by Nora Roberts
“I’m so grateful. Mr. Brown, I don’t know what I’d do without your help. It’s all so ...”The woman’s voice broke.
Though Laurel stepped back, she caught a glimpse of Del and his client, and the way Del put an arm around the woman’s shoulders as she struggled with tears.
“I’m sorry. I thought I got all that out in your office.”
“Don’t be sorry. I want you to go home and try to put this out of your mind.”
His hand rubbed up and down the woman’s arm. Laurel had seen him use that gesture of comfort and support—or felt it herself—countless times.
“Focus on your family, Carolyn, and leave all this to me. I’ll be in touch soon. I promise.”
“All right. And thank you, thank you again for everything.”
“Just remember what I told you.” As he walked his client to the door, he spotted Laurel. Surprise crossed his face briefly, before he turned his attention back to the woman he led out. He murmured something that had the client blinking at tears again before she nodded, and left.
“Well, hi,” he said to Laurel.
“I’m so in the way. Sorry. I just dropped off something for you, then a couple people came in for Dara, and I knew them, so ...”
“Zack and Cassie Reinquist.You did their wedding.”
“God, you and Parker have spreadsheets for brains. It’s scary. Anyway, I’ll clear the field so you can—”
“Come on back. I’ve got a few minutes before my next appointment. What did you bring me?”
“I’ll get it.” She walked back to pick up the bakery box.
“Sorry,” Annie murmured, tipping the phone away from her mouth. “Floodgates.”
Laurel made a “don’t worry about it” gesture, and took the box with her.
“You brought me a cake?”
“No.” She walked back to his office with him, where the sunlight streamed through tall windows, where more antiques gleamed—and the desk she knew had been his father’s, and his father’s before—held prominence.
Laurel set the box down, opened the top. “I brought you cupcakes.”
“You brought me cupcakes.” Obviously puzzled, he looked in the box at the dozen cheerfully iced cakes. “They look good.”
“They’re happy food.”
She studied his face. Just as Emma had claimed about hers, Laurel knew that face. “You look like you could use some happy.”
“Do I? Well.” He bent to give her an absent kiss. “That makes me happy. How about some coffee to go with the cupcakes?”
She hadn’t intended to stay—her own schedule was so damn tight as it was. But, oh, he really did look like he needed a little happy. “Sure. Your client looked pretty distressed,” she began as he walked over to the coffee machine on the Hepplewhite buffet. “You probably can’t talk about it.”
“In general terms. Her mother died recently after a long, difficult illness.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was the primary caregiver, and as her mother’s condition required more—and it was important to them both that her mother die at home—she took an extended leave of absence from her job so she could care for her mother full-time.”
“It takes a lot of love and dedication to do that.”
“Yes, it does. She has a brother in California. He came in a few times, helped out some. She has a sister in Oyster Bay—who was apparently too busy to visit or help more than a couple times a month, if that.”
He handed Laurel her coffee, leaned back against his desk. He took out one of the cupcakes, studied it.
“Not everyone has a lot of love and dedication.”
“No, not everyone,” he murmured. “There was insurance, of course, but it doesn’t cover everything. What it didn’t my client paid for out of pocket until her mother found out, and insisted on putting her daughter’s name on her personal checking account.”
“Which takes love, and trust.”
“Yes.” He smiled a little. “It does.”
“It sounds like, even though it had to be a terrible thing to go through, they had something special.Your client and her mother.”
“Yes, you’re right. The leave of absence was a financial burden, but my client and her family dealt with it. Her husband and kids pitched in when they could. Do you know what it must be like to care for a dying parent, one who at the end is essentially bedridden, incontinent, who requires special food, constant care?”
Not just sad, she realized. Angry. Very angry. “I can only imagine. It must be a terrible strain, physically, emotionally.”
“Two years, with the last six months all but around the clock. She bathed her, changed her, did her laundry, fed her, took care of her finances, cleaned her house, sat with her, read to her. Her mother changed her will, left the house, its contents—but for some specifics—and the bulk of her estate to her daughter. Now that she’s gone, now that the client and her brother from California made all the funeral arrangements, the sister’s contesting the will. She’s accusing my client of unduly influencing their mother in her favor. She’s livid, and has privately accused her of stealing money, jewelry, household items, turning their dying mother against her.”
When Laurel said nothing, Del set his own coffee aside. “Initially my client wanted to give it to her, just let her have whatever she wanted. Between the grief and the stress, she didn’t think she could handle any more. But her husband and—to his credit—the brother wouldn’t have it.”
“So they came to you.”
“The sister hired a lawyer who fits her like a fucking glove. I’m going to kick their asses.”
“My money’s on you.”
“The sister had a chance. She knew her mother was dying, that there was a finite time left. But she didn’t use it to be with her, to say good-bye, to say all the things most people think they have endless time to say. Now she wants her cut, and she’s willing to destroy her relationship, such as it is, with her siblings. Add to her sister’s grief. For what? For money. I don’t understand how ... Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It occurs to me I’ve never thought very much about what you do. I just figured lawyer stuff.”
He managed a smile. “I do lawyer stuff. This is lawyer stuff.”
