“I also brought suit because, knowing you cowered out here in the countryside offended me, Veracity Winston, particularly when I’m to blame for this scandalous state of affairs. You need to be performing, sharing your music with the people who love you for it. You cannot allow one blow to knock you aside from what you love—or several blows, God forbid. Just an old man’s opinion, but an old man who has seen and heard what you can do with a full house and a piano. Think about it.”
He gave her an odd little bow from across the room, and shepherded Tina and their son out the door.
James wished them well, but he was not sorry to see them leave.
“I have the sense,” Vera said, “I never knew that man at all.”
“He probably didn’t know himself, but true love and a good therapist can work wonders,” Hannah said. “I could use some of those cookies, and maybe a cup of tea. Trent, can you jot down some notes?”
“Make mine decaf,” Trent said, “and, Vera, scoot over here. You have to approve of the agreement before anybody else gets to see it.” He patted the place beside him on the sofa, so James drew Vera to her feet, and knowing exactly how bad it would look, shamelessly followed his sister-in-law into the kitchen.
* * *
Vera sat beside Trent and wanted to smack him for the simple fact that he wasn’t James, and he hadn’t batted an eyelash at the sight of his own brother trailing after Hannah into the kitchen—and Vera wasn’t blind. She could plainly see James had something on his mind, something he wanted to share with Hannah in private.
“When do the seniors get out of school?” Trent asked. “Do you want Darren working at Inskip’s five days a week and here one, or four and two—I guess that depends on how much rain we get, and how fast your lawn grows. We’ll need the receipts for the security system to justify the sum of the restitution, but you should also be compensated something for—Vera, are you listening to me?”
“No.”
He sat back, his expression puzzled.
“I’ve just been handed an explanation for months of harassment and vandalism, Trent. That’s a little more significant to me than receipts and schedules.”
James would have known that, but James had disappeared into the kitchen.
Trent’s frown eased into a look of concern. “You want to cry? That’s understandable, because I want to hit something on your behalf. I’ll muster Hannah from defending the cookies, and make James show me your Falcon while you ladies talk, if you’d like.”
James did not run from a woman’s honest tears.
“Trent, doesn’t it bother you that Hannah and James are off in corners, whispering and exchanging glances?”
He sat back and eyed her warily. “Noticed that, did you?”
So it wasn’t her imagination. “You don’t seem concerned.”
“Oh, I’m concerned, all right. They are trying so hard to be discreet, and I appreciate that, but if Hannah doesn’t admit what she’s up to soon, I will have to throttle my brother—probably both of my brothers, come to think of it, and possibly a unicorn or two.”
* * *
“I thought you wanted to tell Trent,” Hannah said, eyeing James curiously.
“It’s your place to tell him,” James replied. He was on the stool at the island while Hannah leaned back against the sink, a towel over her shoulder and a turtle cookie in her hand. “All I need is permission to tell Vera I represent Grace, and Mac represents you, and that it’s a legal proceeding within the family. She’ll get the confidentiality part.”
Hannah took a nibble of cookie. “I’m no litigator, James, but isn’t your representation public record?”
“Not until we file the pleadings, and because Grace is under ten, she doesn’t really need a lawyer.”
“But she approached you before I even thought of this,” Hannah said, taking a sip of her tea. “Have I ever thanked you?”
James picked up an orange origami owl that sat atop the salt shaker. The folding was intricate, subtle, not obvious on even close inspection, and Vera had probably created this little owl in an idle moment.
“You can thank me by waiving confidentiality,” James said, “insofar as I would really like to explain the situation to Vera, and sooner rather than later.”
“There’s some urgency?”
A light of mischief in Hannah’s eyes confirmed to James that he was being gently needled.
“You heard her, Han. She’s thinking of selling this house, and God knows where she’ll get off to. She’s traveled all over the world, and this is the only state where I’m admitted to practice. May I ask you something?”
The teasing in Hannah’s eyes died. “Of course. Anything.”
“Did I offend you when I tried to pick you up over lunch last fall?”
“You puzzled me,” Hannah said slowly, “but you did not then nor have you ever offended me.”
James set the owl back on the salt shaker, relief—or maybe absolution—washing through him.
“I apologize anyway. I knew you were interested in my brother, and I should have kept my pandering to myself.”
“James, forgive yourself. Nobody uses words like pandering except Supreme Court judges. You have my permission to tell Vera whatever you need to. Whatever, James.”
“Is somebody going to China to get my tea?” Trent asked, sauntering into the kitchen. “Should I even ask if there are any cookies left? Wife, you were magnificent.”
“I asked about three questions,” Hannah said. “When people are ready to talk, all they need is a safe place to do it, and this house, ironically, was that place.”
Trent took a sip of her tea. She held up a cookie, and he took a bite of that too.
“Has anybody told you two to get a room?” James asked, shoving off his stool.
