Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(87)

Delia glanced around the apartment. “This is a very homey place you have here.”

The word homey coming from an upper-crust doyenne usually meant shabby. But Delia seemed sincere.

“I like it,” Natasha said, trying to be as noncommittal as possible.

“I’m not one to mince words, so you’ll have to forgive me. But I have news for you. News that might startle you. I know it did me.”

Natasha wanted to scream. She’d had enough startling news in the past month for a lifetime. “I think you’ll find it hard to startle me, Mrs. Marbury.”

“Just Delia, please. May I call you Natasha?”

Natasha nodded. The woman had a flair for the dramatic. Either that or the news she had was truly horrible and she was trying to put Natasha at ease.

“Mrs. Marbury—Delia—could you just tell me what it is you want from me? I’ve had a very tough couple of weeks.”

Why she was admitting such personal news to a perfect stranger, now that was startling. Maybe she was losing it.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this and adding to your stress. But I was afraid you’d run like your mother did. You see, dear, I am your son’s great-grandmother.”

Her words had barely registered before Natasha’s mind kicked in to high-end fight mode.

“Eddie said all his relatives were dead.”

Delia squinted at Natasha. “Who is Eddie?”

“You’re not related to Eddie?”

“Who’s Eddie?” Delia repeated.

“Tyler’s father.”

“Oh, I see. I am a Marbury, dear. I’m your father’s mother.” Delia smiled. “Tyler. I like that name. Very well chosen.”

All sorts of scenarios rolled through Natasha’s mind in a flash. Maybe the woman was an investigator. But if the courts had sent her, why would she tell such an absurd lie?

“I don’t believe anyone knows who my father is,” Natasha said.

“He was my son.” Her gaze softened. “I know this is a lot to take in so suddenly.”

“Your son.” Natasha parroted the words and the connection fired. “You’re my grandmother?”

“If you’ll have me. You and your boy—Tyler—are the only family I have left. I didn’t want to risk losing you. But I am sorry if I’ve caused you a shock.”

Tyler had a great-grandmother. She had a grandmother.

Delia gestured a bejeweled hand toward the kitchen. “Do you think we could have a cup of tea, dear? I flew in from Boston just this afternoon, and I could use a cup of tea.”

“Tea. Yes, of course.” Natasha leaped up and started for the kitchen. And then turned back to Delia.

“Maybe you could start at the beginning, Delia.”

“Oh, I don’t know the beginning, dear. All I can tell you is that while going through some things of my son’s…” Tears began to swim in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You don’t need my tears, I’m sure.” She wiped an escaping tear from her cheek. “There’s much to tell. Tea will help. It always does.”

Natasha concentrated hard as she ran water into the kettle and turned on the burner. She kept an eye on Delia while she measured tea leaves into the chipped teapot. Any moment the woman might disappear in a burst of dust.

Delia rose stiffly from the chair and joined her, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter.

“I was clearing out boxes in my house, boxes that had belonged to my William. Old ladies have a tendency to do such things, you know. He died in a race. A crash. They couldn’t get him out. He was a dear boy, but always reckless. Too reckless.”

The teakettle whistled, and Natasha poured the water into the teapot. Any moment she would wake up and find herself in her bed and all of this—Delia, the teapot, all of it—just a strange dream.

“I found a letter,” Delia continued. “From your mother to William. Your mother wrote that she was leaving New York, that she didn’t want his money or his help. There were also two letters from William addressed to Elizabeth Raley. Both had come back as undeliverable.”

She unsnapped the clasp of the black purse she’d set on the counter and fished envelopes from it.

“I have the letters. I opened them, of course. That’s how the investigator I hired found you. Your mother may have run, but she never changed her name.”

She handed Natasha the letters.

“I apologize for William. He wasn’t ready for a family. As you’ll see from these letters, he gave your mother money for an abortion—an abortion I’m mighty glad she didn’t go through with. You look like your father, my dear.”

Natasha laid the letters on the counter and sank down onto the other kitchen stool.

“I can’t read these. Not right now,” she said. No amount of meditating or exercises would calm her racing heart. What did the woman really want? After the shock of Eddie, she should’ve been ready for anything to happen. But she hadn’t been ready for this. To her surprise, a strange joy fluttered in her chest. She had a family. Well, a family of one.

“I understand, dear. I was shocked too when I first discovered them. And I was terribly sorry to hear what my investigator found out about your mother. And what you went through after her death. All so unnecessary. I would’ve gladly taken you in. I never had a daughter. William was an only child, like me.”