Maddy’s eyes widened. “You’re joking. To hear Lucy tell it, you were beating them off with a stick.”
“Nothing of the sort.” Rose laughed, but it held a hint of irony. “Lucy was by far the prettiest of us all.” She looked over at Maddy. “Same as you’re the prettiest of the cousins.”
Maddy’s bark of laughter sent Priscilla yapping. She crouched down to pet the sleepy puppy.
She was grateful for the distraction. The prettiest of the cousins? Where on earth was that coming from? She had grown up with nothing but criticism from her mother. Too fat . . . too thin . . . Stand up straight . . . Do something with that head of hair . . . Why on earth are you wearing all that eye makeup . . . Pink just isn’t your color, Madelyn. . . .
She was the bookworm, the loner, the one who would use her spending money on a new boxed set of Lord of the Rings instead of the latest double-lash mascara and iridescent eye shadow. In a family of divas, there was always someone eager for the spotlight, and in one of her first acts of rebellion, Maddy decided to opt out of the competition.
“You can more than hold your own with Gina,” Rose was saying. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”
“No, Mom,” Maddy said in a surprisingly steady voice. “I didn’t know it at all.”
ROSE REGRETTED THE words the moment she uttered them. They felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar. No wonder. How could Maddy know how lovely she was when her own mother had taken thirty-two years to tell her? A child gained her first sense of self from her parents, and how Rose had failed her. Bill had doted upon his daughter, and when they divorced the change in Maddy had been alarming. Her happy child had turned moody and quiet, much like dear Hannah was today, and nothing Rose said or did seemed to reach her. But a word of praise from Bill, a note of encouragement, and Maddy walked on air for days.
Guilt and shame nipped at the back of Rose’s neck as she remembered the times she withheld praise for fear of spoiling her child, when she criticized rather than encouraged because criticism had spurred her on to greater achievement while encouragement turned into nothing but white noise.
But Maddy isn’t you, Rosie. Bill had said it many times over the years, and Lucy, too. Why was it so hard to understand that her daughter was a separate being with needs Rose didn’t have to share in order to respect?
Her daughter’s eyes were filled with tears as she busied herself doing something or other to Priscilla’s collar. She looked as vulnerable as Hannah at that moment, and almost as young. This was the time when Maddy usually fled the scene, leaving Rose feeling simultaneously relieved and frustrated and more than a little bit angry. But this time, to Rose’s surprise, her daughter didn’t run. She stayed, bent low over the poodle puppy, her back arched in a line so graceful it almost brought Rose herself to tears.
She could see the years rolling back until they were in the kitchen of the house on Lighthouse Lane. Rose and Bill had fallen in love with the place the first second they saw it. Small, cozy, with a view of the beach, and a manageable monthly rent. They would be happy there. Bill would forget about his farm and the life he had left behind in Oregon, and Rose—well, no point thinking about it. All the things that had been wrong between them were every bit as wrong in the sweet house on Lighthouse Lane as they had been in Oregon before that.
The marriage ended not long after they moved in, but the love was still going strong almost thirty years later. No man had ever loved her more than Bill Bainbridge had. No man ever could. She had given him her heart, and nothing, not divorce or distance or their very separate lives, had changed her feelings for him.
Had she ever told Maddy any of that? She wasn’t sure. Sometimes it seemed as if life had swept them along in its raging current, and they had been too busy keeping their heads above water to take time to get to know each other. An odd thought, that love required time to grow, but it was true. She could see it right now in her daughter’s face. They had grown closer in this single afternoon than in the ten years that had come before.
You fell in love with your child the first moment she was placed in your arms, still slick with birth fluids, squalling at the indignity of the process, cold and hungry and yours. Oh, pride of ownership was a dangerous thing in the land of mothers and daughters. You fed her and dressed her, you bathed her and played with her. You were her morning sun and evening star, and then one day you look at her and see a stranger looking back. A woman who doesn’t like you. A woman you don’t understand. A woman who wants to get as far away from you as possible just as fast as she can.
In a way you don’t blame her. There had been times when you were grateful for every mile that separated you, every river and mountain.
But through it all, through the distance and the anger and the years, the bond remained strong and the love, even stronger.
Even if you couldn’t find the words to tell her so.
GINA EXPLODED INTO the kitchen a few minutes after three o’clock. “Cookies!” she cried, to the delight of her brood and Hannah. “Cookies before I die!”
She feigned a swoon at the entrance to the mudroom, which sent Priscilla into a frenzy of yipping and tail-wagging.
Rose, laughing, looked at Maddy. “Has Priscilla—?”
“Oh, no!” Maddy leaped over a prone Gina and grabbed for her coat and the dog’s leash. “C’mon with us,” she said, kissing her daughter soundly on the cheek. “I’ll show you how to make a perfect snowball while Miss Pris does her thing.”
Hannah didn’t seem to think very much of the idea, but she was a good girl and she went with her mother, ignoring the smoochy, butt-kissing noises her cousins were making.
“Boys are stupid,” she said as she clung to Maddy’s hand on the slippery steps.
“Not all the time,” Maddy said, praying they wouldn’t fall on their heads. “I think the snow makes them stupid.”
