I put my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “Kevan, knowing what truly happened will give you a sense of peace. It’ll allow you to go forward.” Shakespeare rose to his feet, sighing, and put his chin on Kevan’s knee. A good man and a loyal dog. What more could you want in life, I thought idly.
He took my hand and pulled it into his lap, staring down at the counter. “And what about you, Blythe? Can you go forward if you know what happened to Finn?”
I removed my cheek from his shoulder and shifted so I could look at him. “It’s not the same for me as for you. Finn was someone I loved a long time ago, a lifetime ago, really. I’m not sure what I came here for but now that I’m here, it’s you and Rori that fill my thoughts.” Shakespeare, with an encouraging wag of his tail, plopped back to the floor and curled into a ball.
“Blythe, I can’t be second to Finn. Not again.”
“Finn isn’t here. You are.”
“But if he was? What if you’d found him alive?”
“You can’t possibly play out all the different scenarios like an open-ended plot in a book. What happened has happened. I chose Michael. I had two children. Finn died. Now we’re here. Playing ‘what ifs’ is a futile exercise.”
“We were best friends growing up. Finn and me. When we were thirteen and ten, we got guitars for Christmas and learned some simple chords and started playing a few folk songs. We called ourselves the Lanigan Brothers and told Mother we wanted to start singing on the corner in front of the library. We made signs and everything. But of course she squashed that idea right away. I think she said something like she’d let us embarrass her over her dead body.”
“If you’d had my mother, she would’ve been out there with you guys, not wanting to squelch your inner artist.” I smiled, imagining it. “It’s probably for the best.”
“It was all right for me. But Finn was so unhappy. Sitting behind a desk, pretending to care about the family business was like death to him.” He pushed his plate across the counter. “I made him stay and work with me. I used guilt to make him do it. I didn’t want to do it alone. I wanted us to be the Lanigan Brothers like we were when we were kids. He tried, too. I could see how he’d rally himself to be interested in what we were doing but it always waned eventually. Now, looking back, I wonder if I’d made other choices if the outcome of everything would be different.” He picked up a clump of grapes. “I’m guilty, you know. In all this.”
“No one’s ever without fault.” I thought of my own marriage then, of all the ways I’d withdrawn from Michael. Would he have strayed had I been different? If I’d spent more time on him instead of giving it all to the children? If I’d loved him as I’d loved Finn? But I knew I needed to follow my own advice. Examining the “what ifs” was futile. I looked at Kevan. “I miss my children but I’ve remembered a little of what it was like before them, when I was something besides just a mother. Sitting here with you, I feel things I’d forgotten were possible.”
“What things?”
I flushed. “Never mind.”
Shakespeare uncurled and sat up, looking at us with his head tilted to one side. Then, he winked at me with one eye, as if to give permission for what happened next.
Kevan leaned forward, capturing my mouth with his, kissing me deeply until I felt that stirring, that deep yearning of desire. I wanted that kiss to go on and on. This was a kiss. I’d forgotten kissing.
Lost in one another, we didn’t hear his mother come into the kitchen until she cleared her throat, loudly. We jumped apart. Like cold water dropped on a cat, I leapt off the stool. Kevan stood and faced his mother with that unreadable expression he had around his family. I knew by this time that under all that covering was a mind never at rest, a heart full of turmoil.
“Good afternoon,” said Riona. She wore white linen pants and a tunic blouse made of light pink cotton. Her lipstick matched her blouse perfectly. Did she have as many lipsticks as there were shades of pink? Could I find the same color in Clementine’s crayon box?
Shakespeare stared at Riona for a moment and then retreated to the farthest corner of the kitchen. I stifled a smile. Dogs and children recognize the devil when they see her, regardless of the pink disguise.
“Mother. How was lunch?”
“Ciaran eats like the French. Bread, cheese, and wine is what he considers lunch. Wine for lunch. It’s ridiculous. Can you imagine? I told him he’s in Idaho, not Paris, but he doesn’t listen to a word I say. Never has.” She looked at me. “The youngest boy in the family is usually worthless. I’m afraid the same is true in the case of the Lanigan boys. He’s too good-looking, of course, and everything came too easy for him. Athletic, bright, rich, charming. Perfect recipe for worthlessness.” Glancing at the counter, she waved toward the stack of sandwiches. “I should have dined here. Sandwiches are an acceptable lunch. Although it appears it didn’t save you from acting like teenagers in the middle of the afternoon.”
I’m sure I flushed a dozen shades of pink, all of which probably had a name in Clementine’s box of 104 crayons. But Kevan seemed neither embarrassed nor dissuaded from his task at hand. “Mother, I’m glad you’re back. I have something to talk to you about.”
“I should leave you two alone,” I said.
“Please stay.” He met my gaze and his eyes flickered, as if to say, “Save me.” He was not as calm as he appeared, I thought. Like a dozen country songs profess, “Still waters run deep.”
And because I was unable to resist any request from this man with the crescent moons etched into his face, I stayed.
“What is it?” She looked at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. Riona Lanigan had no use for talking, unless it was she who was doing so.