“We have a whole house, with lots of rooms. Has anybody told you to get a wife?” Trent replied, munching his cookie while he nuzzled his wife.
“Leave him alone, Husband. James has an excellent sense of timing, and so do we. Grab a cookie, and take me home. Mac will have hit his limit of princess movies, and we had better rescue him.”
Five minutes later, Hannah and Trent were gone, and James was standing in Vera’s foyer, waiting for her to ask him to leave her property, possibly for the last time.
* * *
“You OK?” James looked Vera up and down, taking inventory. Her eyes were tired, but she’d lost the haunted, wary look she’d had when he’d first met her. She wasn’t smiling; neither was she precisely grim.
“Wrung out, but I cannot thank you enough for being here when I needed you.”
To James, that sounded like the prelude to a good-bye, so he spoke quickly.
“If you have another minute, I have some things I need to explain to you. It’s a little late—”
“I have as many minutes as you need, James.”
He wasn’t at all sure what that meant, but he followed her back to the kitchen.
“Is this your tea?” She picked up the cold mug on the island, the one James hadn’t even touched.
“It is, or was.”
She put it in the microwave and peered into the cookie tin. “My cookie arsenal has taken a serious hit.”
“Vera, to hell with the tea and cookies. I need you to listen.”
The microwave dinged, and James wanted to toss it through the window. Vera left the tea in the damned microwave and took a stool at the island.
“Sit with me, James, and take your time. I have no lessons tomorrow, and I have some things I want to say to you too.”
He took the stool beside her, which was a smart move, because it meant he didn’t have to look her in the eye while he made what amounted to his most important closing argument.
“When Hannah and Trent went on their honeymoon,” he said, “Grace approached me about havin
g Trent adopt her, so he’d be what she called her real dad. I took this to Hannah in confidence, and she agreed we could get Mac involved, though it scared her to death to even consider it. We’ll have to find somebody to represent Trent, but Hannah won’t turn us loose on that until we know we’ve got a valid consent from Grace’s birth father.”
“An adoption?” Vera said the word as if it were recently borrowed from Swahili.
“An adoption isn’t as simple as you’d think. Grace’s natural father is serving a fifty-year sentence in a West Virginia prison for attempted armed robbery of a bank.”
“That was your errand in West Virginia? You had to meet with him?”
James wanted to put his arms around Vera, but if he did that, he’d never get out what needed to be said.
“I couldn’t very well ask Hannah to approach him, and I didn’t trust Mac to behave.”
“You can behave?”
“I can, when it’s important. Then too, armed guards stood within shouting distance at all times during my conversation with Grace’s father.”
Vera touched the little owl, tipping up the end of one of its short wings. “I cannot fathom the worlds in which you walk, James. What did he say?”
“He was surprisingly humble and contrite, but then, he’s had years to experience the daily threat of victimhood himself. I appealed to his vanity, told him he had a chance to do right by a little girl who would one day have the ability to contact him if he got on the adoption registries. He went for it, and now we have a valid consent.”
Not a negotiation James had enjoyed.
Vera drew out another napkin from the holder at the center of the island and started folding.
“Was there any question of the outcome?” she asked.
“There’s always question. For something as serious as adoption, the law allows for buyer’s remorse. He had a period of time in which he could revoke his consent, but that period has elapsed.”
In a few deft moves, Vera folded napkin in on itself, into a diamond shape. “So you and Hannah—”
James couldn’t bear for her to finish the question. “I love Hannah, I’d cheerfully die to protect her or Grace, but she’s my brother’s wife. I am not in love with her and never have been.”
A few more folds, and an owl’s head and a beak took shape. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”
That was all he got? A polite, distracted thank-you? “You saw her car in my driveway, didn’t you?”
Vera nodded, guilty as charged. She gave the owl wings, and from some hidden fold in the napkin, created a pair of little owl feet.
“My family has been trying to keep me busy, Vera, and that meant tuning up every God’s blessed vehicle we own, which is a damned lot of cars. You convinced yourself I could make love to you as if my life depended on it, and then turn around and two-time my own brother, but I can hardly blame you, given what you read on that infernal phone list.”
Reverse cowgirl, G.O.T. Pathetic.
Vera set the new owl on the pepper grinder, so a matched pair of birds perched side by side. She looked James over, though he was damned if he could read anything in her steady gaze.
“I’m not that bothered by the phone list, James. I married two men who didn’t love me, though I will grant they each had some regard for me, or for my talent. I came to this conclusion while trying to explain to Olga that my young man was popular with the ladies, and I didn’t trust myself to hold his attention.”
Vera fished a cookie out of the tin, took a bite, and passed a second cookie to James. He didn’t dare interrupt her, but she had the most distracting dab of chocolate on her lower lip.
“You haven’t thrown my insecurities in my face,” she said. “Haven’t accused me of cowering or dodging, but blaming my cold feet on your past instead of my stage fright is wrong. I hate that list, but I don’t like that I’ve married the wrong man twice either.”
