Authors: Julie Lessman
B
-but our b-baby is gone . . .” Marcy’s voice warbled into a heartrending sob, and Patrick tucked her close as they sat on the sunporch, staring at an empty backyard where they’d raised six children.
He absently stroked his wife’s hair as he thought of his youngest daughter—the “handful” he’d butted heads with since she could walk. Well, she’d be butting heads with Luke now, he thought with a dog-eared smile, blinking to dispel the wetness in his own eyes.
“Why do babies have to grow up and go away?” Marcy lamented, her voice nasal and her tone more than a bit melancholy.
He pressed a kiss to her head. “So we can enjoy that wonderful world of grandparenting, my love, where the expenses and problems of babies belong to our children instead of to us.”
“B-but . . . I . . . l-love . . . b-babies,” she said in a pitiful wail.
A smile curved his lips. “I know you do, darlin’, and no woman born was ever better with babies than you. But each of your daughters
have
married fine young men, so if you must weep, my love, weep for your two sons. They’re a far cry from ending up as lucky as their father.”
She turned in his arms then, lip quivering and eyes glossy with tears. “Oh, Patrick . . . we are so blessed.”
She fell against him in renewed weeping, and he grinned outright.
Blessed.
An appropriate word, indeed, he thought with a gentle squeeze of her waist. God had given him thirty-six years with a woman who still took his breath away, and six children that brought a gleam to his eye. Pulling back, he lifted her chin with the pads of his fingers, and then cupped her face in his hands. “Yes, we are, Mrs. O’Connor, incredibly so.” A rush of emotion overtook him, and he leaned in to feather the corner of her lips with his own, his words warm against her mouth. “I love you, Marceline, in every way humanly possible.” He fondled her blond hair seasoned by silver, reveling in its silky feel as his fingers wove in. “As a wife and a mother . . .”
Sky-blue eyes blinked back—eyes that still had the power to make his heart race—and gratitude swelled in his chest. He nuzzled the lobe of her ear.
“As a friend and a helpmate . . .” His lips trailed to hers, caressing her mouth with kisses that were slow and deliberate. “And most definitely, Mrs. O’Connor,” he whispered against her skin, “as a woman who holds my heart in the palm of her hand.” He kissed her full on the mouth, his moan merging with hers.
“Aren’t you two a little old for that stuff?”
Marcy jolted in his arms, but Patrick held on tight, eyelids lifting enough to give Gabriella Dawn a withering stare. “What do you want, young lady—we’re busy.”
She folded her arms and pursed her lips. “Too busy to be a foster parent? I’m guessing the Boston Society for the Care of Girls might want to know about that.”
A groan rumbled in Patrick’s chest as he released his wife. “This better be good.”
“Steven won’t let me have a piece of wedding cake.”
Patrick eyed her with a dubious stare. “And how many have you had today?”
“Four,” Steven said as he strolled into the room. “Not counting the top layer you put on ice that I just caught her trying to sneak.”
“
Four
pieces of cake?” Marcy said, mouth gaping in shock.
Gabe blinked. “Of course—it was wonderful, my first wedding cake ever. Nobody bakes like you, Mrs. O’Connor, you know that.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, young lady,” Patrick said, his romantic mood now “on ice” as well. “No more cake.”
“But what about tomorrow? I can have a piece then, can’t I . . . please?” Panic paled her cheeks, making her generous spray of freckles all the more noticeable.
“Nope.” Steven plopped in the chair. His blue eyes, a deeper shade than his mother’s, twinkled with a smile that was matter-of-fact. “Sorry, Gabe. All that’s left is Luke and Katie’s top tier in the icebox. Collin, Brady, and I polished off the rest . . . along with you, of course.”
A painful groan erupted from Gabe’s throat as she slumped against the love seat. “But why can’t I have some of the top tier? Luke won’t mind—he loves me.”
“We all love you, darling,” Marcy said in a soothing tone. She tugged Gabe into her lap, giving her a tight squeeze. “But the cake in the icebox is off-limits, do you hear? It’s an O’Connor tradition—Luke and Katie will eat it when they get home from the honeymoon, as part of their first meal in their new apartment. Celebration of their new life together as a family—Katie, Luke, and Kitty.” A smile flickered on Marcy’s lips. “And any other little ones who happen along . . .”
Steven grinned. “That’s something I gotta see—Katie Rose having a baby. Heaven help us all. She’s practically all thumbs with little Kit as it is. Can’t imagine her with a newborn.”
