Can you see him, Mother? I think as loudly as I can on the chance that she might be able to hear. He’s a beautiful child, sweet enough to make you melt. Jesse sees Will in him. I see Jesse.
Joining Joshie at the top of the rise, I bring him to sit inside the circle of my legs and put my mouth to his ear as we look out over the white-capped waves. “Look at the boat. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s like Uncle Ben’s.”
Ben rented a two-master for the month that he and Caroline were at Star’s End. It was great fun, what with Annette and her family here, too, and it wasn’t the first summer we were all together. Since Ginny’s death, we make a point to keep in touch. Thanksgivings are spent in St. Louis at Annette’s, Christmases at a country inn north of Chicago, near Ben’s cabin in the woods, and summers at Star’s End.
Give or take.”
It isn’t always easy. Annette’s three oldest are in college, Jean-Paul’s schedule is unforgiving, and Annette herself has a part-time job in the social service department of the hospital. Caroline, ironically, has an easier time scheduling vacations. Now that she has her own practice, with three trusted partners and two reliable associates, she picks her cases with care.
Good thing. She and Ben are expecting. In December. With any luck the baby will be born while we’re all there.
Annette and I both hope for that. Caroline is forty-four. If she has a hard time of it, we’d like to be there to help.
Then again, Caroline is a fighter. If any woman can have a first child at forty-four and do it well, she’s the one.
“Where is Uncle Ben?” Joshie asks in a sad little voice. It isn’t the first time he’s asked. He and Ben became fast friends this summer. Parting was difficult for them both.
“He’s in Chicago with Aunt Caroline.”
“I wanna play with him.”
“I know, sweetie.” I give him a hug. “And you will. You’ll see him on Thanksgiving and again at Christmastime. Before you know it, it’ll be next summer, and he’ll be back up here.”
“With the boat?”
“Could be.” I peer around at him. “Want to pick some flowers?”
The question is barely out of my mouth when he pushes up out of my lap and races toward the marigolds that grow inland of the graveyard. Not far from these, a striking blue-violet against orange, are monkshood. This is the last of the color we’ll have until spring, but the thought is far from discouraging. Winter at Star’s End has charm. Granted, we aren’t here for the worst of it, still, when life moves indoors, into the circle of a crackling fire, there is a coziness to it.
We pick flowers until our hands are full. Joshie knows this routine, too. In a sing-song voice, he begins. “For Papa Will.” He lays some at the foot of Will’s stone, then at Mother’s. “And Nana Ginny.” With a moment’s intense concentration, he shifts what is left into one hand, then smiles up at me. “For us.”
Concentrating again, he singles out one of the marigolds, and in a gesture that he has never made before, a pure imitation of Jesse, he comes to me and pushes the flower into my hair.
I choke up, catch the flower when the breeze knocks it out, and anchor it more firmly in the riot of my curls. “For me?”
He nods, wraps his little arms around me and gives me a hug, then breaks away and dashes off. I think how blessed I am to have such a child, before I collect myself and follow.
We head home, down the grassy decline and up, moving inland a bit. Joshie is skipping now, or trying to. The end result is more a trot, but the bottom line is contentment. He is a happy child, particularly in anticipation of seeing his father.
Jesse will be back soon. He is in town, dropping my breads and muffins at Julia’s and buying fall bulbs at the supply store. Joshie and I would have gone along—we usually do, both to be with Jesse and to see friends—but the thought of a morning walk on the bluff was too much to resist.
Later, while Jesse plants his bulbs and Joshie naps, I’ll drive in for coffee with Julia. We’re planning another spying trip, this time to restaurants in the Berkshires. While we’re in the area, we thought we might sneak in a day at the spa.
What better way to prepare ourselves for a night of espionage. Right?
Soon after that, Jesse and I will be off to Washington to pass final papers on the townhouse and clean it out. We simply aren’t there enough to justify keeping it, what with plenty of fine hotels nearby. We love the city, but my ties to it have loosened. I’ve put down roots in Downlee, and they’ve taken hold. I can’t imagine calling any other place home.
Nor, obviously, can Jesse. He continues to be the gardener, and though he hires others to do the more tedious chores, he supervises it all. Star’s End is a source of personal pride for him, and rightly so. It is a dream that keeps getting better and better and better.
As does my life, I realize, as I watch Joshie scramble over the outcropping of ledge and run on. I keep thinking things are so good that they can’t possibly improve, then they do. Either a shower throws a rainbow over Star’s End to breathtaking effect or Joshie puts a flower in my hair or Jesse looks at me in a way that touches my soul more deeply than ever.