Kevan took the “Rori” file from the counter and handed it to her. “What do you know about this?”
Riona read the emails and then moved toward the kitchen table, pulling out a chair. She placed the papers face down on the table as she sat. Was it my imagination or did she seem shaken? Like her son, she was unreadable, not even a tremble in her hand or the slightest change of hue in her cheeks. She looked at me. “Would you get me a glass of water, please? The blasted salami Ciaran fed me at lunch has made me terribly thirsty.”
I thought he’d fed her only cheese and bread? I kept that thought to myself. No reason to spar with the devil in pink lipstick unless one looked for trouble on purpose.
“I’ll get it,” said Kevan. He went to the cabinet next to the refrigerator for a glass, filling it from the sink’s filtered waterspout.
She drank several dainty sips and set it aside, then put both hands on the papers like I’d seen people do with a Bible and took in a shaky breath that made the fabric of her blouse sway where it hung over the side of the chair. “Where did you get these?” She spoke quietly, with no hint of alarm.
“They were hidden in a display case in Finn’s office.” He matched her tone.
“At his house, you mean?”
“Yes, Mother.” He marched across the room, the stomping of his feet the only indication that he was upset, for his voice remained soft and calm. I shivered from it, knowing how deeply it must hurt, how strong the anger must be. He sat across from his mother at the table. “Rori was Finn’s child.”
“I know. I mean, I knew.”
A muscle in his cheek convulsed, once, then again. His voice rattled out tight, hardly louder than a whisper. “When did you know?”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. I thought she might not answer. I imagined her getting up from the chair and going into the other room as if she had not been asked.
Kevan pounded the table with his fist. Both Riona and I jumped. “Mother, answer my question.”
“I was suspicious when she was born. I’d had five children of my own. Teagan came six weeks early. I knew what a premature Lanigan looked like. Rori was not one of them. When Rori was three months old, Meredith, after some persuasion on my part, admitted it to me.”
“Why didn’t
you tell me?”
Riona picked up one of the papers and turned it over, tracing the email address with her finger. “I didn’t see how knowing the truth would do anything but hurt all involved. You were her father from the moment she was born. Finn was her uncle. Her lying, money-hungry mother was still her mother. Everyone could stay happy.”
“Do you think Meredith ever loved me or was I just the only way she could be taken care of?” He sounded like a little boy when he asked this question. My heart twisted.
“As you know, I wasn’t a fan of Meredith.” Riona tugged on her teardrop diamond earring and tilted her head, as if remembering something. “Do you remember the first time Finn ever brought her here?”
He nodded but didn’t reply.
“There was something between the two of you right away. Everyone saw it. I worried and fretted about it to your father. We got into a row over it. He could be so terribly stubborn and dismissive of my woman’s intuition. ‘Stop looking for problems, Riona,’ he said to me. I was never so thankful when Finn told me he didn’t want to see her anymore. I asked him right then and there if he saw what I saw between you. He agreed that he did. I asked him to give his blessing if it came to that and he agreed.
“Kevan, you need to think about this fact. Had Finn known the truth, he would’ve married her or at the very least offered to take care of them both. She knew this, I’m sure, when she decided it was you she wanted, regardless of the fact she was already pregnant. I truly believe she loved you or she would never have married you. She was your wife for fifteen years. Surely you would’ve known if she didn’t love you. Surely you would’ve seen, if it was there, that she loved your brother.”
Kevan stared at her for a long moment. Finally, as if he’d decided there was nothing more to be said on the subject, he got up from his chair and went to the window. With his hands on the windowsill and his back to us, he hung his head. “What happened to Finn’s computer?”
“I took it, of course.”
“Why?” He turned to face his mother.
“I was worried there might be correspondence between Finn and Meredith. I didn’t want anyone to see it if there was.” She paused, tapping a finger on the table. “Especially you.”
“Did you cover up that there was another car involved in the accident?”
Again, she hesitated. Her eyes widened. I held my breath, wondering if she would tell the truth or not. But after a moment, I realized this was new information to her. She hadn’t known about the other car. What she said next confirmed this. “What do you mean there was another car?”
“There was a second car. It ran them off the road. Ciaran heard through the grapevine that someone bought off the police. I thought it was you, thinking I was the one who had driven them off the road.”
She shook her head, looking truly baffled. “No. I paid off a few reporters to keep it out of the news that Finn and Meredith were together. That’s all.”
“You paid them off?”
“Well, I learned more than a few tricks from your father.”
“Mother, my brothers think I ran them off the road out of jealousy. They’ve been suspicious of me all these years. Did you know that?”
She tilted her chin toward the ceiling. “That’s impossible.”
“Mother, they do. Or did. I think Ciaran still does. Have you not wondered why none of us speak any longer?”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about the other car?”
“Because, Mother, we all thought you had arranged to hide it in order to protect me.”
“I would have, of course. But I didn’t know.”
“What could Dr. Sloane have wanted from Finn?”
