Enright Family Collection (95 page)

“So, what’s this I hear about Nicky having offered you his cabin for the night?” Zoey nuzzled closer to Ben as they danced yet one more slow dance on the patio that looked out over the inlet. In the distance the lights of the houses back on shore were just going on for the night, and the moon was just beginning to peek out of the clouds. Someone—probably India—had turned on the spotlight that now shone from the top of the lighthouse, and the pale yellow glow spilled into the bay like warm butterscotch. Zoey sighed. Everything about this day had been filled with romance, from the minute she had opened her eyes to see Ben watching her to this exact moment, when they danced together in the moonlight.

Ben sighed too. If she snuggled any closer, they wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not Nick had offered to let Ben stay in the cabin that night. Ben would be tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the deck of that cabin cruiser that was tied to the nearest dock.

“Yes, my love, he did,” Ben told her.

“Oh, goodie, when do we leave?”

“I think it’s customary for the bride and groom to
leave first,” he told her. “I think it would be considered a serious breach of etiquette for—”

She kissed him, a long, serious kiss.

“Then again, I suppose if one could slip out discreetly, so as not to be missed . . .” He nibbled at her bottom lip.

“Zoey, come on, India’s waiting for you. She’s ready to toss her bouquet.”

Zoey looked up to see Darla standing on the deck.

“You catch it for me, Dar.” Zoey smiled dreamily at Ben.

“You get your butt up here, Zoey Enright,” Georgia called down to her. “If I have to stand there and play catch, you have to stand there and play catch. Besides, Mom said you have to.”

“Why?” Zoey frowned.

“She said she wants to see who’s next. Now come on.”

“I guess we’re stuck here for a while,” Zoey told Ben.

“There are worse things that could happen.” Ben kissed the side of her face near her ear and led her toward the lighthouse. “At least there’s still some of those little fruit tarts on Darla’s dessert table.”

“How many of them have you had?”

“Who’s counting? Darla has given gluttony a respectable name, raised it almost to the level of virtue,” he confided as they walked inside the lighthouse where the party was still in full swing.

India stood on the third step holding her bouquet of white roses and palest pink lilies. She winked in Zoey’s direction, and Zoey winked back.

“Nana, why is India throwing her flowers away?” Ally asked Delia. “Doesn’t she want them anymore?”

“It’s customary for the bride to throw her flowers to all of the unmarried women at the wedding,” Delia told her, smoothing the child’s hair affectionately. “Supposedly, the one who catches it will be the next one to get married.”

Ally pondered how this might work while all of the single women in the group gathered at the foot of the steps. India looked around and, satisfied that all were
present and accounted for, turned her back, counted to three, and tossed the bouquet.

It hit Georgia right smack in the chest.

“Wow!” Corri jumped up and down. “Georgia will get married next.”

Delia laughed, watching her youngest twirl the bouquet she’d caught, knowing that Georgia’s devotion to dance had left her with precious little time for a social life.

But a little romance would be good for her.

And wouldn’t she make a beautiful bride someday,
Delia mused.
Won’t each of my girls make beautiful brides? I would suspect Zoey might actually be next, judging by the way she and Ben are panting
—
discreetly, of course
—
after each other.

She smiled. Ben Pierce. Almost as dear to her as her own son. To think that he and Zoey were in love. Her daughter and Maureen’s son . . .

“And oh, Maureen, he’s grown into such a fine young man,” Delia whispered to the night, “you’d be so proud. As proud as I am, of all of them.”

The circle that had once held only Nick, Zoey, and Georgia had widened, and now Laura, Ally, India, Corri, Ben—and, of course, August—had stepped inside. Delia smiled with pleasure, wondering who else, as yet unknown, would someday join them. Someone for Georgia, someone for Laura.. . and maybe, a tiny voice inside her whispered, just maybe, someday, someone for me. . . .

The guests whooped and hollered as Nick withdrew his hands from beneath India’s long skirt and held up her garter, then, without ceremony, tossed it directly to Ben, who caught it easily with one hand. Laughing, he caught the eye of his grandfather, who stood in the doorway with his guest for the occasion, the stalwart Pauline, who looked pleased as punch to be there.