“Hush, Steven, Katie Rose will make a perfectly wonderful mother. She’s just a little hesitant because it’s been Lizzie who’s watched Kitty since Luke moved back to Boston. But that will all change when Katie gets pregnant and quits the BCAS to stay home full-time.”
“Katie’s gonna quit all right, but not to stay home.” Gabe leaned back against Marcy’s chest, settling in with a cross of skinny legs on Patrick’s lap.
Patrick hiked a brow. “Comfy?”
She ignored him and propped her hands behind her neck. “She’s gonna be a lawyer.”
“Not anymore, dear,” Marcy said. “She’s a married woman now.”
Steven ruffled a hand through his dark hair and put his feet up on the ottoman. “You sure about that, Mother? I think Katie may still have plans for law school.”
Marcy frowned. “Well, I know she’d still like to go, but I just assumed it was out of the question since she’s married now and likely to have a baby of her own.”
“Maybe, but all I know is when I was sorting through the mail a few weeks ago, Katie got a letter from Portia Law School.” Steven stifled a yawn.
Patrick sat up, disrupting Gabe’s feet. “What? Did she tell you what it was?”
“Nope, and when I asked, she just shoved the letter in her pocket and smiled, telling me that some dreams never die. So naturally I assumed she was still planning to go.”
“Oh, she’s going,” Gabe said. She closed her eyes and adjusted her feet on Patrick’s lap.
“Excuse me?” Patrick shifted her legs to a different position. “How do you know that?”
“Because we share a room, remember? Or did. I saw the letter on her dresser, welcoming her to Portia Law School this fall.”
“What?” Patrick straightened in unison with Marcy. He jiggled Gabe’s leg, forcing her to open her eyes. “Does Luke know?”
“Nope.”
Marcy swiveled Gabe’s chin. “How do you know?”
Gabe’s rosebud mouth eased into a smirk. “Because when Katie found me reading the letter, she snatched it away and made me promise not to tell Luke. She said it was a surprise.”
“Oh, it’ll be a surprise all right,” Steven said with a chuckle.
Marcy shook her head, a hand to her brow. “Oh, Katie Rose . . .”
“Let it go, Marcy,” Patrick said. He slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and drew her close. “It’s their problem now, not ours. They’ll work it out.”
“But Katie has to learn you can’t have secrets in a marriage—it can hurt a relationship.”
“Yes, darlin’, I know,” Patrick said with a dry smile. “All too well. But that’s a lesson for her husband to impart, not us. And if ever a man was up to the task, it’s Luke McGee.”
Marcy slumped against Patrick’s shoulder. “I suppose . . .”
“So, Gabe . . . up for a Nehi at Robinson’s?” Steven rose, muscled arms stretched high.
Wiry limbs scrambled as Gabe shrieked to her feet. “Honest, Steven, you mean it?”
“Sure, squirt. But you gotta promise to keep your mitts off Katie and Luke’s cake. Deal?”
“Deal! Let’s go.”
“Hold on, young lady,” Marcy said with a grip of the sash at the back of Gabe’s pale pink dress. “Not before you change from your good clothes.”
“But I don’t wanna cha—”
The words garbled in her throat when Steven squeezed the nape of her neck, forcing a hunch of Gabe’s shoulders. “No change, no Nehi. It’s that simple, squirt. Why should I buy a soda for a kid who doesn’t respect her foster parents?”
“Okay, okay, but I swear you people are in cahoots.”
Marcy tugged Gabe back to deposit a quick kiss to her cheek. “We don’t swear in this house, Gabriella Dawn, and we are not in cahoots. We are in a family, and that includes you, understood? Now, scoot and have a good time.” Gabe tore out of the sunporch with a whoop and a holler, and Marcy called after her. “And you mind Steven, you hear?”
“Oh, she’ll mind, or else.” Steven said with a smile. He shook his head. “And you always thought Katie was the ‘handful,’ Pop. No wonder you two look so tired.”
“Speaking of tired,” Patrick said with a squint, “what was wrong with Sean today? You would have sworn he was blood-related with Mitch, given the grouchy mood he was in. Did something happen at work?”
Steven’s smile disappeared. A noisy gust of air escaped his mouth as he perched on the arm of the sofa across the way with a fold of his arms. “I don’t know, Pop, but whatever happened put him in the foulest mood I’ve ever seen.” Steven peered up, a crimp in his brow that clearly indicated his concern. “I had to pull him off some poor guy who gave Emma a hug out in the hall. Apparently Sean lost his temper because he thought the guy was a drunk who was manhandling her, so he took several swings at him.”