Was that the kind of pardon a woman handed out before running a guy off, or was it a glimmer of hope?
“My phone list was one long, misguided mistake,” James said. “I haven’t figured out entirely what it was about, but I know I don’t need to do that anymore, ever.”
“Loneliness was part of it,” Vera said, sweeping cookie crumbs into her palm, then upending them back into the tin. “We do sorry things because we get lonely and scared, and we can’t see any other way out.”
She slid her fingers over James’s knuckles, a grace note of a touch.
“I at least know what and who I’m lonely for, James. I consider that an improvement, and I also know Donal was right about one thing: I’m supposed to perform.”
James tried to concentrate on Vera’s words, tried to fumble for a reply, but he was too mesmerized by the slow glide of her fingers over his knuckles. Vera’s hands were magic—on the keyboard, on his body, making cookies.
She’d said something about…
He grazed a thumb over the chocolate on her lip. “Performing means travel, Vera. You have a child to raise, and now isn’t a good time to sell rural property. You don’t owe Donal a thing. I’ve done the research, read the contracts. You were a minor when you signed with him, and you haven’t validated the agency contract in writing since. He’s shown bad faith, and the doctrine of clean hands means he can’t…”
God help me, I’m babbling.
Vera laced her fingers through James’s and brought the back of his hand to her cheek.
“Can you forgive me, James?” She spoke so softly, he had to bend closer to make out her words.
The fragrance of honeysuckle addled James’s brain. “Forgive you, Vera?”
“I judged you and jumped to the worst conclusions, didn’t give you a chance to explain, and tossed you aside when what I want most in this life is to have a future with you. You put the heart back in my music, James. You make me a better mother. You planted flowers for me. You played all the Chopin I could ever want. You shared your family with me. You explained about fractions and cows and chickens to Twy. You made love to me as if my life depended on it.”
She turned their joined hands and kissed the back of his. “I need you, James Knightley.”
James could not think. He could not do anything except lean closer to Vera, slip his free arm around her shoulders, and rest his cheek on her hair.
“Be sure about this, Vera.” His voice shook, and tremors rocked his heart. “You have to be very sure, because I don’t think I could take… I can’t take another few weeks like the last ones. I’ve walked every inch of those woods, and told my troubles to the damned cows and to a shameless hog of a pony, barked at my new hires, and all the while, I ache. I ache…”
She turned her head so their lips met, and James had the purest, most intense sense of homecoming he’d ever felt. Vera was his, she was his, and she was promising all her tomorrows to him.
He drew back enough to rest his forehead against hers.
“I want this for keeps,” he said. “I don’t want to be your agent or your manager or even your lawyer, Vera. I want the solid gold ring. I want to be your husband, and Twyla’s dad, and everybody else can go through me to get to you. We can tour in the summer, and take Twy with us, or she can stay with family, and there are all kinds of venues right here on the East Coast, and don’t cry…” He kissed her damp cheek. “Please, sweetheart, don’t cry. Just say yes. Say you’ll marry me.”
“Yes,” Vera said, threading a hand into his hair and holding him to her. “I will be yours, and you will be mine, and we’ll make music, and raise children, and yes, James. For the rest of my life and yours, yes.”
Epilogue
“I loved the part where you made a rainbow up the keyboard,” Twyla said from the backseat of James’s vehicle. “I could almost see colors coming from the piano.”
“It’s called a glissando,” Vera replied, wrapping her fingers
around James’s hand. “They are a lot of fun, when you get them right.”
“I liked the part where Olga announced that you’d be managing next year’s benefit,” James said, though he’d already informed his womenfolk that he’d be assisting at every step along the way.
“Olga has delicious cookies in her purse,” Twyla observed. “All buttery and sweet. I’d like to learn to make them. Can we go for a trail ride when we get home?”
Vera would be exhausted from the day’s events, though happily exhausted. She’d concluded a stellar program, playing to a standing-room-only crowd at the benefit, and had to placate them with two encores before they’d left off stomping and cheering.
The donations had set a new record, and offers had already come in from some extraordinary talents to play for the next three years.
“I’m up for a trail ride,” James said as he turned onto the lane to the house. His recently acquired steed, a retired race horse by the name of George, was always willing to go for an outing. “Your mom might be too tired to join us.”
“I’m not tired,” Twyla assured her parents. “Josephine is never tired.”
Because Josephine seldom bestirred herself to move faster than a trot, though she and Twyla were already fast friends. Trent had been forced to find other mounts for his wife and daughter, because where Jo dwelled, Wellie lived too.
“Vera, will you come with us?” James asked. “After the way you played, you’re entitled to toddle straight to bed until next Monday.” Though next Monday, they were all heading up to Deep Creek for a family vacation.
Sweet pair of words: family vacation. Not something James could recall his family ever doing when he was boy.
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