Until There Was You(29)

“That’d be funny, except it’s so tragically true.” She smiled up at him. “So I can go, right?”

“Yeah. If you want your old man to go off to a party all by himself and have no one to talk to, you can go.”

Nicole opened the fridge and took out an apple. “You won’t be going alone. Mrs. Antonelli’s going, too. I told her you’d take her.”

“Wow. Thanks. She’s definitely my type. Some people think the over-eighty crowd is past their prime, but not me.”

“Dad, gross, okay?” She took a bite of her apple and gave him a critical scan. Time was, she used to come running to meet him, jump into his arms and want to do nothing more than snuggle against his shoulder. He reached out now, touched a strand of her pretty hair. She gave him a distracted smile, then tucked the strand behind her ear.

“Is the cute boy going to the party?” Liam asked, bracing for the answer.

Nicole shrugged, but her cheeks turned pink. “He was invited.”

“And does he have a name?”

“Tanner. Tanner Talcott.” What a stupid name. A pretty-boy name, a boy-band name, the name of a boy who knew how to get a girl to do things that would give her father cardiac arrest. “Tanner Talcott. Well, listen, sweetheart. Boys only want one thing, of course, and guess what that means for you? Heartbreak. Pregnancy. Chlamydia, herpes, syphilis, crabs.”

“That’s beautiful, Dad. You should set it to music.”

“I was a teenage boy once,” he said. “One thing. Sex.”

“Again. So gross.”

“No drinking. No smoking. No drugs. No sex.”

Nicole repeated the phrase, rap-style.

Liam sighed. “Yeah, okay, honey, but if you have any problem—any—you call me, okay? Your dear old dad will always come rescue you.”

She smiled. “I know.” Her phone chimed. “Oh! They’re here!” She ran down the hall and returned with her overnight bag, already packed, and her Cookie Monster stuffed animal, which she slid into a side pocket. She’d slept with Cookie Monster since birth. Good. How much trouble could a girl get into with Cookie watching?

“Don’t obsess, okay, and try to get a life, Dad. Have fun at the party. Talk to people. Smile.” She kissed him on the cheek. “And take a shower. You smell like a locker room.”

Liam walked his daughter down, waved to the Graftons—Bill was a police officer, Leah was an E.R. nurse, so how bad could it get? Then again, George Tate had been a congressman, Louise Tate a gynecologist, and he’d managed to do all sorts of things with their daughter.

Shit.

Banging his head gently against the wall, Liam wondered, not for the first time and most definitely not for the last, just how the hell he was going to survive his daughter’s adolescence.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE wearing? To a party? In my day, we’d have at least dressed up.”

Posey sighed. “Well, this is dressed up for me, Vivian. But thanks.”

The ancient lady peered through her glasses as if examining human remains, then frowned even more and picked up her iPhone, her arthritic old thumbs tapping out a message. “Why don’t people dress for parties anymore?” Viv muttered. “And…there. Posted on my wall. Is that how you’re wearing your hair, Posey? It doesn’t suit you.”

Self-consciously, Posey reached up and tried to smoosh down the back cowlick, the one that defied even the strongest goo out there. So much for delighting Vivian with her girliness tonight. “Anyway, Viv, I swung by the estate today.”

The old lady’s face softened. “Did you? How does it look?”

Posey smiled. On this, at least, she and Vivian agreed. Viv’s former home was magnificent. “So beautiful. The apple trees are just budding out, and the sun was streaming through the stained-glass in the foyer.”

“You went in the morning, then?” Viv asked wistfully.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That was my favorite time of day. Just about ten o’clock, the house so quiet, the birds singing. I’d write letters at the little desk in the rose parlor…?.” Her creaky voice trailed off.

Posey took Vivian’s hand in her own. “Why don’t you let me take you out there, Vivian? Might do your soul some good.”

Viv straightened up indignantly, removing her hand. “My soul is none of your concern.”

“True enough,” Posey said. “But I’d love to take you just the same.”

Vivian gave her a cool look. “You’ll be late for your party if you don’t leave now,” she said. “And you may well want to go home to change into a proper dress first.”

“This is as good as it gets,” Posey said. “But you’re right. Can’t put it off any longer.”

“This is the welcome home party for your sister?” Viv asked.

“Cousin. But yes. You sure you don’t want to come? Everyone would be wicked glad to see you.”

“And by everyone, do you mean that chatterbox you employ and the silent man who’s afraid of her?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Thank you, no. I have bridge tonight.”

“Roger that. Wish I did, too.” Posey stood up and straightened out her frock. Vivian was probably right…the dress was a little goofy, blue with pink flowers and silly little strings that tied on her shoulders. Plus, it had that smooshy gathered fabric over the chest, and it itched. But it wasn’t easy to find something in her size…especially at the last moment. Stacia had specifically requested that she wear a dress, and so here she was. Itchy and feeling less than beautiful. “Knock ’em dead,” she said, kissing Vivian’s soft and withered cheek.