“No, I mean, just the lawyer stuff that pretty much annoys the rest of the world. Sign this, file that—and the this and that is so complicated and written in such ridiculous language it’s more annoying.”
“We lawyer types enjoy our ‘whereases.’ ”
“With or without the stupid ‘whereases,’ it’s about people.Your client’s still going to grieve, but her stress is lightened because she knows you’re behind her. It matters a lot what you do, and I’d never thought about it.”
She lifted her hand to touch his face. “Eat a cupcake.”
To please her, she imagined, he took a bite. And this time when he smiled, it reached his eyes. “It’s good. It’s happy. This one’s gotten under my skin. I don’t think I realized how much until you were here to dump on.”
“Is it what you were working on last night?”
“Primarily”
“And why you’re tired today. You hardly ever look tired. I could come over tonight, fix you a meal.”
“Don’t you have a rehearsal tonight, and an event tomorrow?”
“I can shuffle things around tonight. Tomorrow’s tomorrow.”
“I should look tired more often. How about I come to you? I’ve been buried here or at home the last couple of days. Change of scene wouldn’t hurt. Neither would being with you. I’ve missed being with you.”
Her heart melted, and she went into his arms for a kiss that was anything but absent. When he rested his cheek on the top of her head, his phone beeped. “Next client,” he murmured.
“I’m clearing out. Share the cupcakes.”
“Maybe.”
“If you eat the dozen, you’ll be sick—and entirely too full for that meal. Though you might want to remember I’m a better
baker than I am a cook.”
“I can pick up a pizza,” he called out, and heard her laugh as she walked away.
He took another moment with his coffee and his cupcake, and thoughts of her. He hadn’t meant to say all that about the client, and her situation. Hadn’t realized, really, how angry he was about that situation. And the client didn’t pay him to be angry, but to represent her interests.
Or would pay him, once he’d kicked her sister’s lawyer’s ass. He’d waived a retainer. He could afford it, and he simply couldn’t justify taking one from a woman who’d dealt with all she’d dealt with.
But the main thing had been he hadn’t understood just how much it helped to have someone who’d listen to him spew, who’d understand why this particular case hit home with him.
He didn’t have to explain to Laurel. She just knew.
An invaluable gift, he mused.
And there’d been something about the way she’d touched his face—just that simple, understanding gesture, that had something inside him shifting. He wasn’t sure what it was, what it meant, or what it meant that every time he looked at her now he saw something new, something
else.
How could you know someone all your life, and still discover something new?
He’d have to think about it, he told himself. Setting the bakery box with its happy food beside his coffeemaker, he walked out to meet his next client.
SHE SHOULD’VE LET HIM BRING PIZZA, LAUREL THOUGHT AS SHE raced around the main kitchen to set up. She still had cakes and other desserts to complete in her kitchen, and the construction noise had picked today to peak.
She couldn’t possibly make dinner there.
“I could put it together for you,” Mrs. Grady commented.
“And that would be cheating. I can hear what you’re not saying.”
“You’re hearing what you think I’m not saying when what I’m actually not saying is it’d be cheating if you pretended you made dinner.”
Laurel paused a moment, actively
yearned to take that route. She could just tell Del Mrs. G had done the cooking as she’d been too busy to do it herself. He wouldn’t care, but ...
“I said I’d do it. Plus you’re going out with your friends tonight.” She blew out a breath. “So, field green salad with a nice balsamic vinaigrette, seafood linguine, and the bread. It’s fairly simple, right?”
“Simple enough. You’re in a dither over it. And him.”
“It’s food. I know how I am about it, but I can’t be otherwise. It has to be perfect, and that includes presentation.” Absently, she adjusted the clip holding up her hair. “You know, Mrs. G, if I ever have kids, I’ll probably take twenty minutes to perfect the presentation of a PB and J. They’ll all need therapy.”
“I think you’ll do well enough on that score.”
“I never really thought about it. Having kids, I mean.” She got out the field greens, the grape tomatoes, the carrots she intended to straw, to wash, dry, and chill before she prepared the salad. “There’s always been so much to do right now, that I haven’t thought much about someday.”
“And now you are?” Mrs. G began to dry the greens Laurel washed.
“I guess it’s the sort of thing that keeps passing through my mind. Maybe it’s a biological clock thing.”
“Maybe it’s a being in love thing.”
“Maybe. But two people have to be in love and thinking about someday. I saw this couple today who’d gotten married here last spring.” She glanced out the window as she worked, toward the green and the blue of summer. “They were in Del’s office to do some sort of legal stuff for their first house. Dara was handling it, and the baby came up. The bride-well, wife-got sort of dreamy-eyed over the thought of a baby, and he said: House first, baby later ... or something like that. Which is absolutely sensible.”
“Babies don’t always come when it’s sensible.”
“Yeah, tomorrow’s bride found that one out. But I just mean it makes sense to plan the steps, to take them in logical order. To be patient.”
“Running low on it.” Mrs. Grady gave Laurel’s back a quick rub.
“Sometimes, a little anyway. I don’t need all the fuss, all the details, all the trimmings. All, essentially, that we do here. Emma does, and Parker will, and God knows Mac’s gotten into it.”
