Laura Abbot (20 page)

“How could that be?” Katherine turned ashen-gray. “I…we never received anything. And Jo knew our phone numbers.”

Laurel shook her head. “No, she didn’t. They’d been changed and were unlisted.”

“How…?” Katherine buried her head in her hands. “Frank,” she whispered. “I remember now. There’d been some threatening calls in the neighborhood. He changed the numbers. For security, he said, but…” She shrugged helplessly. “I wondered at the time about the wisdom of that, but Frank assured me that if Jo wanted to find us, she could. That she knew where we lived.”

“The mail?” Laurel continued.

Katherine raised her head, her eyes pale marbles. “It had to be Stefan Mazerac.”

“Who’s that?”

“Our house man who was also Frank’s driver. He always—” she struggled to go on “—sorted our mail. Frank must’ve…”

A welcome release of pent-up air left Laurel’s lungs. “So you didn’t ignore Mother’s messages?”

“Ignore them? I was frantic with grief and worry. I would have given anything to hear from Jo, but I never did.” Katherine studied Laurel with infinite sadness. “You must not think much of your grandfather.”

Laurel tamped down the anger threatening to undo her. “Whatever he did, perhaps he had his reasons, but they are ones I will never understand. But that’s in the past. What’s important is what happens now.”

“Will—” Katherine cleared her throat nervously. “Will she see me?”

“No.” Laurel pictured her mother’s ravaged, but obdurate expression. “Not yet.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t know.”

Katherine hung her head, then spoke tentatively. “Did Jo say what happened between her and her father that day?”

As honestly as she could, Laurel told her about the accusations and Frank’s ultimatum.

When she finished, Katherine nodded her head. “Both of them, stubborn to the end. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to forgive Frank.”

An updraft hit the deck, and her grandmother shivered. “Let’s go inside,” Laurel suggested.

Katherine allowed herself to be led into the living room. When they settled on the sofa, Katherine said, “So Ben went with you?”

“How did you know?”

“Megan told me. You must be very important to him.”

“Why do you say that?”

Then Katherine told her about Mike’s arrest. “I understand Brian Nolan handled everything. According to Megan, Ben told his family he couldn’t help, that he had to leave—that you were his priority.”

Laurel shook her head wonderingly. “He never said a word about it.”

“He wouldn’t. He loves you.”

And Laurel knew, beyond a doubt, that her grandmother spoke the truth.

Greta appeared at the door then. “Can I get either of you something?”

Katherine gave Laurel a questioning look, then said, “Two glasses of our finest wine, please.”

Later, enjoying the rich bouquet of the vintage cabernet sauvignon, Laurel asked a final question. “Nan? Does she know?”

“She’s coming this weekend, I’ll tell her then. After I’ve phoned Jo.”

Studying her grandmother, Laurel noticed the determined jut of her chin and the hint of a twinkle back in her eyes. “I don’t know if—”

“She’ll speak to me? I’ll never know if I don’t try, will I? And I’ve been waiting thirty years to try.” Katherine set down her glass and picked up both of Laurel’s hands. “But no matter what, I have a cherished granddaughter. No one can take that away from me. I love you, Laurel.” A joyous smile illuminated her face. “And I love the beautiful music of that name, ‘Grandmother.’”

P
AT ROCKED
back and forth in the porch swing, gazing out over the gray-green mountains, in distinct in the fading light. A bright evening star winked at her, daring her to make a wish, but it was too late for wishes. Too late for things to stay the same. And hurt, like a raw wound, was a constant reminder of a past she had spent years trying to overcome.

She closed her eyes, willing away the image of her mother and sister, giddy with excitement about preparations for Nan’s wedding. Willing away the curiosity that had hounded her for years. How were they? Had they missed her?

And most painful—why hadn’t they answered her letters?

She sighed, remembering how fierce her need had been to protect Laurel from the kind of rejection that bore into the very marrow of one’s being. Innocent Laurel.

