“If Dru and Travis can handle them, I can. My work’s portable,” he assured his mother, when the reality was that he was in danger of losing Canada to Xan, too. “I’m here for as long as you need me.”
A burst of angry shouting in the other room—sounded like Fin—set off gales of girl laughter. From Lisa Burns, most likely. She was the one closest to Fin in age, the both of them in upper elementary school.
“And what about the rest?” His mother smoothed a hand down Oliver’s arm.
“The rest?”
“You, Selena, and Brad. And Dru. And Travis, now that I think about it. He’s kept up with the lot of you. He and Brad are close still, the way you and your brother have stayed in touch.”
“Yeah,” Oliver admitted. “We have.”
“There are other people here besides Travis who’d like the chance to know you again.” Another whoop of laughter sounded off from the living room. Kid curses, adult chastisement, more laughter. “Some of us will continue to inflict ourselves on you as long as you’re around. Others, you’re going to have to take the initiative with.”
“I’ve already talked with Brad.”
“And Selena?”
“Mom . . .” Oliver stretched his neck from side to side until it finally cracked.
“Now that you’re home, make the most of it. Don’t let your past deprive the rest of us of the good things we could all still have.”
Deprive the rest of them of what?
“What’s really going on?” he asked.
Marsha didn’t answer right away.
Oliver glanced toward the living room, hoping for someone to misbehave and require her intervention. When that didn’t happen, he braced his hands on his hips and bit the bullet.
“I’m listening,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t involve concocting another way to maneuver Selena and me together. I’d do anything else for you and Joe, I swear I would. I’ll deal with Brad and Dru and whatever else I have to around here. But Selena and I are off-limits. You didn’t see how hard it was for her both times we were together today. I’m not putting either one of us through that again, not even for you.”
“Both times?”
“This morning when I first got here. She and her little girl—”
“Camille”
“—were out front of Belinda’s. And it was just so . . .”
“What?”
Painful. “I don’t want to hurt her again.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“After all these years, it’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Over.” And over was a whole lot easier to process from a distance. Through the kitchen window. Or from Atlanta or another state or even another continent.
“Okay.” Marsha gave a firm nod. “If over’s what you want, what you need, that’s fine. Just hear me out before you make up your mind. Then if that’s still your decision, I’ll consider the subject closed until you bring it up again.”
Oliver hung his head, because his mother was being reasonable. How was a man supposed to outmaneuver reasonable?
“Let me have it,” he said.
Marsha’s smile should have taken some of the sting out of his surrender. But there was something in her expression that had the hair rising on the back of his neck.
“Selena turned up a few months ago,” she said. “She and Belinda have shared very little with anyone in town about Selena’s life since she left. Except that she’s divorced and starting over. And that she has a little girl she keeps pretty close tabs on. It’s almost like Selena’s afraid to let anyone get too close.”
“Travis said they weren’t planning on staying.”
“Her divorce is holding her up. But, no. No one sees her putting down roots here again.”
“So she doesn’t want her daughter getting too attached.” Reasonable enough for a kid that young who’d been uprooted from one home already. Selena certainly knew how that felt. “They seem happy together.”
His mind replayed an image from that morning: Selena holding her daughter, smiling at her, sweet, perfect, content. It was like a living cameo burned into his brain. And it was none of his business.
“Did you talk with Camille?” his mother asked.
“Not really. Look, I’m glad Belinda’s helping them. If she and Selena have patched things up, good for them. Good for Selena’s daughter. What does any of this have to do with me?”
Marsha looked uncomfortable. She’d never been big on gossip. This was so out of character for her, it was downright spooky.
“I think there’s more going on next door than meets the eye,” she said. “Your father does, too.”
“Like what?”
His mother linked her hands in front of her. “Selena and Belinda have been telling everyone that Camille’s four, going on five years old. My guess is she’s older. Just tiny for her age. She’s snuck over to the house a few times when she plays out back on the weekends and her grandmother’s watching her. You know Belinda. She can get so caught up in her yard, I swear if a bomb went off she’d never know the difference.”
“You’ve been spending time with Selena’s daughter, when Selena doesn’t want her over here?”
“Camille wanted to play with the kids,” Marsha said. “At first, I didn’t have the heart to turn her away. She’s always scampered back home before they notice she’s gone.” Marsha was wringing her hands, for God’s sake. What the hell? “We’ve had some lovely chats. She’s just . . . wonderful.”
“I’m sure she is, but you need to stop. Do you want me to talk to Selena for you? Is that what this is all about?”
“I’d already have told her myself if I didn’t think I’d get Camille in trouble, and . . .”
“And what?”
“Camille’s already finished kindergarten in New York. She talked to me about her teachers there, when I asked her about her class here. Her mother’s reenrolled her in the program at Chandler. Now that’s not all that unusual for kids who are in between age groups, whose parents or teachers don’t think they’re ready to move up yet. But my guess is Camille’s closer to six than five. Maybe a little older.”
“And . . . ?” Oliver stared at his mother while she waited. And waited. He’d reached his limit.