“What?” Marcy bolted up, hand to her throat. “Sean doesn’t even have a temper.”
“Well, he does now,” Steven said. “Started pummeling Emma’s friend, Martin, like he used to pummel those kids in the ring at Clancy’s, remember, Pop?”
Patrick nodded, an uneasy feeling gnawing in his gut. “Did he hurt him?” he whispered, eyes trained on Steven.
“Naw, scared him mostly, because I’ll tell you what, he scared the tar out of me, railing on the poor guy like some madman. I got to him on the second swing, but even so, Martin left with a swollen lip, bruised jaw, and a black eye that will have him thinking twice before he ever hugs another woman again.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to Sean? Ask him what happened?” Patrick studied the son whose own bad temper was buried deep, but definitely there. Like all of his children, he supposed . . . except for Sean, that is. His lips went flat. No, Sean had always been the peacemaker, not a fighter, the dutiful son Patrick depended on, obedient, compliant.
A model son.
“No, when I got back from helping Martin to the door, Sean was gone, back to work I assume since he said he had budgets to trim.”
Marcy shifted to stare at Patrick, her eyes spanning wide. “Should we call him at the store? See if he’s all right?”
“He’s a grown man, Marcy,” Patrick said with a pat of her arm. “Whatever is eating on him, he’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Alarm seeped into her tone. “This isn’t like him, Patrick.”
“I know, darlin’, and if this passes without a word, I’ll get to the bottom of it when the time is right.”
With a heavy sigh, she slowly nodded before sinking back against his chest.
“Well, I’m off.” Steven stood to his feet. “You two want anything from Robinson’s?”
Patrick eyed his son. “No, thanks, but I’d like to know why you’re home tonight in the first place. It’s Saturday night, for pity’s sake, and the Fourth of July—I expected you to be out with Joe and your buddies, or at the very least helping Sean coach his baseball team tonight.”
Steven cuffed the back of his neck, suddenly looking more exhausted at twenty-four years of age than Patrick felt at fifty-three. “Yeah, I know, but Joe and the guys are going to Revere Beach for a dance marathon tonight, and I just wasn’t up to it. It’s been a pretty grueling week at work, so I figured I’d just turn in early.”
“You think you’re going to like it—the Prohibition Bureau?” Patrick glanced up, feeling an edge of concern that the son who had burned the candle at both ends during college was now a nose-to-the-grindstone prohibition agent in bed by nine.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s great, Joe and I being partners and all, although I don’t think he’s as enamored with the job as I am. I guess I like the idea of working for the Department of Justice, you know?” His lips quirked. “Like maybe it exonerates me from my questionable past.”
Patrick felt a twinge in his chest. “Steven, you’ve already been long exonerated. Your exemplary behavior since my heart incident two years ago more than proves that. You’re a hardworking and honest man, son, and I’m proud of you.” He hesitated. “But you need to enjoy life too. Why don’t you go with Joe and the others to Revere Beach tonight and have fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a nice young woman.”
A wry smile hovered on Steven’s lips. “Nice young woman? Hanging out with Joe and the others? I don’t think so, Pop. You didn’t take a shine to the women I met hanging out with Joe and the gang before. What makes you think you will now?”
“I’m not talking about women like Maggie. Surely there must be some decent young girls you can meet and get to know?”
“Young?” Steven leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Yep, plenty of those. But decent?” He slapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Trust me, Pop, they’re few and far between. See you later.”
A thunderous clomping rattled down the staircase, followed by a slam of the front screen door, indicating Gabe was more than ready. “Steeeeeeeeeven!! Meet you on the porch swing.”
“One Nehi only, Steven,” Marcy warned. “And don’t let her talk you into chocolate—heaven knows she already has enough sugar to keep her up for days.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steven said with a wave. “Enjoy the solitude.”
The screen door slammed again, and Patrick eased into the love seat with a sigh. He drew Marcy close. “Solitude,” he whispered. “Heaven help me, I almost don’t recognize it anymore.”
He felt Marcy’s chuckle against his chest. “Don’t get too used to it, Patrick. We have two sons and a very active foster daughter who still call this home.” Her sigh seemed one of pure contentment. “Besides, raising someone as young and vital as Gabe will help keep us young.”
His fingers caressed the back of her neck before tilting her face to meet his. One brow edged high as he studied her with a slant of a smile. “I can think of better ways to stay young, Marceline,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to linger on the fullness of her lips.