors opened.

“Hi,” Nick heard him say. “Are you all right?”

He couldn’t hear his sister’s response, but he could see the deep concern in every line in Ben’s face as he watched Zoey’s approach.

Yep, besotted pretty well summed it up.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Ben told her, and Zoey seemed almost to recoil.

“Who?” she asked, sounding uncharacteristically panicked.

“Nick.” Ben took her arm, startled by her reaction.

“Nick?” She frowned, then entered the room just as her brother stood. “Nicky, what are you doing here?”

“That’s a lovely greeting, Duchess.” Nick tried to smile, but the look in her eyes drained the smile from his lips. “How are you, Zoe?”

“You’ve been talking to Mother,” she said accusingly.

“Guilty.” He nodded.

“Nicky, you
knew.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She was getting worked up.

“Zoey, it wasn’t my place to tell you.” He took her gently by the shoulders and tried to ease her into a chair but she would have none of it. “Mom wanted to tell each one of us herself.”

The color drained from Ben’s face as he watched the interaction between brother and sister. In Ben’s experience, only one thing had ever caused that kind of emotion.

Oh, no, please, no,
he silently prayed.
Not Delia
. . .
please, God, not Delia . . .

“I’m late for work, Nicky. I have to get changed.”

“Zoey, I think we need to talk about this.”

“We can talk while I put my makeup on.” She lifted her nylon bag from the floor and said to Ben, “I know I owe you an explanation. And you will get it. Just not. . . just not right now.”

She turned and all but fled from the room.

“Ben . . .” Nick gestured helplessly.

“Go with her, Nick. Whatever it is, you need to talk it out.” Ben nodded, and watched as Nick followed Zoey out the door.

Ben closed the door behind them, then sat down on the small leather sofa and locked his fingers together as they dropped between his knees and fought the sick sensation of panic that welled up inside him.
Not Delia, too. Please, God,
he prayed,
please don’t take Delia, too.
. . .

At noon he turned up the volume on the large overhead television so that he could hear, as well as see her. The first hour she hosted a collector’s show, offering teddy bears, dolls, beer steins, and cut glass. The second hour she sold linens, and the last hour, jewelry set with semiprecious stones. She really was a pro, he conceded. No one watching her would have suspected that some terrible cloud hung over her. He glanced at his watch. There were ten minutes remaining in her last segment. He walked to the steps and took the long way to the studio, reaching the side of her set in time to watch her finish up with her last item. When she had said her goodbyes to the viewing audience and removed her microphone, she looked over and saw him there, sending him a smile that barely reached her eyes.

He waited for her, and as she came off the set, forced calm into his voice and said, “Since you stood me up for dinner, I figure the least you can do is have lunch with me.

She appeared about to protest, then looked up into his face. There was something there that she needed, and they both knew it.

“Can you wait until I get my things?” She pointed toward the lounge area.

“Take as much time as you need.”

She didn’t need much. She was back with the bag slung over one shoulder. She looked smaller, having changed from high heels into flat-heeled shoes, and the difference seemed to diminish her. She looked suddenly smaller, more vulnerable, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms and hold her until that lost look left her face. Side by side they walked through the hallways, where the last shift of customer service representatives passed the incoming shift, and the delivery men congregated by the security desk, awaiting clearance to pass on through.

“Did Nicky leave?” she asked as they stepped into the fresh spring air.

“I am assuming he did. He didn’t come back.” His car was parked in the spot next to the one reserved for Delaney, He paused and asked, “What do you think, Zoey? Top down?”

“Sure.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, and got in as he unlocked her door for her.

He knew it didn’t matter, top down or top up, considering the news. But he needed that openness, needed that feeling of freedom and flight, and thought that maybe she did too.

He stopped at his favorite deli and bought sandwiches, bottles of iced tea, and a bag of cookies. He grabbed straws and napkins and headed back to the car.

“Sorry there’s no basket to carry our picnic goodies in,” he told her, trying to act as if everything was normal. “We’ll just have to pretend.”

She smiled weakly and took the brown paper bag he passed in to her and settled it onto the floor.

Ben turned on the ignition and took one gently curving country road after another, slowing patiently for the occasional horse and buggy driven by a black-garbed Amish farmer. When he stopped, it was to turn into a small park overlooking a creek. He turned off the engine, saying, “This was always a favorite place of mine.”

“How did you know it would still be here after all these years?” she asked.

“Intuition.” He smiled and reached across her for the bag that held their lunch. “And the fact that this was one of the first places I checked out when I came back. I bring lunch out here at least once a week. It’s a great spot. Come on.”

Zoey got out of the car, feeling very tired and wondering why she was there, with Ben, instead of home, thinking through the fact that she had a sister she’d never heard of before last night and a niece she didn’t know. Her stomach twisted again, thinking back to the
scene at the Bishop’s Inn. She still hadn’t sorted it all out, still didn’t know how she felt about the whole business.

“Are you coming?” Ben had opened her car door, and was waiting for her to get out.

“Oh. Yes,” she mumbled.

Taking the hand Ben offered her, she followed him to the little grove where three picnic tables overlooked a swiftly moving creek. He took off his jacket and placed it on the bench closest to the water and motioned for her to sit.

“It’s such a nice jacket,” she said. “It’s going to get dirty.”

“Hence dry cleaning.” He tried to smile, but knowing that he would most likely get bad news about Delia, the smile fell flat. Fortunately, Zoey was distracted enough that she didn’t notice. He unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to her, watching her press down the crinkled white butcher’s paper to make a kind of place mat on the wooden table. He shook up her iced tea, popped open the cap, and stuck a straw into the neck of the bottle before passing it to her.

“Thanks, Ben.” She began to nibble at the edges of the round roll in tiny mouselike bites.

Ben, too, ate slowly, watching her face, knowing the pain she must be carrying inside. Had he not carried the same agonizing pain when he learned of his own mother’s illness? Knowing the turmoil she must be feeling, Ben thought her a wonder for being able to function at all.

As a child, Ben had always felt that Delia had been an anchor. As an adult, she had welcomed him back without one word of recrimination for his having stayed away so long. Delia was loving and caring and giving in every way. The thought that she might be ill caused waves of pain to shoot through Ben’s insides like carelessly aimed buckshot.

Finally, when he knew it needed to be said and dealt
with, he asked, “Nick told me you had news about your mother.”

Zoey’s blue eyes looked a paler shade from across the narrow wooden table.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat.

“Would you share it with me?”

“I don’t know if I can.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to tell you, if she’d want you to know just yet. Georgia doesn’t even know yet.”

“I promise not to tell her, Zoey, but it’s clear that you need to talk about it. Maybe I can help,” he added.

“I have a sister, Ben,” she said simply, not looking at him, but at a small red leaf that had dropped onto the table from a nearby Japanese maple.

“And I’m sure your mother will share her news directly with her.” Ben hoped he could be as strong for her as she would need him to be.

“No. I mean I have
another
sister.” She exhaled and looked up into his face. “Laura.”

Had he missed something? Who was Laura, and what did she have to do with Delia’s being ill?