To keep from storming up the kitchen stairs himself, he turned to deal with Marsha’s beaten-up kettle and the coffee he’d promise to make but had no business drinking once he did. The shiny brass kettle had been dented all to hell and back, covered in tiny pit marks it had collected over years of dedicated service. It sat where it always had, on the stove’s left back burner, forever ready to feed the endless pots of herbal tea Marsha made for young souls in need of soothing. For the older and more sleep-deprived, there was the best damn coffee on the planet, made by pouring boiling kettle water into his mom’s stovetop slow-drip pot.
Walking to the fridge, needing some distance, he found his mother’s favorite blend of ground beans in the door, same as always. Dru had said to make sure he made decaf, since it was already late afternoon.
He headed to the sink with the right container and the kettle. Maybe he could bash himself over the head with the thing. That would stop everything Marsha had said, and not said, from rattling around in his already aching brain. Then something froze inside him. Bits and pieces of conversation, seemingly disconnected details, finally aligning.
“What did you say the little girl’s name was?” He set the kettle on the stove, his ears ringing. His hand shook as he turned the burner on high.
“Camille. Just like—”
“Selena’s favorite flowers.”
Oliver covered his heart with his palm. His tattoo felt like it was burning through the material of his T-shirt.
He hadn’t smelled camellias in years until that morning. A row of them grew between his parents’ backyard and Mrs. Rosenthal’s, and Selena had loved their blooms. Once they’d started dating, Oliver had given her a camellia every morning there was one
to give.
She’d named her child after the fragile blossom that would always remind him of her. Of them. Of the perfect year they’d spent loving each other.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver . . .” she’d said that morning. “For everything.”
For running from him again? For ending things so destructively seven years ago—because she was incapable of loving and trusting anyone, even him? Or was she sorry for something more? Something impossible for him to believe.
Except more pieces were snapping into place while his mother stayed silent, letting him work things out for himself.
“Wait just a damn minute.” He redid the simple math Marsha evidently already had.
Jesus.
The kettle whistled, slicing through his shock and punching his headache to DEFCON 1. How long had he been standing there, staring blind, his world narrowing to one crucial detail?
“How old do you think Selena’s daughter is?”
Marsha stepped in front of him and took care of the coffee. “A lot closer to six, maybe a little older.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Which means Camille would have been conceived—”
“Seven years ago . . .” Oliver glanced toward the living room, where good-natured bedlam continued. “Is anyone else wondering the same thing?”
“Joe and me. Maybe Travis, but he wouldn’t cause trouble for anyone unless he was sure.”
Anyone . . . “You mean for Brad and—”
Dru burst through the doorway.
“What’s the holdup?” she asked.
Blonde and tall, she was as beautiful as ever, even with worry dragging at the gorgeous smile she flashed their mother. She had a sniffling Teddy perched on her hip, his red hair spiking in the back from his nap.
“Oh my God,” she gushed. “Is the coffee ready? Is it decaf? Count me in. But we’ve got to get this party started. The kitchen crew needs me at the Whip. And Travis wants to check in on Dad before he heads to the station for his night shift.”
“Let’s do it, then.” Marsha poured a mug of coffee, black, and walked it over to Dru, exchanging it for Teddy. “Hey there, big boy,” she cooed.
The toddler beamed at her, besotted, and then over her shoulder at Oliver, as Marsha walked him away from the bomb she’d just detonated in Oliver’s life.
“You okay?” Dru asked.
Oliver realized his mouth was hanging open.
“Sure,” he managed.
I just might be a father.
Or an uncle.
Which would make you a stepmother, if your fiancé knocked up the girl of my dreams when we were teenagers.
He pulled his sister into his arms for the first time since rolling into town.
“God.” The rightness of home washed through him again, crowding out the rest. It was the first chance they’d had to be alone. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Dru hugged him back.
She made a happy, watery sound, half laugh, half cry. “I can’t believe you’re back. We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.” He made himself set her away.
“Yes.” She punched his shoulder. “I could tell how often you thought of us, with all the letters and phone calls and attempts to stay in touch.”
Oliver tousled her bangs like he used to, when she’d been five inches shorter but just as sassy. He rewarded her next punch with a satisfying grunt. He deserved it. He didn’t have a clue how to explain the distance, his need for it.
“I just wanted . . .” He’d wanted here to be right for all of them. He still did. He looked out the kitchen window at the Rosenthals’ empty backyard. “I’m really sorry, Dru.”
Dru hugged him again. “No apologies. Not between us. I understand. Really. Brad does, too. He told me a little about the hospital. Sounds like it was brutal. No one blames you for wanting to be somewhere else all these years. What happened, it was horrible. I felt responsible for it for years.”
Shocked, Oliver sputtered, “Why the hell would you think any of this was your fault?”
“I’m the one who got Brad to admit he’d slept with Selena. I was so mad. I had such a crush on him. I wasn’t thinking about what it would do to you if the rumors were true. I refused to believe Brad when he said it just happened. That it meant nothing. I needed company in my pity party. So I found you and tattled.”
“It was a long time ago, and you were hurting, Dru.”
“I was the reason you two fought and you got yourself in trouble again. If I’d just stayed out of it . . .”
