Enright Family Collection (91 page)

“Let’s see here”—his head disappeared into the refrigerator—“here’s two cartons of something. . . .” He passed the cartons back to her.

“This is it. The leftover Chinese.” She set the cartons on the kitchen counter.

“Sweetheart, that small amount of lo mein wouldn’t fill a soup bowl. And one steamed dumpling is not ‘some.’ We’re talking major hunger here.”

“Hmmm. I might have some soup. . . .”

“Homemade, of course,” he quipped. “Something you whipped up just the other day, I’m sure.”

“Right.” She opened the cabinet door and pulled out two cans.

“Ah, yes. The old red and white cans of chicken noodle soup.” He juggled the two cans and said, “Break out the crackers, sweetheart. We’re about to do dinner.”

Three bowls of soup later, Ben leaned back and smiled. “I feel so much better now. You really worked me over tonight, Zoey. And if you plan on a repeat performance, we’re going to have to do some serious grocery shopping. Man does not live on chicken noodle soup alone, you know.”

“Well, then, I guess I’d better find out where the nearest grocery store is.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

She shrugged. “I think there’s a little general store in town but I can’t swear to it.”

“Where do you buy things like milk and bread and butter and stuff like that?”

“Convenience store.” She grinned.

He laughed and shook his head. “Tomorrow, we go to a real grocery store and do some real food shopping. And I feel I should warn you, I am a breakfast eater. I will need toast and eggs—which I’ll make myself, by the way—or at the very least, a big bowl of shredded wheat.”

She bit her bottom lip, thinking about other nights, other mornings, he alluded to. She pinched herself on the inside of her arm just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. A small red spot rose up just north of her elbow and she gazed at it with satisfaction. Not a dream, she told herself gratefully. It really was happening. She really was there, in her kitchen, at 3:45 in the morning, with the sexiest, handsomest, most gentle man in the world. Ben. Her Ben.

“. . . was she like?” he was saying.

“What?”

“I asked, what was she like?”

“What was who like?” She frowned.

“Delia’s daughter.”

“Oh. Laura.” She sat back into the kitchen chair and pulled her knees up to her chest. “She’s really very nice. You know, I had promised myself, no matter what, that I was going to get along with this woman. I didn’t know if I’d like her, and quite frankly, that was immaterial to me when I went there, whether or not I liked her. But I was determined to get along with her and to give her a chance. I owed my mother that much.”

“And . . . ?”

“And I really liked her, Ben. I want to get to know her.”

“That must have made your mother very happy, Zoey.” He folded his arms on the table and gazed across at her. “She must have been very proud of you.”

“I think she was happy. And relieved. I don’t think I can really appreciate just how difficult this has been for her. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have to introduce yourself to your own child, then try to get to know her and forge some type of relationship with her. Add in the dynamics of three other children and all of the emotions involved there and it must have been overwhelming for Mom. While I can’t resolve any of her personal issues for her, at least I could try not to make things any more difficult, any more painful for her than they already were.”

“And you found that you liked Laura?”

“Yes. I liked her. We sat on the front porch and drank coffee and ate chocolate and dished.”

“‘Dished’?” he asked.

“Girl talk.” She grinned. “Laura’s good at it. Almost as good as I am.”

She toyed with her soup spoon, moving the one remaining noodle around in the bottom of the bowl. “Nicky liked her too. He invited her to the wedding.”

“She must be something, then. I’m glad for you, and for Delia. And for Laura, that you’ve all been so supportive.”

“Well, not all. Mom still has to talk to Georgia, but I can’t imagine her not being open-minded.”

“When is Delia planning on seeing her?”

“Thursday.” Zoey glanced at the calendar on the far wall, where she had marked her work schedule. “Today.”

“So I guess I’ll get to meet your new sister at the wedding.”

“She hasn’t decided to come yet. She’s afraid it will cause too much talk on Nick’s wedding day and distract people. But Nick doesn’t seem to be concerned about that, nor does India—and Mom isn’t worried about the gossip either, so I guess Laura shouldn’t
not
come because of that,” Zoey said thoughtfully.

“Did you tell her that?”

