Always Florence (20 page)

There was silence while they stared at each other.

“Can I speak now?” Hunter asked.

“Depends. What are you going to say?”

“That you’re an idiot and the best friend any man ever had. And much as I want to accept—”

“If you don’t, you’re fired.”

“Like you could do without me.”

“That’s the point. I can’t. We’re coming into year-end and tax season, and I don’t want you moping around because the woman you love is out of your life.” He sighed painfully, and winced a little as it hurt. “It’s just happened to me, and the office won’t be able to function if it happens to both of us.”

Hunter studied him bleakly, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nate. Because her friend died?”

“Yeah. Now she’s afraid if something happens to her, the boys will be traumatized for the second time in their lives.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me you’ll try to work it out with Sandy. Then there’ll be a happy future for one of us.”

“I promise.”

The boys were back with a carry box of sundaes, and the four of them spent the rest of their lunch talking about meeting at Hunter’s for the next football Saturday.

* * *

B
OBBIE
STOOD
IN
the middle of Nate’s garage as Stella helped her collect empty boxes. Her father was at home, packing up her books and favorite curios, and a few items from the kitchen to help her get started in a new place. With Sandy’s blessing, she was leaving everything else in the house so that her father could stay and spend the holidays in Astoria.

“I think you’re making a mistake, Bobbie,” Stella said for the fourth time.

“You’ve made that clear.” She gave her a hug. “And I appreciate how you feel, but think! Imagine what it would be like for the boys if they had to—”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds of the garage opening. As the door rose, Nate’s car braked to a stop, Bobbie and Stella ensnared in its headlights.

Nate leaned out the window. “What’s going on?”

“Bobbie needs a few more boxes,” Stella said, holding one up. “I’m trying to help.”

He popped the trunk and got out of the car. “Yeah. Dennis called me.” He pulled half a dozen boxes of various sizes out of the car and carried them into the garage. He smiled soberly at Bobbie. “Will that do it, or do you need more?”

“That should take care of it. Thank you.”

She wanted desperately to touch his hand, his arm, but his expression told her to keep her distance. It wasn’t hostile, just pained. They looked into each other’s eyes, communicating all kinds of feelings for which there were no words.

“Dennis and I are going to dinner,” Stella said, looking from one to the other. “Want to come? The two of you can sit on opposite sides of the booth. Or in different booths.”

Nate turned to her. She stopped talking.

“Liberty Cab and Shuttle is picking me up at noon tomorrow,” Bobbie said, trying to sound as though it was a good thing. “I talked to the boys this afternoon and they said you explained everything. Whatever you told them, they don’t seem to hate me. So, thank you.”

Nate nodded. “They have a surprising capacity to deal with what they’re given.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a criticism or not. So she smiled in response. “Stella says you have one wardrobe box in the basement I can have. Is it all right if I come back for it in a while?”

“I’ll bring it over later,” Nate said. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. And sad to realize it shouldn’t matter to her now.

“Thank you,” she said.

* * *

S
TELLA
AND
D
ENNIS
had gone to dinner, and the boys were upstairs getting ready for bed when Nate sank into his chair with a brandy and tried to pull himself together.

He still hadn’t recovered from seeing Bobbie in his garage. In the time she’d spent in Astoria, she’d gone from a pixie in grubby clothes to a fresh-faced, beautiful woman with still-short but lustrous hair that he wanted to touch. She’d put on a few extra pounds and they gave her delicate, gamine body some wonderful curves. She’d been gorgeous Saturday night.

And then the sky had fallen.

He sipped at his brandy and reminded himself that he had no right to self-pity. He’d had several months without anger, thanks to her, and now he suspected that even when she was gone, he’d remain free of it. He’d gotten over his own loss, and realized how lucky he was to have the children his brother had left behind. And to have all the memories he’d made with Bobbie.

He felt confident that his connection with her would remain because of his housekeeper and her father. The logistics were a problem now, but Stella and Dennis were too good together to settle for simple friendship. Still, for Nate and Bobbie, being occasional acquaintances might be more difficult than never seeing each other again—if the way Nate had felt in the garage this afternoon was any indication.

Trying to give it all a cheerful spin, he imagined a future where Sheamus was CEO of the Disney Corporation, Dylan was President of the United States and Bobbie’s work was collected internationally. He could be happy in the knowledge that once their lives had all been intertwined.

God. He’d found his feminine side.

“How come you’re still up?” Dylan asked, padding down the stairs in his bare feet. “Don’t you feel good?”

Sheamus followed right behind him in slippers that lit up when he walked. “It’s ’cause Bobbie’s going away,” he said.

Dylan stopped at the bottom of the stairs to roll his eyes impatiently at his brother. “I was trying not to say that.”

Sheamus walked penitently down the rest of the stairs.

“I’m fine,” Nate said, beckoning them to join him in the chair. “I’m sad, but we talked about that, remember? It’s okay to be sad.”

Dylan settled on the arm. “As long as you don’t take it out on other people.”

“Very good,” Nate praised.