“You couldn’t have.” And he couldn’t take the tears in her eyes. “You cared too much about everyone to just let it go. I’m the one who made Selena feel like she had no one on her side. I might as well have driven her into Brad’s arms.”
Dru winced at the image.
“None of this is your fault,” he insisted. “You got hurt because of me.” And it might not be over yet. “I’m sorry.”
Dru cocked her head to the side. She’d always been sneaky good at reading him.
“You were in love with Selena,” she said, “even after she broke up with you.”
He nodded.
“And now . . . ?” She blew on her coffee, took a sip.
“And now . . .” If Camille turned out to be Brad’s, how would Dru and her fiancé weather the shock? “You’re engaged. I’m happy for you, kiddo.”
Dru’s smile was just shy of believing him. “Brad said Travis had to drag you into the cafeteria this morning. Don’t be an asshat, Oliver. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I shook your guy’s hand. We cleared the air. It’s all good.” Or so Oliver had thought.
Dru took another sip of the coffee he wanted to drown himself in. But even decaf had enough stimulant in it to affect him. Then she smacked the back of his head with her palm, like when they’d bickered as kids.
“Hey! Careful, brat.” He lifted his half-empty water bottle to douse her. “Payback’s a bit—”
“Knock it off, you two.” A scowling Travis reappeared in the kitchen doorway. “Kill each other on your own time. Mom’s talking with the kids.”
The quiet in the other room registered. Blessed peace reigned for the first time since the kids had commandeered the house. Oliver’s gut clenched.
“Right,” he said.
Joe. Angioplasty. Keeping things at home on an even keel for his parents and for kids who’d already survived more insecurity and loss than anyone should have to.
He’d help his family through this. He’d deal with Selena, if there was anything to deal with. He’d deal with any fallout for Dru and Brad. His take care of things at home project list was growing by leaps and bounds. But the kids came first. It was Marsha and Joe’s mantra. And for as long as Oliver was back, it was his now, too.
Travis ducked into the living room. Dru held back.
“I can understand your work being a priority,” she said. “But don’t let being messed up about Selena or Brad or anything else take you away from us again. Not until you absolutely have to go. Promise?”
Oliver smiled down at her, not used to it yet. “You grew up while I was gone.”
“I got my dream come true.” She kissed his cheek. “Gives a girl clarity. I got cuter, too. I’ll give you a pass for not noticing. But that’s one you owe me. I’ll collect, if I’m ever in the mood to be particularly bratty.”
“If?”
He hooked an arm around her, the old and the new and the somewhere in between feeling right in that moment. They followed Travis into the circle of Marsha’s soft, steady voice.
“Joe’s going to be laid up for a while longer,” she was saying, holding Teddy in her lap and surrounded by the younger kids, Lisa and Fin and Boris, who’d piled on the sofa next to her. “He needs a procedure tonight the doctors are saying will take time for him to recover from. Which means I’ll need you older kids”—she looked at Shandra and Gabe, who each had taken over one of the chairs beside the couch—“to
help pick up some of the slack around here. And you’ve all met Oliver by now, right?”
Marsha smiled at him, like he was the best part of her day. Then she smiled down at Teddy the same way and bounced him in her lap. The blue slipcover on the oversized couch used to be red. She’d sewn the new one, no doubt, like all the others.
“Oliver’s going to be staying here at night, in Joe’s and my room, while I’m at the hospital with Dad.” She sounded exhausted, no matter how upbeat she kept things. “I’ll have my phone with me. If you need something important leave a message and I’ll try to check regularly. I can’t keep it on when I’m in CICU. But for now, for everyday stuff, Oliver’s taking the lead. Travis and Dru will be around as much as possible. I know you’re just meeting Oliver for the first time, but he’s family. He’s been where you are. And Joe and I are so grateful that he’s home. The family’s lucky to have him, just like we’re lucky we have the rest of you kids.”
Like they’d be lucky to have Camille, too, her lingering glance toward Oliver seemed to say.
Or was it his conscience working overtime? Because the part of him itching to escape back to the all-consuming job he’d built his life around was already looking for ways to justify not forcing the issue of Camille’s paternity. Except he wasn’t alone in this decision. This was Bellevue Lane, not his cutthroat, transient business world.
He took in the somber faces of the kids circled quietly around Marsha, almost like she was about to read them a story. To someone else they might look like a mismatched litter of cast-off lives. Instead, Oliver saw a thriving family. Because of Marsha and Joe’s determination to love and heal as many children as they possibly could.
Travis stepped to his other side, completing a united front for their younger brothers and sisters to see.
“You’re all worried,” Marsha said. Love filled her voice and fisted in Oliver’s throat. “I know. I’m worried, too. I don’t like the sound of things like surgery and more tests and Dad having to stay away from the family. I don’t like my Joe being sick, and how worried he is about all of us. But I’m grateful. Because I’m not going through this alone. Neither is your dad, even though we can’t get you younger ones in to see him yet. We’re a family. No one’s going through this alone.”
Let Me Love You Again (An Echoes of the Heart Novel Book 2) Page 8