And now? Laurel was asking her to forget all those years. To reconnect with her family. But she couldn’t do it for Laurel’s sake alone. If she went to Belleporte, it would have to be because she could no longer live with the choice she had made over thirty years ago, and because her need was stronger than her guilt or the fear of rejection.

In the distance the plaintive cry of a mourning dove echoed the turmoil in her heart.

When the phone rang, she started, then resumed rocking. Noel would get it. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. But when she heard the creak of the screen door, she knew the call was for her. Noel said nothing, but merely held out the receiver. She raised her eyebrows in question, but he set the phone in her lap, lightly caressed her hair in passing and went back inside.

She stared at the device, sensing that when she picked it up, everything would change. Slowly she clamped it to her ear and said hello.

“Jo, darling, it’s Mother.”

With those words, Pat was swept into an eddy of colors, sounds, images, tastes, scents. As if drawing herself up from the depths of a bottomless sea, she found her voice. “I—I’m not sure I have anything to say except to thank you for your interest in Laurel.”

“I have so much to explain, to tell you.”

Pat licked her lips, stunned by the salty taste of tears.

“Jo…I’ve never stopped loving you.”

She wanted to believe it. Desperately. But could she? “Mother, it’s hard to put aside decades of history.”

“We can’t get back those years, but I pray we have a future. If you’ll just let me explain—”

“Please, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Can we talk later?” Her heart threatened to explode out of her chest and her breath was coming in short pants. “I need some time,” she whispered. Explanations? How could any of it be explained? Even her part. Pat didn’t bother to wipe away the tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Very well,” Katherine murmured, just before hanging up.

Why was she crying, anyway? Then it came to her.
Mother.
She’d called her “mother” without even thinking about it. Spontaneously.

Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

“M
OTHER
,
WHAT
are you doing?” The shrill voice carried over the sound of wind and waves.

Katherine turned toward shore, letting her feet sink into the sandy lake bottom. She shaded her eyes. Nan, looking out of place in her designer silk dress, waited at the water’s edge, clutching her sling-back pumps, a horrified expression on her face. “What does it look like? I’m swimming.” Though Katherine understood her daughter’s reaction, she took perverse delight in shocking her.

In hose-clad feet, Nan waded in up to her ankles. “Please come out.”

Windmilling her arms for balance in the chest-high water, Katherine approached Nan. “I hope you’re not going to tell me I’m too old for this.”

Her daughter had the decency to look embarrassed. “Actually, I was. You haven’t been swimming in years.”

“A waste,” Katherine muttered as she crossed the sand to her towel. Looking up and down the beach at her neighbors, she added, “I don’t come out by myself.”

“I should hope not.” Nan swiped at flecks of sand clinging to her skirt.

Katherine gathered up her tote bag. “Why don’t we change into something more comfortable and meet on the deck for iced tea. We need to talk.”

Nan eyed her sternly. “We certainly do.”

Katherine took her time dressing. She wasn’t sure how Nan would react to her news about Jo. Nan had adored her younger sister and been crushed when Jo walked out. Anger had been Nan’s best defense against the loss, and only reluctantly had she financed the unproductive investigation the two of them launched without Frank’s knowledge. Nan’s stance had always been that her sister knew where to locate her family if she cared about finding them. The more years that passed, the less open Nan had been to the possibility of a reconciliation.

Katherine stepped into a pair of capri pants, pulled a loose knit shirt over her head, then, with difficulty, leaned over and strapped on her sandals. Ever since she’d told Nan her suspicions about Laurel, Nan had grown increasingly protective, worrying that Katherine was doomed to disappointment.

How would Nan take the news that her mother’s suspicions about Laurel had proved true and that Jo was alive and well but so far unreceptive to a reconciliation? Katherine sighed, recalling her phone conversation with her recently found daughter. Surely her hurt and stubbornness could be overcome…couldn’t it?