“Pretty much.” She chopped at the remains of the lone noodle. “It would have been nice to have had some time to visit with Georgia and Laura both before the wedding, which is only three weeks away, you know. But I don’t know how I could fit that in, since I’m scheduled to work a lot between now and then.”

“Speaking of which, don’t you have a cooking show today?”

“They changed it to Friday since I’m off today.” She grimaced. “I get to make apple butter tomorrow. Who makes apple butter in June?”

“When do you normally make it?”

“I don’t normally make it at all, but Aunt August says that the fall is the time.”

“Then why are you doing it now?”

“Because they have this new pot in inventory and someone thought it was just right to make apple butter in.”

Ben laughed. “Well, I for one will be watching.”

“You and about a million other people.” She groaned. “Can you imagine having to pretend to enjoy something with a million people watching?”

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re just so damned cute in that apron.”

“Watch it, Pierce, I have never done ‘cute’ . . . and I hate that I have to wear an apron. Did you see the one they made me wear last week? It said, ’If Momma ain’t
happy, ain’t nobody happy.’” She shivered. “And everyone thought it was so funny.”

“We’ll just have to get you an apron that expresses a more apropos sentiment.”

“I’d be happier if you just got someone else to do these stupid cooking shows.”

“Unfortunately for you, it’s become wildly popular. And I’m afraid you are grossly underestimating your appeal, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s been a lot more than a million TVs tuned in to ‘Zoey’s Cookbook.’ A whole lot more, according to the numbers I saw a few days ago.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” He stood up and set both his and her bowls on the counter nearest the sink, rinsing first one, then the other.

“I don’t think I want to know how many.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” He leaned over her and kissed the end of her nose. “I need to get moving. I have an early appointment. Want to show me how to work that new shower of yours?”

“No.” She groaned. “No more water. My hands and feet still look like prunes.”

He lifted her from her chair, effortlessly swung her over his shoulder, and headed toward the stairwell.

“Ben, did you hear me? No more water,” she pleaded, to no avail, as he climbed the steps, humming quietly.

With a mischievous smile, he turned on the shower, and stepped into the stream of cold water, plunked her down.

“You won’t need this.” He tugged at her nightshirt.

“No more than you’ll need these.” She tugged at the boxers.

And they were both right.

*  *  *

“I think you could use just a tiny tuck right here at the waist.” Mrs. Colson frowned, her glasses slipping down on her nose just a bit as she tugged on the midsection of
Zoey’s bridesmaid gown. “Otherwise, the dress is perfect.”

“But you, miss”—Mrs. Colson pointed a finger at Georgia, who had just slid her dress on and was twirling in front of the mirror—“if you get any thinner we’ll be missing you when you turn sideways.”

“I think they sent the wrong size,” Georgia told her.

“I think you’ve lost about another eight pounds,” Zoey said accusingly.

“It was only two.”

“Hold still, Georgia,” Mrs. Colson admonished, measuring the excess fabric around the thin young woman’s waist. “Not nearly as bad as I thought. Less than half an inch. I think Zoey’s actually needs more taken in than yours does.”

Georgia grinned and stuck her tongue out at her sister.

Mrs. Colson motioned for her to take off the dress, and Georgia placed the pale gold silk dress in Mrs. Colson’s hands at the same time she placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Both of you . . . fade away to nothing,” Mrs. Colson muttered as she hung the dress up and left the room.

“So. What’s new?” Zoey asked.

“What’s new?” Georgia pretended to ponder to the question. “Gee, I don’t know, Zoey. I just found out that my mother had a child out of wedlock when she was fresh out of high school . . . that I have a sister I never knew about. . . .”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been flip about it. Obviously you’ve spoken with Mom.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how I feel, Zoe.”

“Neither did I, at first.” Zoey sat down on one of two loveseats in the small sitting room on the second floor of her mother’s house.

“And now?”

“Now I’ve had time to think it through. Have you met her yet?”

“No. Mom said you and Nicky have, and that you both liked her.”

Zoey nodded.

“Well, I’m driving down tomorrow to make the visit. I don’t know that I want to, but I feel that I have to. It would hurt Mom too much if I turned down Laura’s offer. I called her last night—mostly because I think Mom expected me to—and she invited me to dinner.”