“She has, and I think it’s been a surprise to her.”
“But I don’t. I don’t need a ring or a license, or a spectacular white dress. It’s not marriage so much, or at all really, that matters. It’s the promise. It’s the knowing someone wants me to be part of his life. Someone loves me, that I’m the one for him. That’s not just enough, it’s everything.”
“Who do you think Del would want to be with tonight other than you?”
Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know he’ll be happy to be with me. That may not be everything, but it’s enough.” The timer she’d set went off. “Crap. I’ve got to get back to my kitchen. Don’t cook anything.”
“I’ll act as sous chef and no more. I’ll just finish washing these, and get them dried and put away for you. That wouldn’t be cheating.”
“You’re right. Thanks.”
As Laurel raced away to the next task, Mrs. Grady wondered why the girl didn’t consider maybe Del wanted some of that everything, too.
“Love,” she murmured as she washed. “Nobody inside it knows how the hell to handle it.”
NATURALLY, THE ONE TIME, THE ONE TIME, LAUREL NEEDED A REHEARSAL to run smoothly, move quickly, it turned into a circus show-casing a weepy bride—hormones, probably—a MOG woozy in the heat, and a groomsman woozy from a little too much prerehearsal celebration. Added to it were the flower girl and ring bearer—brother and sister—who picked the event to display their sibling loathing.
With two kids running and screaming, the bride indulging in a crying jag in her mother’s arms, and the MOG fanning herself in the shade, Laurel couldn’t duck out as she’d planned.
Parker handled it—they all handled it, but Parker seemed to be everywhere at once. Urging water on the MOG, iced coffee on the groomsman, herding the kids, and distracting the worried groom.
The MOH—and the mother of the battling siblings—did her best to restore order. But, Laurel thought as she passed out iced tea, the woman was outnumbered.
“Where’s the father?” she muttered to Emma.
“Business trip. Plane was delayed. He’s on his way. I’m going to take the girl, see if I can interest her in making up a quick little nosegay. Maybe you could take the boy—”
“Carter’s the teacher. Carter should do it.”
“He’s got his hands full with the not-quite-drunk groomsman. I think the MOH could use a little break, and maybe she can help the MOB pull the bride together. Mac and Parker can handle the rest.”
“Okay, fine.” Leaving Emma to smooth it over with the mother, Laurel set the iced tea and glasses on the table, then approached the boy. “Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
It seemed to be an answer he understood, though his brow knit in mutinous lines. He trudged with her, shooting looks that promised revenge at his little sister.
“I don’t wanna wear a tuxshedo.”
“Me, either.”
He snorted, derisively. “Girls don’t wear tuxshedos.”
“They can if they want.” Laurel glanced down at him. About five, she figured, and pretty cute. Or he would be if he wasn’t over-tired, wound up, and sulking. “But tomorrow all the men in the wedding party get to wear them. Wait. Maybe you’re not old enough to wear one.”
“I am, too!” Insult radiated. “I’m five.”
“Whew. That’s a relief,” she said as she walked him down toward the pond. “Because it would really mess everything up if we had to find another ring bearer by tomorrow. They can’t get married without the rings.”
“Why?”
“They just can’t. So if we had to fi
nd somebody else, it would really be hard.You’ve got a really important job.”
“More than Tissy?”
Tissy, Laurel interpreted, was the little sister. “Her job’s really important, too. She has a girl job, but you have a guy job. She doesn’t get to wear a tuxedo.”
“Not even if she wants to?”
“Nope, not even. Check it out,” she told him, and pointed at the lily pads. Near the edge one of them served as a float for a fat green frog.
When Del arrived he spotted her down at the pond, near the sweeping fronds of the willow, with her hand in the hand of a little boy with hair as bright and sunny as her own.
It gave him a quick start, a little jump in the belly. He’d seen her with kids before, he reminded himself. Weddings usually included a few. But ... There was something odd, maybe a little dreamy, about the picture they made, beside the pond, too far away for him to clearly see their faces. Just that sun-washed hair, and the joined hands.
As he watched they started back, the boy looking up at her, Laurel looking down at him.
“Hey, Del.”
He pulled himself out of that odd, dreamy picture and turned to Carter. “Hi. How’s it going?”
“Okay now, I’d say.Ten minutes ago, it was touch and go. We’re about to get started. Again.”
“One of those.”
“Oh yeah. I think Laurel ...There she is.”
Laurel stopped by a woman with a little girl on her hip, shared a quick word, an easy laugh with her. Then bent to the boy and murmured in his ear. He grinned as if she’d promised him a lifetime supply of cookies.
Del walked over to meet her halfway. “Make a new friend?” “Looks like. We’re running behind.”
“So I hear.”
“Parker’ll get it back on track,” she said even as Parker called for everyone to take their places.
Del stepped out of the way with Carter as Parker called out instructions, and the other three women guided and aligned.
It looked smooth as silk to him, with everyone smiling. He saw the boy and Laurel exchange a quick grin as he walked toward the pergola.
Moments later, she signaled to Del and slipped into the house.