“I don’t know what that mealy mouthed Sloane would want from Finn. I’m baffled. They knew one another from summers here, of course, but none of you boys ever liked him and never had much to do with him. Sloane knew about Rori, obviously. But Finn never said a word about any of it to me.” She paused. “Finn didn’t know I knew about Rori.”
“Mother, you must not have gone through his email or you would have seen these, right?” He waved the email copies like a flag.
“I couldn’t stomach what I might find. But I have the hard drive in my office in San Francisco.”
“Dr. Sloane threatens him in this email. He could be responsible for their deaths. He could be the driver of the other car.”
Riona flinched and took in a deep, ragged breath before standing and arranging her face into one of composure. “I’ll have Carol send it right away. And now I think I need to take a nap.”
Without another word, she left the room. Kevan turned to me and for the first time I saw tears in his eyes. He sank into the nearest chair and covered his face with his hands. I knelt on the floor near his feet and rested my forehead against the outside of his leg, steadying myself by holding onto the seat of the chair with my fingertips. “I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say. I felt him shift and then his hands were in my hair, pushing it back from my face. I looked up at him, and ran into his eyes. “It’s too much,” he said.
“I know.”
“I have to tell everyone the truth. Rori deserves to know. These half-truths in our family.” He didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to lose her for good. She’s all I’ve had.” I made a noise of sympathy, and an understanding passed between us. I was there for him now. I would be his family too. He lifted me up and onto his lap. I guided his face to my chest and held him, feeling wet tears through my blouse. It is a helpless, awful feeling when your children cry from any kind of pain, physical or otherwise. But to see a man weep? To hear his heart breaking as if you were living inside his chest? It is then you know how truly powerless love renders us. I knew, too, with a sudden burst of truth-bearing light—I’d fallen in love with him. I came chasing ghosts and instead found this man who penetrated through all my thick scar tissue and saw into me with his eyes like the peregrine. And now I wanted nothing more than to take his pain and make it my own. This is love, I thought. Just that. I want to lessen your pain. I want to give you everything. I want to see you and be seen.
Where does love come from, I wondered? How is it suddenly here when there was nothing but emptiness a moment before? Does love come from somewhere unseen, hovering about until we’re ready for it to come live inside us? We have no ability to capture it with our known senses because it is bigger than our comprehension; it cannot be fully explained by anything other than the feelings it gives us of hope, peace, and understanding. I remembered, suddenly, seeing a sign in a friend’s home years ago: God is Love. Was this true? Was love the proof of God, of something higher than myself? The idea wriggled into the lonely spaces between my bones and then slipped out just as quickly.
So it was then I said silently to him, I love you. As those silent words went into the mystery of the universe and heaven and God, all too large for me to see or understand, he shifted and held me tighter, then lifted his head to look into my eyes.
“Blythe, is it possible I love you already? Is it possible to fall in love in three days?”
I put my hands on both sides of his face. I smiled through my own tears. “Yes. I was in love with you the first night I met you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Some things cannot be explained. Some things are simply destiny.”
“I love you, Blythe Heywood.” He kissed me and I whispered against his mouth that I loved him too.
He lifted us both to our feet and took my hand. We went out the back door without a word to the guesthouse, both of us knowing where we were going and why.
When we arrived at the front door, he opened it and then stepped aside for me to walk in before him. He followed, kicking the door shut with his foot, and pushed me up against the wall and kissed me, his hands in my hair, not roughly but with passion. Every nerve ending in my body zinged with this electrical current between us. He moved his hands under my blouse
, caressing my bare skin, making me gasp. “I forgot how soft a woman’s skin is.” Closing his eyes, he rested his face in my neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone. Don’t expect much this first time.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against him. “Me, too.”
“Let’s just go slow, then?”
“Slow is good.”
We walked to the bedroom and with some clumsiness took off our clothing. I didn’t know where to put my panties. No, I did not have on the dental floss variety from my bossy and somewhat misguided sister but one of my reliable cotton pairs scattered with roses. Regardless, I felt ridiculous with them hanging in my hand like a flag of surrender until I tossed them on the easy chair, where they landed like a wounded butterfly next to Belinda Bear, who stared at me with a jealous glint in her glassy eyes; I turned her face to the wall. Also, I hated my feet, suddenly. They’re long and skinny and callused from running. I wanted to hide them under the covers but he seemed not to notice, as his gaze meandered from my face to my breasts. I wanted to hide my breasts, too, thinking of the stretch marks from breast-feeding and the way they drooped like an ice cream cone on a hot day rather than a perfect teardrop. “Stop that, now,” he said, sounding amused.
“What?” I asked.
“Thinking of your imperfections when there are none. You’re perfect to me.” He smiled as he turned off the light, making the room dimmer but not dark. Why couldn’t we do this at night, I thought? But it was too late. I was in now. In two steps he was beside me, gathering me into his arms. He whispered into my ear as if he’d read my mind. “You’re beautiful. Don’t think otherwise. Just let me love you.” Then, he pushed me back onto the bed.
Blue Midnight (Blue Mountain Book 1) Page 22
