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Authors: Mariah Stewart

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Wonderful You (26 page)

BOOK: Wonderful You
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“Oh, darling, I am so sorry.” Delia met Zoey’s eyes from across the room. “For everything. I am so sorry. And I will understand if you can’t forgive me, either.”

“Mother, how could you even think
…”
Zoey’s eyes filled and she crossed the room to embrace her mother, and the floodgates opened as both sobbed like children.

“Sweetie, you haven’t left little wet circles on my shoulders since you were teething,” Delia said when it appeared that the worst had passed and that somehow, they had both managed to have survived it.

“Mother, pass the tissues.” Zoey swabbed at her face.

They both attacked the tissue box, sniffing back the last of the sobs.

“Tell me how you found her,” Zoey coaxed her mother to continue.

“All those years, I had wondered about her, what had happened to her. Was she still alive? Had she been raised well? Had she been loved? Was she smart? Was she happy? Did she know about me?”

Delia stood and began to pace again. “So a few years back, I hired a private detective. At first, I just wanted to know if she was alive. I told myself that that would be enough. And for a while, it was. Oh, it had taken a while to find them. Laura’s adoptive father died when she was two, and her mother remarried. It complicated things, but my detective was good.”

“So you called her?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t have the nerve to do that. I had checked with the agency, and found that Laura had made only cursory inquiries after her birth parents, so I wasn’t certain if she had any interest in finding me. But through the detective, I learned a lot about Laura. One of the things I learned was that she was a member of the local historic society here. So I decided to set a book here, on the island, and I contacted the president of the historic society. One thing led to another, as I knew they
w
ould, and
I
managed to get myself invited as a guest
s
peaker for one of their monthly luncheons.”

“You’re a clever devil.
Mother.” Zoey shook her head.

“Yes, well, I was a terrified devil that day, let me assure
you. Terrified that she would come, terrified that she
w
ould not. I had decided
that if she did not come that
day, it wasn’t meant to be. I would drop the whole
thing.”

“But she came.”

“Oh, yes. I knew her t
he minute she walked into the
room. As a matter of fact, my first thought was, what is Zoey doing here? She looks so much like you.”

“There is a resemblance.”

“It was uncanny, Zoe. She even walks like you. My heart just stopped in my chest, and for a moment, I thought I was going to pass out.” She reached for another tissue and added, “I
had never been that scared.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well walk up to her and say,
‘Excuse me but I
believe that you are the daughter I gave up for adoption thirty-some years ago.’ ”

Zoey smiled. Delia’s sense of humor was slowly beginning to creep back.

“So you said…
?”

“I very cleverly managed to work my maiden name
into my talk. I figured if she had looked at her birth certificate, she would know.” Delia said simply, “She had, and she did.”

The door flew open and a small flash of white buzzed past Zoey and flung itself onto Delia’s lap.

“You promised to tell me a story tonight, Nana.” The white flash landed long enough for Zoey to identify a little girl of perhaps three wearing a long nightshirt that identified her as the Princess of Quite-A-Lot.

“Why, is it your bedtime already?” Delia looked at her watch, pretending to be shocked. “Oh, my, it’s well past your bedtime, Ally.”

“Momma said I could stay up a little bit longer
but
…”

She stopped and studied Delia’s face, then traced an errant tear with one small finger. Delia gathered her into her arms and rocked her, but the small body was not long still. She twisted around to face Zoey and pointed, asking, “Who are you?”

Before Zoey could answer, Laura called from the doorway, “Say your good nights, Allison. It’s very late.”

“Nana said she’d tell me a story.”

“Nana has company, Ally. She can stop up later.”

“But I’ll be asleep then. And I want to tell her all about the fun stuff we’re going to do at school for Grandparents’ Day.” She turned to Delia. “You didn’t forget about Grandparents’ Day, did you?”

“Not for a minute,” Delia assured her. “You couldn’t keep me away. Now run along to bed.”

“But

” she protested.

“It’s okay.” Zoey stood up. All of a sudden, she was suffocating. It was all too much, had been too much for one night. “I have to leave.”

“Would you like me to fix a room for you?” Laura offered.

“No!” Zoey answered, too quickly, she would later realize. “I have to work tomorrow. I need to go.”

“Zoey
…”
Delia
turned a worried face to her.

“It’s okay. I just have to go.” Her voice ple
ad
ed with her mother to understand. “Please, Mother, go with her.” Zoey gestured toward the little girl, who was looking from one adult face to the other as if trying to read them all.

“I’ll be here for another day or so, Zoey.” Delia took Ally’s hand.

Zoey nodded and gathered her purse.

“Zoe.” Delia called to her from the doorway. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine. I just have to go,” she repeated.

“Nana, who is that lady?” Ally whispered. “She has hair like Mommy.”

Laura followed Zoey into the lobby.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Laura
asked. “It’s getting late. There are some rooms available.”