“Does this mean that Georgia has to marry Ben?” Ally tugged at Delia’s skirt.

“No, sweetheart.” Delia patted her on the head, then
signaled to the photographer to keep busy. She wanted lots of pictures of this very happy day, so that someday when she was older, when she needed something to remind her, she would be able to see every bit of it again and again.

Ben had had a devil of a time explaining to Zoey that Nick’s invitation to sleep in his cabin that night had not included an invitation for Ben to sleep with Nick’s sister.

“I wouldn’t feel right,” Ben told Zoey reluctantly when they got back to shore.

“It wouldn’t bother me a bit.” She laughed.

“What are you going to tell your mother?”

“Hmmm . My mother.” Zoey frowned. “Hmmm . You’ve got a point there. Could be sticky.”

“How ’bout if we leave early tomorrow?” Ben suggested.

Zoey nodded. “You’re supposed to come to the Devlins’ for brunch in the morning, and then we’ll just leave from there.”

It had sounded like a good plan, but now, alone on the narrow porch overlooking the dark bay, Ben almost wished he’d been a little less honorable. He’d changed into jeans and a cotton shirt upon returning to Nick’s cabin, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and sat himself down in one of the rocking chairs to watch the stars. Now and then something splashed out in the water, and the night cries of owls and other, unknown birds of prey echoed over the marshes. He rocked and drank his beer and reflected. Maybe it was time for that trip to a breeder of Big Dogs. For now, he wished he had already made the trip so that his Big Dog would now be lying by the rocker, sharing the night sounds and smells in this most perfect of places.

Nick Enright was a very lucky man to have such a life here on this peaceful bay, and a beautiful new wife to share it with.

Ben thought back to catching India’s garter. That Nick had thrown it directly to him was, he thought, Nick’s way of giving his blessing to the relationship between his
sister and the man who was still, after all these years, a treasured friend. Ben smiled, happy that Nick approved. He intended to be around for a long time.

He leaned back in the chair and placed his feet upon the railing. Watching Zoey that day had been a joy. She was beautiful and animated and it made his heart ache and his chest tighten just to look at her. He could barely remember how it had felt not to have her in his life, although it hadn’t been that long ago that he was in his flat in London, cursing his luck and wondering if his life would be worth living again.

Meant to be together.
That’s what Zoey had said about Nick and India, but the phrase had never left Ben’s head. It was how he felt about her now, and from the minute he had heard her say the words, he had known it was true.

Funny, after all these years, after all the women I’ve known, to come home and get knocked on my butt by a girl who used to follow me through swamps to catch tadpoles.
Ben laughed out loud.
That will be something to tell our children, won’t it?

And there would be children,
he mused. Lots of them. They would live in a big rambling house in the country, like Delia’s, and they would spend their summers in Devlin’s Light, playing with their cousins. And he and Zoey would build a house like this one, and at night they’d send the kids over to their Uncle Nick’s house, and he and Zoey would make love on the back porch, on nights just like this. Oh, yes, life will be wonderful, full of love and rich with laughter.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and wondered when he should tell Zoey.

*  *  *

“Wasn’t it a wonderful weekend?” Zoey cooed as she curled up next to Ben in her bed where, overhead, a soft rain made gentle taps on the skylight. “The most wonderful wedding ever.”

“Wonderful.” He nodded.
Almost as wonderful as ours will be.

“And wasn’t India the most beautiful bride you ever saw?” She sighed.

“Ummhmm.” He ran his fingers along her forearm, a vision of Zoey draped in white lace playing in his imagination.

“And wasn’t it funny when they walked into August’s this morning?” She giggled. “Imagine them spending their wedding night in Captain Jon’s.”

“I’m still not certain I understand what Captain Jon’s is.”

“It’s an old mansion in Devlin’s Light. It was built by one of India’s ancestors, Captain Jonathan Devlin, and kept in the family till a few years back, when the Devlin family gave it and the surrounding grounds to the town. The historic society maintains it and rents it out for weddings and parties and every year they have several big fund-raisers there. Fancy costume balls and stuff like that.”