“Give her a chance. I don’t think you’ll be sorry, Georgey.”

“Damn, I hope not.” Georgia shook her head. “Mom doesn’t have enough on her plate, with Nicky’s wedding in two weeks.” She went to the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water and a diet Pepsi, which she tossed to Zoey, who caught it with her right hand. “How do you feel about her coming to the wedding?”

“I feel it’s right.” Zoey popped the lid of the soda can. “Mom desperately wants her there. I think she needs her there.”

Georgia sat down opposite her sister and took a long drink of water.

“You know, it just occurred to me that Mom’s little refrigerator there is better stocked than the brand new, oversized, kick-butt model in my kitchen,” Zoey mused.

“You’re a mess, Zoey. And you talk about my eating habits,” Georgia chided.

“What’s in your refrigerator right now?”

“Carrots, apples, zucchini, green peppers, and some plums. All organic, of course. Some yogurt. Oh, and a bottle of cranberry juice.”

“That organic too?” Zoey asked, and Georgia just grinned.

“Now you. What’s in yours?”

“Half a dozen eggs, some cream for my coffee, about four slices of bread—”

“Wimpy white bread, I’ll bet.”

Ignoring her, Zoey added, “An enchilada, two beef burritos, and some refried beans, all leftover from last night.”

“Just thinking about all those chemicals makes me ill.” Georgia turned slightly green.

“Well, we meant to do some grocery shopping the other day, but I got called in to work Thursday night because someone called in sick and—”

“Who
meant to?”

“What?” Zoey froze.

“You said ‘we’ meant to go shopping.” Georgia leaned forward and grabbed Zoey’s sleeve. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Oh. Did I say ‘we’? I meant ‘me’.”

“Oh. You
meant
to say, ‘Me meant to go shopping.’” Georgia laughed. “I don’t think so.” She picked up a magazine from the basket and smacked her sister with it. “Spill.”

“I don’t think I really want—”

“Spill.” Georgia smacked her again. “And don’t leave out any of the good parts.”

Zoey sighed. “Do you think Mom might have left a box of Godivas up here?”

“There’s a box in the fridge. I’ll get it. You, talk.”

“It’s Ben.” Zoey sighed.

“No. Really? You and Ben? Now, this would be Ben
Pierce,
right?” Georgia deadpanned. “My, my, what a surprise.”

“It’s that obvious?”

Georgia rolled her eyes.

“Really?” Zoey asked.

“Only since you were, like, ten years old.”

“You were only seven. How could you have known?”

“I read your diary.” Georgia shrugged.

“You didn’t.”

“Yup.”

“You
read
my
diary?”
Zoey frowned.

“Don’t worry, there was nothing in there that interested me much, as I recall.” Georgia opened the box of chocolate and stared into it, as if mentally tasting every piece.

“But my
diary,
Georgey?”

“That’s what little sisters do, Zoe.” Georgia appeared to be debating.

“Georgia, when you’re finished drooling into the box, I’d like a piece.”

Georgia took a slim wafer of chocolate and passed the box.

“That’s it? You can gaze into a full box of Godivas and come out with one piece?” Zoey asked in disbelief.

“I only want one. There’s all sorts of
stuff
in these things, Zoey.” Georgia wrinkled her nose. “For one thing, there’s preservatives. . . .”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Zoey settled for the dark chocolate walnut. “Ignorance is bliss.”

She nibbled at the side of the walnut. “I wonder if I would have snuck into Laura’s diary,” she mused.

“Absolutely. Little sisters always want to know what their big sisters are up to.” She took another sip from the bottle of water. “Which brings us back to the subject at hand. Do I have to break into your house and hunt down your diary, or are you going to spill?”

Zoey spilled.

*  *  *

Ben dropped tiny grains of fish food into the top of the tank he had recently had installed in his office. He might not have bothered to look for more permanent living quarters beyond his grandfather’s condo—which was, after all, spacious, close to the office, and fully equipped with all manner of technological gadgetry—but he needed some kind of living thing to keep an eye on. Delaney was allergic to cats, and dogs demanded more of a routine than he could keep on any regular basis right then. Fish were just right.