With a quick glance at the strange old lady reflected in the mirror, Katherine left her bedroom, praying Nan’s love for her sister would lead to understanding and forgiveness.

A
FTER HER RETURN
from West Virginia, Laurel had settled back into her routine at The Gift Horse out of necessity and as a means of keeping her confusing emotions at bay. Although she was pleased about her relationship with her grandmother, waiting for Nan’s reaction was unsettling, as was the fact that, despite several phone conversations with her mother, Laurel had no sense whether or not Pat had made any decision. She understood her mother well enough to know heaven and earth couldn’t move her until she was ready.
If
she ever was. Meanwhile, it was awkward and painful to be caught in the middle.

As she’d requested, Ben had kept his distance, calling only once. On that occasion, though, she’d found comfort in his words. “You need to focus on your family. I understand that. The thing is, families are not always easy or comfortable or even likable.” He’d chuckled then. “I should know. And we sure don’t get to pick the cast of characters. But, bottom line, they’re all we’ve got, and we can’t afford to lose them. Any of them.”

Now, as she stood at the counter unpacking an order of spices, Laurel realized his words weren’t entirely true. Sometimes you did get to pick. You picked your mate. The revelation drew a wondering smile from her because, more than anything, she wanted Ben Nolan for hers. After work she would march over to his office and put an end to this silly self-induced separation.

She was sidetracked, however, when, just before closing, Nan Kelley came into the store, her perfectly made-up face a mask. “Laurel, could we talk?”

She must know.
“Of course.” Nerves taut, Laurel directed her aunt outside to the garden bench.

“I understand you’re my niece,” Nan said with out preface. “Frankly, I thought Mother was deluding herself. It appears I was mistaken.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Understand this, Laurel. I’m not unhappy with you. In fact—” her features relaxed, although her eyes remained wary “—I look forward to getting to know you better. But my first concern has to be Mother. I won’t permit her to set herself up for further disappointment. Do you think Jo will see her?” Laurel hung her head. “I don’t know. She hasn’t decided.”

“That sounds like her.”

The bitterness in Nan’s voice stung Laurel. Neither her mother nor her aunt struck her as being vindictive. “She hurt you a great deal, didn’t she?” Laurel ventured quietly.

Nan’s cheeks reddened with something beyond a cosmetic blush. “I’ve never understood how she could leave like that and not once in all those years get in touch with us.”

“As you must know by now, she tried. Put your self in her position. She could never understand why her letters were returned, unopened. She thought she’d been disowned, not just by her father, but by you and her mother.”

“How can I overlook thirty years of hurt?”

“That’s exactly what Mother said.” Laurel studied her fingers, then looked up. “Tell me, Nan, what’s the alternative?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is misery so comfortable that neither of you can reach beyond it?”

“I won’t have Mother hurt again.”

“I don’t want that, either. But surely you can try to forgive? Please.”

Nan’s perfectly manicured forefinger went to the corner of her eye. As if changing the subject, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m having a birthday party for Mother next Friday. It will be her seventy-fifth. I’m inviting most of Belleporte. I’d like you to be there and…” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed several times.

“You want me to ask my mother to come.” Laurel sensed Nan could never have put her request into words, and, more importantly, that Nan was as afraid of rejection as Pat was.

Her aunt nodded mutely.

“I’ll ask.” Laurel embraced the older woman. “Mother has never forgotten Belleporte or you or Grandmother. Maybe, just maybe, love will do the trick.”

A
FEW MINUTES BEFORE SIX
Laurel caught Janet Kerns locking up Ben’s law office. “Too late, kiddo,” Janet said, anticipating her question. “He waited for the mail, then left for Lansing a little past four. After that he’s on to Detroit and Akron. Depositions.”

“Oh.” Even the one syllable couldn’t conceal her disappointment.