“And that’s where India and Nick wanted to spend their wedding night?”

Zoey laughed and said, “I have the feeling there was more to it that just that, like there’s some secret between her and Nick. Darla made some joke about revisiting the scene of the crime, but neither the bride nor the groom made any effort to clarify that so I let it pass.”

“Is it like a hotel?”

“Nope. Just a big old house, beautifully furnished and impeccably maintained. My mother and I went to a concert there last year with August. I’m pretty sure they don’t, as a rule, rent rooms out for overnight. I think it was just a concession to India, because she’s administrator of the Devlin Trust, which kicks a goodly portion of the money that maintains the grounds and the building. But there’s certainly no room service. That’s why they came to August’s for breakfast this morning.” Zoey turned and stretched in Ben’s arms. “And don’t you love Devlin’s Light?”

You, Zoey. I love you.

“Ben, I said—”

“Yes, of course. It’s a wonderful place. I wouldn’t mind owning a summer place there myself.”

“Really?” She squirmed happily.
Yes! He is staying. Nicky was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Really.” Ben noticed the little smile that had turned the corners of her mouth upward. “And what, may I ask, is that little grin for?”

“It’s for you, Ben.” She pulled him back down to her. “Now, come here and
really
give me something to smile about.”

And of course, he did.

*  *  *

“Ben, the oddest thing happened today,” Zoey told him the following Wednesday when he stopped at the bungalow with three bags of groceries and a six-pack of beer.

“What’s that?” He leaned over and kissed her. It was seven-thirty at night and he had been in a meeting since four that afternoon. Just being here—just walking through that door—had taken it all away. He smiled. This was how he’d heard it was supposed to be but had never believed it.

“There was a note in my mailbox at work. My request for a week’s vacation was approved.” Zoey was frowning.

“Yes, I can see why you’re upset,” he said thoughtfully. “How dare they approve your vacation. Tell me who signed it, Zoey. I’ll have them fired first thing in the morning.”

“Ben, I don’t remember asking for a week off.”

“Oh. Well, let’s take advantage of the week and go someplace special.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. “Like maybe to England to watch the British Grand Prix.” He opened the envelope and said, “Fancy that! I just happen to have two tickets for the Concorde.”

The smile spread slowly across her face. “We’re going to England . . .?”

“That’s what the ticket says.”

“And we’re going to watch a race?”

“Yup.”

She frowned. “You’re not driving in this race, are you?”

“No, no.” He laughed and folded her in his arms, swayed with her slightly to the tune on the classic rock station on the radio. “Even if I wanted to, I could not. But I do know a few of the drivers, and it will be fun to see some old friends.”

“Are you sad that you’re not driving?”

“Yes. Of course I am. I really love the sport, Zoey. Maybe not as much as you love your cooking show”—he earned a jab in the ribs—“but I love it. I love the cars and the camaraderie, I love the noise and the speed. I even miss the smells of the track . . . exhaust and expensive cigars and gasoline.”

“You miss the smell of exhaust and gasoline?” she asked incredulously. “Well, we could always take you out to Interstate 95 down there by the Philadelphia airport a few times a week and let you inhale the fumes from the tractor trailers as they go screaming by.”

“It’s not the same.” He laughed again.

“What, gas fumes are not gas fumes?”

“Nope. Race cars use special gasoline.”

“What’s different about it?”

“It’s specially formulated for high performance, no nitro, and the oxygen content is limited to a certain percentage. Like everything connected with the sport, the regulations are very specific.”

“Who regulates it?”

“The FIA World Council is the legislative body for Formula One racing. They make the rules and develop standards. They determine the specifications for tires, for example, and how wide the cars have to be.”

“Why would they care if one car is wider than another?” She poked behind him into one of the grocery bags and said, “Oh, we’re having steak?”

“Just another form of high-performance fuel.” He took the package from her hand and placed it on the counter. “Here”—he handed her one of the brown paper bags—“try to make a salad without slicing off one of your fingers. Now, to answer your question, the width of the car will have an impact on the cornering speeds. FIA wanted to reduce the cornering speeds slightly as a safety factor—the faster you take the corners, the more likely you are to lose control.”