The Davenports(31)

She couldn’t bear to hear him say “I’m sorry” again, so she barreled on. “My mother was devastated,” Amy-Rose said, ignoring the way her eyes and nose stung. “Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if he were alive.”

That afternoon was private and belonged to her and her mother and still hurt too much to share. The white couple’s son was gone and couldn’t be Amy-Rose’s father. The blue-eyed girl looked from her to the adults and yelled, “Liars!” Amy-Rose would probably never forget how round the girl’s mouth became or how swiftly she was carried out of sight. Amy-Rose also remembered how small her mother had looked, staring at the door as it slammed closed. The man her mother swore loved them and would one day make true on his promise to return was no longer there. Though sadness was etched into every line of Clara’s face, her eyes were dry and her grip on her daughter was fierce.

“What happened next?” John asked.

“We moved around a lot, never staying more than a few days until we made it to Chicago. We came north on a train that let us off at Grand Central Station. My mother heard domestic work was the easiest to find, but your family was the only one who would take the both of us.”

John smiled into the darkness. “Olivia and I were hiding behind the curtain, our feet sticking out underneath. I remember Livy whispered, ‘I think we’re meant to be friends.’?”

“We were.” Amy-Rose’s thoughts drifted from what she’d lost to what she had gained—the companionship of children her own age, where her mother was always around, and a sense of belonging. Amy-Rose passed her free hand over the cover of her notebook. “My mother encouraged me to follow my dreams. She bought me notebooks so I could write them down, so I’d never forget.” Her mother had also insisted her daughter choose for herself. Do what was best for her. Clara Shepherd rarely spoke about love after that day in Georgia.

Amy-Rose and John sat on the bench, hand in hand. Neither one of them making a move to pull away. The quiet was easy and comfortable. The bubbling in Amy-Rose’s stomach calmed and she was able to relax. I could count on you, she thought, looking at his strong profile. “What were you thinking about, when I first came out here?”

John looked to where the Freeport Manor peeked over the hedges. “I want my parents to be proud.” His voice was softer than before.

Even though her mother was no longer with her, Amy-Rose thought about how memories of her were imbedded in the decisions she made each day. Her dreams only seemed achievable because of how strong her mother had been.

“They already are,” she said. “I can see it in the way they look at you. And I doubt there is much you could do to change that.”

Amy-Rose didn’t realize she was leaning closer to him until his face hovered inches from her own. So close, she thought he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her skin tingled as she waited. Her hand trembled in his, and her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. John’s lips brushed across hers, flooding her senses with warmth. A gasp escaped her lips. He stilled. Amy-Rose, worried she had ruined the moment, held her breath. He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t describe. She sucked in her bottom lip and bit down.

“Don’t,” he whispered. He tugged her chin downward until her full bottom lip came free. Then covered it with his own. John Davenport was kissing her. He was gentle as his hand traced her jaw, slid down her neck where her pulse jumped in his hand. Shyly, Amy-Rose followed his lead. Her mind was mesmerized by the shape of his mouth. She’d thought about what this would feel like. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she slid them up the hard planes of his chest and wondered in amazement if he could possibly feel the same pleasure she did.

John drew her closer to him, one hand low on her back keeping her steady. Then, with increased pressure, John deepened the kiss. Her book dropped to the ground and she wrapped her hands around his neck.

She felt her back arch to meet the warmth of his body and he bent over her, his hands applying enough pressure at her back to keep her upright, and the taste of him intoxicated her. This was not at all like the chaste, comically romantic kiss she’d imagined. This was a hunger, a thirst that made her moan against his mouth. His growl in response left her breathless and dizzy. She tilted her head up to the sky and shivered when he breathed her name against her skin between the featherlight kisses he placed along her collarbone.

Behind her closed eyelids, she detected a brightness. “Who’s there?” Harold’s voice boomed into the night, too loud for her fuzzy senses.

The light came their way. Her heart leaped into her throat. John pulled her around a group of dense bushes. She held on tight. He laughed at the shrinking light of the lantern. A moment she had wished and wished for, after so long, was now passed. But the sound of his suppressed happiness made her giddy. She also felt closer to him, having shared her story, and he having revealed some of himself with her. Together, they raced back toward the house, laughing quietly into the night.





CHAPTER 16


    Olivia



There were no romance novels that could hold Olivia’s attention that afternoon. She must have read the same line five times. Her mind kept returning to the other day at the park. It had been nearly two weeks and, since then, she and Mr. Lawrence had enjoyed countless lunches and walks about town—always under the watchful eye of her mother, of course, with opportunities to speak freely few and far between. Still, Mr. Lawrence continued to surprise her.