Hannah giggled at the idea. “They’re stupid when it rains, too.”
“Sometimes,” Maddy agreed, “but I think they’re quite smart when it’s cloudy.”
Hannah considered the idea. “No,” she said firmly, a tiny spark of her old self peeking through. “They’re only smart when it’s sunshiny outside.”
Maddy cleared a huge circle in the snow and placed Priscilla down in the middle of it. “Go ahead,” she urged the shivering puppy. “We’re freezing, too.”
Priscilla sniffed the pristine white surface, then sniffed again. She looked up at Maddy and Hannah with a puzzled expression in her big brown eyes.
“She can’t find the smell,” Hannah said. “She needs to go where others dogs go.”
Maddy almost toppled over into a drift in surprise. “How do you know about that, honey?”
“Billy O’Malley told us on the bus,” she said, dragging her toe through a pile of snow. “That’s why they sniff each other’s bottoms.”
Am I really having this conversation? Maddy stared down at her cherubic daughter and wondered if the next thing on the agenda was a lesson in sex education.
“Actually, honey, one of the reasons they sniff each other is so they can identify their friends and family.”
“Why can’t they just look?”
“I guess because lots of dogs look alike.”
“Why can’t they ask each other?”
“Because dogs can’t talk.”
“Yes, they can,” Hannah said with great certainty. “But they speak dog so we can’t understand them.”
“Did Billy tell you that?”
“I told me.”
Maddy was delighted to see a glimmer of Hannah’s wonderful imagination after so long. “You might not want to tell Grandma Rose that dogs talk to each other.”
“I already did.”
Maddy’s stomach did a double-twist. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she already knew.”
Literal-minded Rose DiFalco, who had declared her entire life a No-Whimsey Zone? “Did
she say how she knew?”
“Yes,” said Hannah. “She said Priscilla told her.”
Chapter Nineteen
“YOU LIE!” GINA popped another piece of chocolate chunk-macadamia nut cookie into her mouth. “Aunt Rose actually said that?”
Maddy grinned at her cousin and poured herself another cup of tea. “Your aunt, my mother, the redoubtable Rose DiFalco, actually said Priscilla talked to her.”
Gina whooped with laughter. “Aunt Rose speaks dog! I can’t believe it!”
“Not just dog,” Maddy corrected her. “Poodle.”
“Well, la-di-da.” Gina wiped her mouth with the Christmas napkin next to her plate. “You know I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
Maddy crossed her heart with a teaspoon. “I swear on Priscilla it’s true.”
“I’d ask if Hell froze over, but it’s cold enough out there to do it without Rose’s help.” Gina looked toward the kitchen door. “Any munchkins around?”
“They’re up in the attic with Rose and Lucy looking for the Christmas stockings.”
“Remember when Grandma Fay was alive? How many hours did we spend up there looking for those stockings? I was pissed when I turned fourteen and she told me I was too old to pretend I still believed in Santa.”
Maddy laughed. “Remember the gingerbread men she used to hide exactly where she knew we’d find them?” Perfect gingerbread men with bow ties and big buttons and a grandchild’s name written across each one in royal frosting.
“I miss Fay,” Gina said. “I don’t think the family’s been the same since she died.”
“I know,” Maddy said. “I keep expecting to see her coming down the stairs in that red dress she loved.”
Gina’s face lit up. “The one with the shoes she had dyed to match.”
“And her hair! Who else in Paradise Point had a grandmother who dyed her hair to match her outfits?”
Gina peered over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I think our Rosie is on her way. That Light Auburn number forty-three is getting real close to Lucy Ricardo territory.”
Maddy laughed and poked her cousin in the arm. “Shh! You know she loves your colorist. As soon as Mamie—”
“Dies?”
Maddy poked her again. “—retires, she’ll be back with you on a weekly basis.”
“And not a moment too soon,” Gina murmured. “What worked for Grandma Fay doesn’t exactly work for Aunt Rose.”
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Fay DiFalco had been an original. Her daughters had flown in the face of convention and buried their mother in the red dress, with a copy of The Racing Times and her Caesar’s Atlantic City slots card.
Gina broke off another piece of cookie, then popped it in her mouth. “So how was the big breakfast?”
“What big breakfast?” No sense making it too easy for Gina.
“You and Aidan. Julie said you two were in there until lunchtime.”
“Julie needs to learn to tell time.”
“So how was it?”
“Fine. I had a blueberry muffin. He had a short stack. We both agreed the samovar was pretty damn nice. End of story.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Madelyn. You mean to tell me there weren’t any sparks?”
“No sparks,” Maddy said. “I doubt if either one of us is looking for sparks right now.”
“I think you’re kidding yourself.”
“You think wrong.”
“We all saw the way the two of you were looking at each other. Even the kids could see something was going on.”
“Nothing was going on.”
“Maybe not now,” Gina said knowingly, “but it’s only a matter of time.”
Maddy searched Gina’s face for signs of jealousy or worry. “He’s a nice guy, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“He’s also easy on the eyes.” Gina’s own eyes were dancing with merriment. “I think the scars actually give him a devil-may-care quality. Very Harrison Ford.”