Sheamus was about to climb into his lap when he noticed that the tree wasn’t lit. “Can I plug in the lights?”

“Sure.” He could take it.

Sheamus’s pajama-clad bottom squirmed under the tree until it came to life in gaudy splendor. Colors reflected on every ornament and on the crystal garland that spiraled around the branches.

Sheamus ran back to climb into Nate’s lap and lie against his shoulder. “It looks like the trees we used to have,” he said, a little wistfully.

Dylan, too, sounded dreamy. “Yeah. Mom made cookies, like Bobbie does. And she smiled and laughed a lot and sang Christmas carols....”

“Like Bobbie does,” Sheamus added.

Dylan hooked a casual arm around Nate’s neck and said philosophically, “Pretty soon it won’t hurt as much that Bobbie can’t stay. You’ll find a way to be happy, and...and the love Bobbie has for us and that we have for her will last forever, right? That’s what you told us.”

With his own arm wrapped around Sheamus, Nate enjoyed the luxury of Dylan’s display of affection, and the knowledge that he’d actually listened to what Nate had said. “Did it make you feel better when I told you that?”

“No,” Dylan said, true to his candid style. “It still hurts sometimes, but it’s not as hard to feel happy anymore, and I like the idea that love lasts forever. We’ll always love Mom and Dad, and they’ll always love us.”

“And we love you,” Sheamus said, patting Nate’s chest. “You’re the best uncle anywhere.”

Nate drew a choppy breath.

Dylan sighed in a very adult way. “So Bobbie will still love you even though she has to go away to paint different stuff and you have to stay here.”

Sheamus sat up, obviously feeling argumentative. “I don’t get that. Aren’t people who love each other supposed to be together in the same place? Why doesn’t she want to stay with us?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Nate replied.

“I know why,” Dylan went on in that matter-of-fact way. “I heard her tell you yesterday in the kitchen that if she got cancer again, or if she died of that chemo stuff like her friend did, she was afraid Sheamus and me would be all messed up.”

Nate stared at him, unaware he’d heard that conversation.

As though afraid Nate would question how he’d heard, Dylan explained with a shrug, “I heard her crying, so I listened.”

That was true. “Well...that’s a pretty scary thought, isn’t it? I mean, if Bobbie became your stepmom and she got sick again?”

Dylan shrugged. “I think it’s scarier that she’s going away. I mean, she’s okay now, right? Think of all the cool stuff we could do together. We could help her pick flowers and leaves for her paper. We have a lot of fun when we all eat together, and that time we went for groceries was great.” His voice waned a little. “Even just watching TV and hanging out is fun.” He turned on the arm of Nate’s chair so that he could look at him. “What if we promised not to freak out if she did get sick again?” He focused on Sheamus. “You’d rather have her here, right? Sick or not?”

“Yeah!”

Dylan refocused on Nate. “So, maybe you could ask her. If we promise to be okay if something bad happens, would she stay?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

B
OBBIE
STARED
AT
her bare closet, empty hangers swinging as she ran a hand along them, and considered that a fitting metaphor for her heart. It was full to overflowing for everyone she loved, but felt cavernously empty because she was leaving them behind.

She turned to the pile of clothes she intended to hang in the wardrobe box still in Nate’s basement. He’d promised to bring it over for her, but had probably forgotten or been distracted. She’d have to run over there herself. Her father had agreed to ship everything to her, but she didn’t want him to have to pack anything. He’d done too much already.

She was glad he’d gone to dinner with Stella tonight and left Bobbie to handle all the odds and ends of uprooting her life by herself. She’d been here such a short time she shouldn’t even have roots, but she did. Surprisingly deep ones.

She glanced at the clock: 10:22 p.m. She imagined Nate would still be up, but was reluctant to knock on the door if he wasn’t. She went to her porch and saw that his kitchen was in darkness, but a subtle, colorful glow came from the front of the house. The Christmas tree.

She started across the yard, stepping over the chrysanthemums and going quietly up the back steps. Unwilling to wake the boys, she knocked softly on the door.

She waited a moment, and when there was no response, she knocked again a little louder. Still nothing. She tried the knob and it turned under her hand. Nate was definitely up. She knew he had a nighttime routine of locking doors and turning off lights.

As she walked into the dark kitchen she heard voices coming from the living room. Had her father and Stella come here after their late dinner? She smiled to herself, remembering the first time they’d met, and knowing how delighted they were to have found each other.

She went quietly toward the living room doorway, unwilling to startle anyone until she saw who it was. And then she recognized the voices: Dylan’s and Sheamus’s. What were they doing up so late? Not that it was any of her business. She’d love to see them before she left, but that would be too upsetting for them and for her.

Well, she thought, turning around, maybe she could get the box from Nate before he left for work in the morning. She stopped suddenly as she heard the sound of her name in their conversation.

“...Bobbie became your stepmom and she got sick again?”

She froze in the darkness of the kitchen, unable to breathe. That had been Nate’s voice. She’d missed the beginning of the sentence, so she wasn’t sure what point he was making. But the word
stepmom
made her put her hands to her mouth so that she wouldn’t betray herself with a sound.

