“Mrs. Collins usually has a snack for me,” Danny volunteered.
Caleb looked at Claire. “Why don’t we see what we can do about that,” he suggested. His goal was to keep her moving, to keep her busy. Staying busy was the only temporary solution he knew to the sort of pain she was dealing with.
She nodded, putting her hand on the boy’s shoulders and leading the way to the kitchen. She drew in a ragged breath. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
He didn’t ask Claire until after Danny had gone to bed and she had turned down his offer to give her something that would help her sleep. He’d already made up his mind to keep her company until such time as she fell asleep on her own. And if she remained up all night, well, that was no big deal, either. It wouldn’t be any different for him than all those nights that he’d been forced to put in on a stakeout.
They were standing outside on his porch, gazing up at a sky that was utterly devoid of any lights. The stars were conspicuously absent and the moon was new. The only illumination came from the streetlamp and the lights from the other houses on the block.
The question had been burning in his brain ever since he’d overheard her final conversation with her mother. Now that they were alone, he had to ask. “So when are you going back?”
Claire looked at him, surprised by the blunt question. She shrugged. “I can go now if you’d like.”
Why would she assume that he wanted to see her return to the order? Didn’t she realize by now how he felt about her? What she had come to mean to him and to his son? Okay, maybe he’d been a little standoffish from time to time but that was only because he was trying to sort things out, to unshackle himself from both fear and guilt. After all, he hadn’t expected to ever feel anything for another woman.
Maybe her mother’s death had muddled everything for her and she wasn’t thinking clearly yet, he reasoned.
“I’d like for you to stay here forever.” Until he actually said it out loud, he hadn’t realized the full extent of just how deep his feelings went. But there they were, out in the open. Completely exposed. There could be no confusion.
He waited for her reaction.
She smiled at the sentiment. So he wasn’t throwing her out. “Thank you, but I can’t stay at your house indefinitely.”
“I’m not talking about my house, although—” he considered the statement for a moment “—that would be the logical progression now that you mention it.”
Claire turned to him. She wasn’t clearheaded tonight, but he had lost her. Completely. “Are we talking about the same thing?”
He decided to make it easy and spelled it out for her. “I’m talking about you going back to the order. What are you talking about?”
“I thought you meant my being here. Physically,” she emphasized. For the first time since she’d gotten the call from Nancy, she allowed herself a small laugh.
“Not a bad topic,” he allowed, a sensual smile on his lips. Because, ultimately, he was talking about her remaining—physically—in his life. In their lives, his and Danny’s. Before he got sidetracked again, Caleb got down to the heart of the matter. “But I heard you, earlier, with your mother. I was in the hall, debating whether to come in or just wait outside until you came out. I heard your mother ask you to promise that you’d go back to being a nun—”
“A sister,” she corrected.
“Whatever. It all boils down to you leaving Bedford again.” To you leaving me. Again.
Well, that cleared things up, she thought. Claire shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she admitted. Everything was so up in the air. She needed to get through the funeral first, then tackle the rest of her life. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not going back to the order.” In an odd way God had given her His answer. Her mother was gone. He didn’t want her returning to the order. She was certain that it would be compounding a mistake to return.
Caleb narrowed his eyes, confused. “Then you lied to your mother?”
Not that he objected, since this was a lie he could more than live with, but he just hadn’t thought that Claire was capable of actually lying to someone, especially her mother, on what amounted to her deathbed. He knew how much truth meant to her.
Claire didn’t see it as lying. “I helped my mother die in peace. She kept blaming herself for my leaving the order and she actually felt that God was angry at her. She didn’t listen all those times I tried to explain it to her and I didn’t want her to die troubled.”
Die.
Her mother was dead.
It was still so hard for her to comprehend. It felt so surreal. And she, heaven help her, felt so lost.
It had been a very long time since he’d felt a genuine smile blooming within him. He felt one now as he looked at Claire. “So you’re not going back.”
She slowly shook her head, underscoring her decision. “No, I’m not going back.”
“Good.” She looked at him in surprise. “Because I don’t want you to.”
She smiled to herself. Well, that was nice. It still didn’t set her on a clear-cut path, but it was a nice thing to hear.
“So what would you suggest I do?” she asked, staring up at the dark sky. She ran her hands along her arms. She wore a sweater, but the evening chill had woven its way through it.
“Marry me.”
Her head swung around at the same time that her jaw dropped. And then she collected herself, a small laugh surfacing along with renewed control.
“I think my hearing must be going. I thought I just heard you say ‘Marry me.’”
“You did.” He put his arms around her to warm her up. “Because I did.”
Why had he said that? He’d never even told her that he loved her. Was he trying to console her? “Is that your way of trying to help me deal with my grief?”
“Actually, it’s a way to help me deal with mine. Ever since you came back to Bedford, you’ve managed to stir things up. Crack all the walls that were in place inside me. You’ve changed everything. You’ve put me back in touch with my son and made me wake up in the morning not regretting that I’m still alive, still breathing.
“You’ve made me feel things—made me want to feel things. That’s why, when I heard you talking to your mother, promising her that you’d go back to the order, I wanted to run in and tell you that you couldn’t do it, couldn’t go.”
“But you didn’t,” she pointed out, wondering what had stopped him.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if that was what you really wanted, if that was what you thought would make you happy, then I couldn’t stand in your way.” He looked at her for a long moment. Then said the words that instantly shot into her heart. “Because I love you. I always have.”
It took her a second to catch her breath. When she did, she spoke in slow, measured cadence. “I made a deal with God this morning.” She avoided looking at him. “I know it sounds silly, but it was something I used to do as a kid and I was desperate. I said to Him that if He cured my mother, I would take it as a sign that I was supposed to return to the order. But He didn’t cure her,” she said in a small voice. “He took her. So that either means that He hadn’t heard me at all—or that He wants me to stay outside the order. When she died right in front of me, I wasn’t sure just what the plan for the rest of my life was.” She turned to him. “But now I am.”
He was trying his best to follow her. “So you’re saying that you think this was all prearranged, predestined or whatever the philosophy about having your fate cast in stone is called.”
“What I’m saying,” she replied with a wide smile, “is ‘yes.’”
“Despite the so-called ‘age difference’?” he wanted to know, taking her into his arms.
She shrugged. “Like you said, it isn’t that much of a difference anymore. There’s only one thing that makes a difference.”
He kissed the top of her head before asking, “And that is?”
�
��That you love me.”
“And?” he coaxed.
Her smile was warm and all encompassing. It was true, she thought. When one door closed, another opened. And this one was standing wide open, waiting for her to walk through. “And that I love you.”
“Good answer,” he told her just before he kissed her to seal the bargain.
And the rest of their lives together.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3569-8
THE 39-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN
Copyright © 2009 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The 39-Year-Old Virgin Page 17