“Gina,” Maddy said, leaning across the table, “you don’t have to do this. I know.”
“Of course you know. All you have to do is look at him to see the resemblance. A young Harrison Ford.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, I know.”
“If this is some kind of puzzle, I left my decoder ring at home.”
Okay, Gina, you asked for it. “I know you’ve been sleeping with Aidan.”
Who knew such a tiny woman could spit coffee so far? After they wiped up the spray from the tabletop and Maddy’s left cheek, Gina leaned back in her chair and fixed Maddy with a look she had never seen her cousin give before.
“I’m not sleeping with Aidan O’Malley.”
“You dated him.”
“A few times. But we were friends, not lovers. We were both lonely and we liked hanging out together.” Gina shifted position in the chair. Maddy’s unflappable cousin had obviously been flapped by the question. “Why are you asking?”
“Denise said something at the bus stop that made me think—”
“Aidan didn’t say anything, did he?” There was an odd look in Gina’s eyes, an almost frantic worry.
“Aidan was silent as the grave.”
“Level with me,” Gina said. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I already told you I think he’s a nice guy.”
The sound of laughter and running footsteps grew louder. Any minute the kids would burst into the kitchen with their Christmas stockings and the moment would be lost.
“Let me take a wild guess here: You think he’s a nice guy, but you’re going to keep your distance because you think he and I . . .” She finished her sentence with a wave of her hand. “Right?”
“Right.” She met her cousin’s gaze. “Denise seemed pretty clear on it.”
“Because that’s what I wanted her to think.”
“I’m not following you.”
Gina broke their eye contact and glanced over at Priscilla asleep in her basket. “Aidan wasn’t the O’Malley I was sleeping with.”
It took a few moments before Gina’s meaning sank in. “Billy?”
The sorrow in her cousin’s eyes was all the answer she needed.
“Oh, God, Gina! He and Claire—”
“I know.” Gina lifted her chin and met Maddy’s eyes. “You don’t think I hate myself every time I see Claire and Billy Jr.?”
“But why? How could you—”
“Why?” Gina’s voice rose with her distress. “Why the hell do you think? I love him.” She caught herself. “Loved him.”
“When? How on earth—”
Gina buried her face in her hands. A strangled laugh broke through. “It started almost twelve years ago. I broke it off for a few years, then—” Her shoulders lifted, then slumped in despair. “We couldn’t stay away from each other.”
“Oh, Gina.” Maddy’s emotions were torn every which way. Shock. Compassion. Sorrow. Understanding. Anger. “Did you think he was going to leave Claire?”
“Yes.” Her hands fell to her lap and she blinked away tears. “I know what you’re thinking. He never led me on.”
“Give me a break,” Maddy snapped. “He was cheating on his wife for more than half of their marriage. I doubt if he was above leading you on.”
“It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like that. We loved each other.”
“I don’t doubt your feelings, but I’m afraid I’m not quite as certain about his.”
“You didn’t know him. He was so wild, so free—”
“You make him sound like a Chincoteague pony.”
“Not funny.” Gina’s temper flashed to life. “There was nobody like him. Nobody ever—”
They both started at the sounds of children’s laughter and footsteps on one of the upper staircases.
Gina started to speak again, but Maddy lifted her hand to stop her. She didn’t want to hear the litany of Billy O’Malley’s virtues. Right then she would have found it very difficult to restrai
n herself from telling Gina exactly what she thought of the story.
“I still don’t see where Aidan figures into this,” she said. “You were sleeping with his brother, but you were dating him?”
“We were friends. I needed a friend and he became one. Nothing more than that.”
“There has to be something more. The pieces aren’t adding up for me.”
“Welcome to the real world,” Gina said bitterly. “The pieces usually don’t add up, or haven’t you noticed that yet?”
THE LIGHTS ALONG the shore clicked on around four o’clock. They were activated by an automatic sensor system that had been installed with great fanfare by the town officials as part of a beautification project designed to inch Paradise Point higher up the tourism ladder.
Aidan stood by the window and watched as the sweep of snow-covered shoreline came to life beneath the murky twinkle of artificial light. Somebody had decided that each lamppost deserved a swag of red velvet and a candy cane, but that same somebody hadn’t factored in the waterrepellant qualities of velvet.
All in all, it had been one strange mother of a day. He had shut down O’Malley’s a little before three o’clock, sending the regulars home and telling Tommy he might as well get going, too. He had a few repairs to make to one of the windows that opened up onto the water, and once he finished, he intended to shove off as well. Kelly would be heading over to Claire’s after school to help her aunt with preparations for the South Jersey Firefighters Fund Drive. Claire had spearheaded the drive every year since Billy’s death, but it required a hell of a lot of emotional energy to pull herself through the process. Helping out was Kelly’s idea, and he appreciated the timing. If the roads got much worse, she could bunk there overnight.
He turned away from the window. In fact, if it got much worse than it already was, he’d be bunking at O’Malley’s for the night. The thought didn’t thrill him. The thing to do was fix the busted window, then get his ass on out of there while he still had the chance.
He was heading for the storage room in the back when the phone rang.
Shore Lights Page 23