Janet patted her shoulder encouragingly. “When are you going to cut my boss some slack?”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t been worth shooting around here. Dr. Kerns’s diagnosis? He’s been infected by the love bug.”

Laurel managed a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to volunteer to help with his treatment. When will he be back?”

“Sometime Friday.”

“In time for Katherine’s birthday party?” Laurel’s heart sank. Katherine planned to introduce Laurel as her granddaughter that evening. She had counted on Ben for support.

“He mentioned receiving the invitation, but he didn’t say when he’d be back.” Janet looked at her. “Did you try his cell?”

Laurel shook her head. “Just…if you talk to him before I do, please tell him…I miss him and can’t wait to see him.”

Janet dropped her key ring into her purse, then winked at Laurel. “That’s one message I’ll be delighted to deliver.”

Laurel took her time walking back to her apartment, faintly aware of the smells of barbecuing meat and the sounds of laughter wafting from backyard patios. A shudder of loneliness passed through her. She didn’t truly belong anywhere. She wasn’t a Sullivan yet—not really. Edens were a figment of her parents’ imagination. Ben had left without a word. But then, he didn’t owe her an explanation. She’d asked for time apart.

Somehow, though, she hadn’t anticipated it would weigh so heavy on her.

I
T WAS NEARLY DUSK
on Wednesday when Ben pulled alongside Noel Eden’s workshop. He had no idea whether his trip here would make any difference, but for Laurel’s sake, he had to give it his best shot. Acting on impulse after his final deposition in Akron, he’d phoned the Edens, and although they’d seemed puzzled by his request to visit them, they’d been gracious. So here he was. Drawing a deep breath, he got out of the car and, accompanied by a tail-wagging Dylan, headed for the house. Noel greeted him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome.”

“You’re sure I’m not intruding?”

Noel glanced surreptitiously toward the kitchen, where Pat was rolling out pie dough. “On the contrary,” he said in a low voice. “I think you may be precisely what’s needed.”

Before Ben could explore that cryptic remark, Pat raised her head. “Good to see you again, Ben. I hope you like cherry pie.”

“It’s my favorite.”

They made small talk over dinner, but when Ben had scraped the last crumb of the delicious pie from his plate, he sat back in his chair. “I’m sure you’ve guessed this isn’t a purely social visit.”

Pat set down her fork, but it was Noel who spoke. “What’s on your mind?”

Ben marshalled his thoughts before wading into their family business. “I know how much you love Laurel. I hope it will come as no surprise when I say I love her, too. She needs her family.” He hesitated, then went on.
“Whole.”

Noel nodded encouragingly. Pat averted her eyes, though Ben could tell every nerve in her body was on alert. “I’ve come to ask you both to accompany me back to Belleporte. Friday is Katherine’s seventy-fifth birthday party at Summer Haven. I can think of no greater gift for her than your presence. Or for Laurel.”

Noel gently clasped his wife’s hand. For the first time, Pat looked at Ben. “Laurel mentioned it on the phone. Is it so important to her?”

“You know it is.” Ben found Pat’s eyes, so like Laurel’s. “But I’d venture to say it’s even more important to you.”

Pat gave a helpless little shrug, then glanced away.

“Don’t wait too long,” Ben said. “Since my father died last spring, I’ve thought of a thousand things I wish I had said and hundreds of questions I didn’t ask. You’ve lost thirty years of family. So has Laurel. Let it come to an end. Live in the now. Enjoy your mother while you still can.”

“Pat?” The longing on Noel’s face tore Ben up.

She gripped her husband’s hand before facing Ben. “I—I’m afraid,” she whispered raggedly. “I should have gone back long ago.”

“Your father’s dead,” Noel said. “Can you for give Nan and your mother? Give up the hurt?”

One lone tear hung on Pat’s lashes. She looked mutely from one to the other of the men.

“Katherine is a lovely person,” Ben said. “She knows she was wrong to let your father dominate her. I think you’ll like the woman she’s become. Laurel does.”