Zoey shook her head, knowing she should say something—at the very least, a simple
thank you
would be nice—but she could not speak. There were too many emotions fighting within her at that moment. As she passed into the hallway, she caught a glimpse of Laura in the mirror at the foot of the steps. Fascinated, Zoey’s stride missed a beat and unwillingly, she studied the face of the woman who so strongly resembled her.

We have exactly the same eyes. And her daughter was right. We have the same hair.

Flustered, Zoey all but fled through the front door.

“Zoey
…”
Laura
called to her from the top step.

Already halfway down the sidewalk, Zoey turned back.

“Please don’t judge her too harshly,” Laura said softly.

“She’s my mother.” Zoey stiffened, as if offended by the suggestion. “I don’t judge her at all.”

 

 

S
he had taken a wrong turn and ended up at a dead end, but Zoey knew that she was near the ocean. She could hear the rhythmic pounding of water upon sand, over and over. To her right were rocks. To her left, the road trailed off into the darkness. She parked her car under the faint glow of the lone streetlight and climbed over the rocks until she felt the soft shift of the sand beneath her feet. She walked until she knew the ocean was right there, and then she sat down, just beyond the touch of the waves.

She thought about her mother and the heartache she had kept hidden for so much of her life, and she thought about Laura. She thought about her father, who had been unable to see Delia’s truth as anything less than a betrayal of his love for her. Of the years she and her siblings had missed their father, of all the years Delia had missed her child. Their faces all seemed to weave into a sort of blur, one into the next, until they were no
longer distinct. All in all, it seemed like a long time before she stood and brushed the sand off the back of her jeans and walked back over the rocky ledge to her car, still thinking of the tangled web of
family,
and how strong that web was.

Zoey was hardly mindful of the drive home. It seemed she had gone into automatic pilot somehow, and before she knew it, she was coasting through the dark stillness of Brady’s Mill, past the lake where sleeping ducks huddled on the banks and the long bare arms of weeping willow—just a few short late-spring weeks away from unfolding into green fronds—dipped into the water. The crunching of the stones in her driveway sounded loud enough to wake the dead, so complete was the silence behind her bungalow, and she almost regretted having to shatter the quiet by slamming the door of her car. The night was the color of pitch, the sky an enormous starry quilt, and the moonlight scattered itself here and there, on the white tips of the tulips that bore the luster of pearls, the pale trumpets of the daffodils that glowed like burnished gold, the heavy clusters of white lilac that hung like opaque clouds from the spindly branches.

The warmth and calm gentleness of the night garden were welcome after the turbulence of emotions
t
hat had threatened to tear her apart over the past several hours, and she picked a small white daffodil—Thalia, Wally had called it—and twirled it between her fingers. The peace of her surroundings soothed her, and she felt the tension that had settled in the back of her neck began to ease. She leaned her head back to inhale the heady fragrance of lilac, then smiled. There was another scent in the air.

Wally’s pipe.

She leaned over the gate and peered into the garden, where Wally sat on the stone bench, the faint spark of the ashes in the bowl of his pipe glowing like a tiny flashlight.

“Work late?” he asked casually.

She shook her head, then realizing that he may not have seen the gesture in the dark, said, “No.”

“Late for you to be out,” he commented.

“Now, you weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

“Naw. Watched a movie on cable, then thought I’d enjoy a pipe before I turned in.”

“Which movie?” Zoey smiled to herself. He could have enjoyed that pipe anywhere.

“Jurassic Park.

“Did you like it?”

“Would I stay up until two in the morning watching a movie I didn’t like?”

“Is that what time it is? Two?”

“Yep.”

They each wrestled with the silence, Wally not able to bring himself to ask, Zoey not having the strength to tell him. Not tonight, anyway. It was still all too jumbled. “You going in soon?” he asked.

Zoey knew it was his way of asking her if she was all right. “Yes,” she replied.

“Yep,” he said, looking up. “A night sky like that is sure something to see. Makes you realize how inconsequential most things are.”

“Yes,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say, but wanted him to know she got his drift.

“Well, don’t be staying out here too long. Those raccoons have been wandering. Wouldn’t want them to think you’re a threat to their babies. They can be mean buggers.”

“Okay. I’m going in now anyway.”

“Me, too, in a minute.”

“Thanks, Wally,” she called to him.

“Don’t mention it.” His voice drifted through the dark much as the smoke from his pipe had snagged a ride on a passing breeze. “Sleep well, Zoey.”

“You, too,” she called back over her shoulder, wondering if she would sleep at all.

 

 

20

 

 

B
en stood up and for what seemed like the fiftieth time that morning, walked to the window that overlooked the parking lot. The little red sports car had yet to find its way to its designated spot. He pulled the cord that controlled the drapes until he had the glass pane totally exposed. That way, he figured, he could watch for her without getting up every thirty seconds to pee
r
at the window like the nervous father of a sixteen-year-old who was long past her curfew.

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 t
h
ing.” 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 wo
rk, 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 Angers 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 conc
eded. 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 securi
ty desk, awaiting-c
learance 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.

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