I think back to my life before him. It was filled with finery, yet barren and stark. And I agonized about leaving it behind.
I was a fool.
Then again, not so. I made the right choice in the end.
Mother said, in that last day we had together, that she didn’t regret her life’s decision. But not a day passes when I don’t give thanks that my own life’s decision was different. I have the love she grasped so briefly, and it keeps multiplying upon itself.
Ahead of me, Joshie begins to sprint. When his legs can’t keep up with his excitement, he stumbles, but in little more than a continuation of the same motion, he’s up and off again. And no wonder. He sees Jesse.
I stop to watch. Joshie launches himself toward Jesse, who catches him up in a hug. They draw back. They say something to each other. Then Joshie is hoisted to Jesse’s shoulders, and they are striding toward me.
They are such a pleasing sight—father and son—that I don’t move. And then there’s the matter of the father alone, making my insides hum with his simple approach, even stronger after four years together—incredible.
“Hi,” he says as he nears, and, incredibly, too, I feel tongue-tied. Melting brown eyes, tanned skin, long legs, fluid walk—not even Joshie’s inadvertently grasping his hair into pigtails can detract from his rugged good looks. He is devastatingly male. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.
He knows that and grins. “Have a nice walk?”
I nod. “Get your bulbs?”
“Yup. Julia says thanks for the goodies. She also says she’s looking into seaweed wraps.” His eyes twinkle. “A new business?”
He knew damn well that it wasn’t, but far be it from me to call him on it. I grin. “Could be.”
When he throws an arm around my shoulder, I fall into step beside him. “Queasy?” he asks.
“Nope. Breakfast helped.”
“Think it’s a girl?”
I look up at him with a grin and a shrug. “Could be. Then again…”
Our arms draw each other closer. As we walk on, my senses come alive to the extreme. I hear the gulls, the waves, the wind. I smell the salt of the surf, the tang of the pines, the musk of man. I feel the chill of September and the warmth of Jesse. And more. A glow. It isn’t tangible. Or external. But it’s very much here, leading us home.
About the Author
Barbara Delinsky was a sociologist and photographer before she began to write. A lifelong New Englander, she and her husband have three sons, two daughters-in-law, and a cat.
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Praise for Barbara Delinsky
“It is more than time for Barbara Delinsky to get the recognition she so richly deserves as one of this generation’s most gifted writers of contemporary w
omen’s fiction.”
—Romantic Times
“When you care enough to read the very best, the name of Barbara Delinsky should come immediately to mind.”
—Rave Reviews
…AND CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR
BARBARA DELINSKY’S PREVIOUS TITLES
A Woman Betrayed
“A strong, compelling story…I recommend it.”
—Eileen Goudge, bestselling author of Garden of Lies and Such Devoted Sisters
“A diverting page-turner.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Powerful, compelling.”
—Rave Reviews
The Passions of Chelsea Kane
“In this small-town romance, Delinsky refreshingly takes the opportunity to poke fun at social snobbery and moral hypocrisy.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Delinsky sets the stage for a compelling story about love, loyalty, and family ties.”
—Doris Mortman
“Entertaining, erotic, and emotional.”
—Sandra Brown, bestselling author of French Silk
“Definitely one of today’s quintessential writers of women’s fiction, Barbara Delinsky pulls out all the stops in this perceptive novel of one woman’s search for the truth about herself…Vivid and unforgettable.”
—Romantic Times
“Ms. Delinsky is a master storyteller! Her talent to create living characters is remarkable. Her writing and plotting are first-rate.”
—Rendezvous
More Than Friends
“Intriguing women’s fiction.”
—Publishers Weekly
“With brilliant precision and compassionate insight, Ms. Delinsky explores the innermost depths of her beautifully realized characters, creating a powerful, ultimately uplifting novel of love and redemption…. Don’t miss this knockout tale.”
—Rave Reviews
Books by Barbara Delinsky
The Carpenter’s Lady
Fast Courting
Finger Prints
For My Daughters
Gemstone
An Irresistible Impulse
Moment to Moment
More Than Friends
Passion and Illusion
The Passions of Chelsea Kane
Rekindled
Search for a New Dawn
Sensuous Burgundy
Shades of Grace
Suddenly
Sweet Ember
A Time for Love
Together Alone
Variation on a Theme
Within Reach
A Woman Betrayed
A Woman’s Place
Credits
Cover design by John Lewis
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FOR MY DAUGHTERS. Copyright © 1994 by Barbara Delinsky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © NOVEMBER 2002 ISBN: 9780061809408
First HarperTorch paperback printing: November 2000
First HarperPaperbacks printing: February 1995
First HarperCollins hardcover printing: June 1994
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