Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(112)

Maybe Frank blamed him because to acknowledge that he’d failed Mary Elizabeth, too…maybe that was more than his father could bear.

It had been worth a shot. James paused, then stood up. “Take care, Mom,” he said, kissing his mother’s head. She sniffled in response. He dropped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “See you, Dad.” He removed his hand before Frank could shrug it off and walked through the house.

There was the funky little closet where Mary Elizabeth always hid during hide-and-seek; James and his brothers would have to pretend to be stumped, wandering around the house, saying, “Where could she be? I can’t find her anywhere,” as she giggled wildly inside. There was the railing Pete had encouraged him to slide down, neglecting to warn against the ball-busting newel post at the bottom. The dining room, which had always looked so magical at Christmas, filled with Grandma’s cut-glass bowls, the candles and the good china, which only came out on holidays.

Once upon a time, this house had been a happy place.

It’d be good to be back in Rhode Island, where nothing had ever been too complicated. Saturday-morning basketball games, the occasional bike ride, beers with the guys, flirting with some girls.

Maybe he’d call Harry’s friend from Goldman. It might not be too late.

He opened the door and went out, closing it quietly behind him. Crossed the tired yard.

“Jamie. Wait.”

It was his mother, shielding her eyes from the sun. “What is it, Mom?”

She came up to him. “Your father’s sorry. It’s hard for him.”

“I know.”

“You know how he is. He’s strung so tight, and your brothers, well, they’re not much better. Tom’s exactly like him—they’re peas in a pod. Petey’s not bad. You should call him more.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Good!” His mother beamed.

“I should go. It’s a long drive.” He opened the truck door.

“You’ll be her guardian, you know. Once your father and I die.”

James froze.

“We signed the papers when you graduated from law school. You’ve always been a good brother.”

“Mom—”

She waved her hand. “And this problem of mine, the drinking… That started before. Long time ago.” She gave a shaky smile, then ran a hand through her hair, making it wilder than ever. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Honey, that day…as horrible as it was, my God, and it was…I thought I’d lost you both. We’d just pulled into the driveway, and I happened to look over at the lake, and there you were, trying to save her, screaming her name. When you went under, I thought you were both dead.” His mother wiped her eyes, then smiled apologetically. “Sometimes, afterward, I’d wake up at night and think you really did drown, and I’d sit by your bed at night and pet your hair and just look at you. My baby boy.”

“Mom…” His voice broke.

“I know you tried, honey. I watched you try. Without you, she’d be dead. Don’t you forget that.”

James rubbed his forehead, looking at the ground. “Mom, if you ever wanted to come live with me—”

“Oh, honey, why would I want to do that? I love your father. Even if he can’t get over what happened with Mary Elizabeth. He’s very good with her, you know. He visits her twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays.”

“I know. I see the visitors’ log.” He paused. “Well, you don’t have to live with me, but I sure would like it if you visited.”

His mother smiled, looking her age and then some. “Maybe, sweetheart.”

“I’d come get you.”

“That sounds nice.”

He hugged her then, hugged her for a long time, breathing in the scent of whiskey and shampoo and the musty smell of his childhood home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SEVEN WEEKS AFTER arriving back in Rhode Island, Parker opened a flower shop.

Blossom was on the far side of Mackerly, away from the little green. It had occurred to Parker that while Ethan and Lucy were hugely important in her life, she probably shouldn’t take a storefront on the same block as their restaurant and pastry shop. So over to the other side of the island, next to a pizza place and a shoe store. An old, Lavinia-style flower shop was going out of business, and the timing had been perfect. A little construction for a new counter, made by Gianni, who was grumpy in his retirement and looked for odd jobs to keep him out of the house. A cozy little corner with a wing chair, a love seat and a coffee table, should a bride come in for a consultation. Parker had ordered some giant Georgia O’Keeffe posters and hung them on the brick wall, stocked up on tissue paper in every conceivable color and ribbons to match, and gotten to work.

She loved Blossom, loved Tuesday mornings, when she’d be at the shop at 5:00 a.m. to get the week’s delivery from the wholesaler. She loved the waxy, clean smell of flowers, loved Carlotta, whom she hired after the first week to run deliveries and cover some hours. Carlotta had six grown children and seventeen ear piercings, spoke Portuguese and often brought Parker a coffee.

After two weeks, Blossom already had repeat customers, including Ethan, bless his heart, who ordered all the flowers for his restaurant from her, ensuring some continuity. He also stopped by for flowers for his bride about once a week. She’d done one funeral and one birthday party. She had a wedding booked for Christmastime, and had sent out beautiful printed announcements, complete with pressed flowers, to her Harvard and Miss Porter’s classmates.