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"I do see Rose. My dear, you have the same hair!"
"Youmean, the same impossible hair?"Lynnlaughed ruefully. "And I would have known you for Shelly's
grandmother anywhere."
A crack in her smiling demeanor let pathetic eagerness show. "It's true, then? Adam said she looks like
Jennifer."
The men were talking a few feet away.Lynnbit her lip and asked in a low voice, "He did warn you, then?
From the pictures he's shown me of your daughter, the resemblance is uncanny. I didn't want you to be
taken by surprise."
"He did, and we've been so excited about meeting Shelly. With our Jenny gone, you can't imagine how
we felt when Adam told us Rose wasn't hers. Not that we don't love Rose. We do, of course. But
Jennifer was our only child."
Hoping she sounded more comfortable than she felt,Lynnsaid, "Yes, Adam's told me. I know this must
be very difficult for you."
Through a shimmer of tears, Angela McCloskey smiled radiantly. "Oh, it was! But now she's home. Oh!
Not that you didn't give her a home. But, oh, you know what I mean."
Lynnknew exactly what she meant. She chose her next words carefully. "I love Shelly dearly, although I
admit that sometimes she's a mystery to me. Finding out she didn't carry my genes explained a few things.
She's so fearless! And a chatterbox."
"So was our Jenny. She was so sunny from the moment she was born. People adored her, you know!"
Lynnkept smiling, hard as it was. "I know Adam did."
Or should she saydoes?
"Well, where's our little girl?" Rob boomed.
"Why don't we go on up there?" Adam suggested, adding deliberately, "Rose is excited that you're
coming."
"Rose is such a delight," Angela said confidingly, as Adam herded them toward the stairs. "What a
gentle, sweet girl. Perhaps more like you."
Kindly phrased and meant, perhaps, butLynnhad the uneasy feeling she and her daughter both had just
been damned with faint praise.
Lynnhung back as they neared the girls' open bedroom door.Please, please , she thought,don't scare
Shelly. Don't hurt Rose.
"Girls," Adam said quietly, "your grandparents are here."
Drawn despite herself, a pedestrian to a car accident,Lynnfollowed the others into the bedroom, where
the girls were plumbing the new dress-up boxLynnhad begun here.
Rose tried to scramble to her feet but teetered on her high heels. "Grandma. Grandpa."
Shelly had wrapped a purple feather boa around her neck. A glittery tiara tilted rakishly in her hair. She
looked like a tiny, garish elf queen.
Staring up, she asked boldly, "Are you my grandma and grandpa?"
Angela McCloskey choked.Lynncouldn't see her face, but she knew tears must be streaming down it.
Lynnwas startled when Adam reached out and took her hand in a bruising grip as he watched the drama
unfold. She hadn't even realized he'd dropped back to her side. Or had she come to his?
Rob McCloskey started to speak and had to clear his throat. "Yes," he said at last, thickly. "Yes, your
mommy was our daughter."
"But my mommy's right there," Shelly began, but stopped as her forehead puckered. "Oh. You mean,
the mommy who had me in her tummy."
"That's right," her grandfather said. "She was once our little girl. Our Jenny."
"Did she play dress-up, too?"
"Oh, yes." Angela knelt beside the trunk and reached in. Her voice was almost steady, but tears tracked
mascara down her cheeks. "She was as pretty as you are."
"I'm a princess," Shelly said with satisfaction. Angela lifted out a filmy white shawl. "A very beautiful
princess."
Quiet Rose burst out, "I'ma princess, too, Grandma." Her voice went very quiet. "Me, too."
Angela McCloskey wonLynn's liking and respect forever when she smiled through her tears and held out
the shawl for Rose, not Shelly. "Of course you are! Our princess. And this is just what you need to finish
your outfit."
Adam's fingers laced withLynn's and he drew her out into the hall. Gently he shut the bedroom door,
leaving theMcCloskeys alone with their grand-daughters. Both their granddaughters.
And then he brushed his knuckles across his wife's cheek. They came away wet with her tears.
* * *
Adam pulled into his driveway, laptop and briefcase on the seat beside him, and felt like a Norman
Rockwell man of the house: eager to throw open the front door to the delicious scent of dinner in the
oven, hear the squeal of delight as his children raced to fling themselves at him, and kiss his wife's soft,
demurely presented cheek.
He gave a grunt of amusement. The picture was surprisingly accurate except for the last part. So far, the
only time he'd kissed his wife's cheek was at their wedding when the pastor said, "You may kiss the
bride," and somehow she'd turned at just the right time so that their lips didn't meet.
But, damn, he looked forward to getting home anyway, a pleasant change from the last difficult years.
Instead of Rosebud being with him, slumped wearily in her car seat, thumb in her mouth, she was at
home ready to dash to meet him with Shelly, her eyes bright, her face animated, her giggle floating behind
like a vapor cloud.
Why hadn't he realized how much easier life was when you were married?
Or would be, he reflected, if theirs wasn't a commuter marriage. Today was good; tomorrow would be,
too. Then he and Rose would be alone for two days, after which they'd pack up and make the
too-familiar trek across the rollingCoastRangeto a first glimpse of the broadPacific Ocean, the constant
throb of the surf, and the tiny apartment above the bookstore.
But, hell, that wasn't so bad, either. The trip got old, sure. He wished the apartment was bigger. But
even on rainy days, Adam liked to run on the beach in the early morning. In the short months he'd known
Lynn, the bookstore had come to feel homey with its dark wood, bright book covers, playroom for
children and the quiet talk in the background. He'd sit at a table with theNew York Times spread in front
of him while the girls disappeared into the castle. He enjoyed watching Lynn greet people with her warm,
gentle smile, guide them to a shelf, chat with them as if the conversation was the most fascinating of her
day. When someone loved a book on her list of favorites, her face lit up with the joy of finding a kindred
spirit. Days when she seemed unusually quiet, he was almost tempted to draw a lone shopper aside and
whisper, "Tell that woman your favorite writer is E.B. White."
He had been surreptitiously reading the man's essays and had discovered the charm. They were
whimsical, sharp-witted,good -hearted: everything thatLynnwas and valued.
Tonight, in his lonely bed, Adam intended to start her favorite fantasy novel by an author named Robin
McKinley. Reading the booksLynnadmired was a backdoor way to get to know her, but worth the
effort. She was passionate about reading and her children.
Adam was beginning to wish she was passionate about him.
They had been married only a few weeks, and his good intentions and patience were eroding with
stunning speed. Take tonight: he parked in the garage and went straight into the kitchen.
"I'm home," he said unnecessarily, becauseLynnwas already turning from the stove with a welcoming
smile.
"Girls!" she called. "Dad's home!"
Feet thundered from the living room and he found himself enveloped in giggling little girls. He tossed
them in turn into the air and rejoiced in the squealed "Daddy!" from both.
Such a small word, to mean so much. Satisfied, they galloped away just as quickly, and he went toward
his wife who was stirring something on the stove.
"Spaghetti," he said, seeing the bubbling sauce.
"Yes, I hope that's okay."
He didn't like it when she sounded anxious.
"I've told you. I'm not picky." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]