Until There Was You(109)

Another memory came to him—Cordelia’s face as they sat on the blanket under the pines at the old estate. Her big, dark eyes had been soft…and trusting, too.

Nice job, idiot. She sure as hell won’t ever look at you that way again.

“Dad?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, babe?”

“You can say no, but…I just want an answer, okay?” Nicole squeezed her ring finger, her signature for nervousness. “The prom’s this Saturday.”

Ah. Hence the thaw.

“Dad, it’s okay if you say no. I screwed up, I know it. And there’ll be other proms. I just need to let Tanner know one way or the other.”

No. Don’t grow up. Stay with me. You’re all I’ve got.

“I want you home by eleven,” he said, his voice uneven. If you’re not home by eleven, I will call the police, the fire department, the National Guard and the SWAT team. I will find that boy, and if his hands are on you, I will rip off his head and drink his blood. I will bury his body where even the vultures won’t find it, and I’ll—

“Oh, Dad,” she breathed. “Really? I can go?”

“Yeah. Do your homework.”

Liam turned back to the strut and tapped it gently into place. The lump in his throat didn’t go away.

JUST BEFORE THE game on Tuesday, Posey girded her loins and went to her parents’ house.

“Oh, it’s you,” her mother said by way of greeting. “I thought you forgot where we lived, it’s been so long. Not a phone call, not a visit. I thought you were in the hospital. What’s it been, a month?”

“It’s been two weeks, Mom,” Posey said with weary patience. “And I did call. Twice.”

“Messages on that machine don’t count.”

Where was the more amenable parent? “Is Dad home?”

“He’s at Guten Tag. Come in. Are you hungry? I just made bockwurst.”

“Got any cake?”

Stacia narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Have you eaten supper?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Liar.”

Posey smiled, and her mother relented enough to step back from the door and let her in. Two minutes later, she was sitting at the kitchen table, eating apple kuchen.

“Gretchen and that horrible Italian man are back together,” Stacia announced.

“I know.”

“Well, I guess I’m the last to know everything.” She sat heavily, the cutlery rattling as her bulk hit the chair. “So. How are you?”

“I’m okay, Mom.”

“Still with that Liam?”

That Liam. Funny. “Nope, not anymore.”

Stacia frowned. “Why?”

“Oh…he’s got some issues to deal with. His daughter. Stuff like that.”

“Well, he’s an idiot if he doesn’t want you.”

Posey’s eyebrows lifted. “I thought you wanted him for Gretchen.”

“We did. I did. I don’t know. I pictured you with…someone else.”

“Who?” Posey asked.

Her mom sighed. “I don’t know. Someone perfect. A prince, maybe. A prince who also cured cancer.” She smiled reluctantly. “No one’s ever good enough for your little girl. You’ll see someday.”

Motherhood seemed far, far away. But she could picture feeling that way toward Brianna. Yes. Brianna’s future boyfriend would have to watch his back. Made her understand where Liam was coming from. But she wasn’t here to talk—or think—about Liam. She said nothing else, knowing the best way to get her mother to talk was to wait her out.

The fridge cycled on with a wheeze. A catbird sang from the clothesline. And…bingo.

“Posey, listen,” Stacia said, her pale eyes suddenly wet. “I—I have to tell you something. A couple of things, really.” Her hands twisted together, and she gave her head a little shake. “We—your father and I—we had a daughter before you. When Henry was five. She came too early, and they couldn’t save her. She only lasted an hour.”

Stacia’s face scrunched up, and without a thought, Posey got up and wrapped her arms around her mother’s solid shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered, tears slipping out of her eyes. Even though Posey had known this fact her whole life, Stacia had never spoken of it. For a long moment, she just hugged her mom, breathing in the smell of baking and Suave shampoo. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“We named her Marlene,” Stacia said thickly.

“Beautiful.”

Stacia nodded. “She was. She was beautiful, Posey. And I still think of her. Every day.” She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “Sit back down, honey. I’m not done.”

Posey obeyed.

Stacia looked at the table, her finger tracing the pattern in the painted enamel. “We adopted you two years later. And you were perfect and healthy and beautiful, too, but I was so afraid of losing you, too, in any way. I had nightmares about you drowning, or being kidnapped, or forgetting you on the ironing board.”

“The ironing board?”

Stacia shrugged. She was quiet for a long moment. “With Henry,” she said eventually, “it was different. Oh, I loved that little boy, but you know how he was. How he still is. Completely self-sufficient. Sometimes I used to think that if he fell out of a tree and cut his head, he’d just stitch himself back up and wouldn’t even mention it to me.”