“I thinks it’s scarier that she’s going away.” Dylan’s voice. “I mean, she’s okay now, right? Think of all the cool stuff we could do together.” He talked about picking flowers, leaves, eating together, shopping. Then his voice became choked. “Even watching TV and hanging out is fun.”

They didn’t mind if she became ill again? Of course, they were children, and children always thought bad things couldn’t happen to them.

But that probably wasn’t true of these two. Bad things
had
happened to them. They had firsthand experience that life was cruel.

“What if we promised not to freak out if she got sick again?” Dylan went on. “You’d rather have her here, right? Sick or not?”

“Yeah!” Sheamus replied with spirit.

“So maybe you could ask her. If we promised to be okay if something bad happens, would she stay? We wouldn’t freak out.”

Another brief silence. “We could help her,” Dylan murmured. “We’re...experienced now.”

The knot in her throat dissolved and a sob broke through with noisy violence. How could she deny such generosity?

Because she didn’t have forever to give them, she argued with herself.

But they weren’t asking for forever. They just wanted now.

And what was forever, anyway, she thought with sudden insight, but the space of time that started at this moment and lasted for as long as she had?

She was so busy sobbing, and trying to cope with the realization that her approach to her future had been all wrong, that she didn’t notice the swiftly moving shadow in the dark until it struck her in the chest and threw her backward into a chair that clattered to the floor. She lay immobile, an enormous weight with a rumbling bark stretched out atop her. Then Arnold recognized her and slurped her face with a rubbery tongue.

The kitchen light went on and she blinked against it, closing her eyes and her mouth as Arnold continued to lavish her with kisses.

“Bobbie! What are you...?” Nate’s voice.

“Bobbie!” Sheamus.

“Bobbie’s here! Why is she crying?” Dylan.

Strong hands pushed Arnold off her, caught her arms and hauled her to her feet. She opened teary eyes and looked into Nate’s concerned face.

“What?” he demanded. “Did something happen to Dennis?”

She shook her head, and as violently as the tears had come, happiness and laughter pushed them aside.

“No,” she said. “Something happened to
me.
”

Nate apparently considered the quick change from tears to laughter a cause for concern. He guided her to the kitchen table and sat her down.

Sheamus took a napkin from the middle of the table and began to fan her.

“What are you doing?” Dylan asked.

“I saw it in a movie,” Sheamus replied. “She needs air.”

Nate observed that his dream of Sheamus becoming an executive might have to be readjusted to doctor. Reaching for the bottle of brandy, still on the counter, he poured a small measure in a handy juice glass and, pulling a chair around to sit beside Bobbie, handed it to her. The boys hovered on either side.

“Drink a little. Small sips.” She tried to argue, but Nate pushed it toward her lips.

She sipped, coughed and sipped again. “I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice a little raspy, her cheeks pink. “Isn’t this where I started, almost two months ago? Being taken down by Arnold?”

Tongue lolling, tail wagging, Arnold said as clearly as though he had language, “You’re welcome!”

Bobbie laughed again. Nate frowned at her. “Bobbie, what
is
it?”

She wrapped an arm around each boy and pulled them to her. “I love you two so much,” she said, then sobered suddenly, her eyes brimming again. “I want to stay with you more than anything. I heard you say that you’d promise not to freak out if I got sick, if it would make me stay.”

Sheamus nodded. “Dylan says we’re tough now.”

Bobbie turned to his brother. “Are you really, Dylan?”

Nate was afraid to speak, afraid to breathe, afraid what he’d heard her say was some figment of his imagination, borne out of the urgent wish that she not leave. He waited while Dylan gave her a hug, then looked at her with that alarmingly adult expression he wore now when talking about his parents or his grief.

“We are. Sheamus scared Bill away, and I said goodbye to my mom and dad. I mean, they’re still here.” He rubbed fingertips over his heart, and added with a swallow, “But I’m not waiting for them to come home anymore.” He rested his elbow on her shoulder. “Now Uncle Nate is our new dad, and we think we shouldn’t be without a mom just ’cause we’re scared of what
could
happen. We want to be brave.”

Bobbie pulled Dylan to her again, then looked into Nate’s eyes, and everything inside him that wasn’t bone melted into a puddle of helpless servitude to the love he saw there.

“Do you want to be brave?” she asked him.

“I
am
brave,” he replied without hesitation. “But I need you to be...whole.”

She leaned out of her chair to wrap her arms around him. The boys piled on.

“Then I’m in,” she said.

He held her away from him for a moment. The boys straightened worriedly. “What about becoming a fine artist?”

“I’m going to work on that as I can,” she said, leaning into him again.

She felt an almost physical letting go of the dream. The pull was painful. Then she looked into the three faces hanging on her every word and remembered her father telling her, “We’re born to love and be loved.”

“Someone at the school suggested art therapy to me. I may just look into that.”

Nate drew her closer and pulled the boys in. “Brilliant. So you packed all your things for nothing.”

“No, she didn’t,” Dylan pointed out. “She has to move it all over here.”