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Authors: Sarah Grimm,Sarah Grimm

After Midnight (26 page)

BOOK: After Midnight
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Startled by his abrupt shift in conversation, she stuttered, “Um…”

“It would be okay if you did, you’re nice and all.”

“Thank you,” she replied, not knowing what else to say.

“How many scars do you have?”

Wondering where his shifting conversation would go next, she replied, “There are twenty-three scars on that hand.”

“Cooool.”

“You’re such a boy, Robert,” his sister, Megan, stated as she sidled up to the table. “It’s not cool. It’s rather sad, actually.” Megan looked like her mother, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. There was a maturity to her, beyond her years. “Dad says you can’t play the piano anymore after the accident. But Uncle Noah says you can play, you just don’t anymore.”

“Your uncle is right. With therapy, I regained the use of the hand, and I can still play the piano. Just not as well as I used to.”

“Is that why you quit?”

So most of the world believed. The truth was much more complicated. Painful.

“Megan,” her mother chastised as she stepped to the table. “Whatever Isabeau’s reasons, they’re personal, and you should not meddle.”

Megan pursed her mouth. “I love to play the piano,” she said to Isabeau. “I could play a song for you sometime.”

“I would like that.”

“Grandma doesn’t have a piano, so it would have to be some other time. I’m pretty good, but I’m not as good as you.”

“Keep practicing, you will be.”

“I don’t think so,” Megan stated matter-of-factly. She leaned closer as if she had a secret to share. “I write my own songs.”

Isabeau smiled, genuinely pleased by the declaration. “Now that is talent. A person can be taught how to play, but a mind for composition…you either have it or you don’t. That’s wonderful, Megan.”

A flush colored her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Megan?”

“Yeah, Mum?”

“You and your brother go tell your grandmum and granddad good-bye and collect your things.”

“We’re leaving? Why?”

“Because your grandparents are probably ready for some peace and quiet,” Anne replied. “I know I am.”

Megan and Robert muttered good-byes to Isabeau and then headed into the house.

Anne took Robert’s vacant seat. “You’re very good with kids.”

“I love kids,” Isabeau admitted. “And you have truly great kids.” Not for the first time she noted the circles ringing Anne’s eyes, the pale cast to her skin that she’d tried to hide beneath expertly applied makeup. “You’re a good mother, Anne.”

Anne’s gaze darted away at the compliment, and Isabeau knew her suspicions were correct. Anne Clark was pregnant, and she wasn’t happy about it.

Pain welled up and grabbed her by the throat. She curled her right hand protectively around her left and struggled to appear calm and unaffected.

Anne cleared her throat. “I apologize if Robert brought up any painful memories. He…well, Megan said it best, he is a boy.”

“It’s all right,” Isabeau assured her.

“You don’t have twenty-three scars, do you? I mean, you were exaggerating for the boy, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Anne leaned forward slowly, and cupped Isabeau’s hand in hers in a move that was so maternal, it brought tears to her eyes.

“So much pain,” Anne said softly. “You lost so much in that one moment, didn’t you? You were so young, just Megan’s age. I can’t bear to think about it.”

Isabeau squeezed her eyes shut and fought to steady herself. It took a couple of seconds for her to regain the ability to speak. “Everything happens for a reason, Anne.” She opened her eyes and gazed into the woman’s disbelieving, unsmiling face. “We don’t always understand why, but there’s always a reason.”

“How...You can’t possibly know.”

The kids streaked out of the house, Robert in the lead, Megan hot on his tail. They darted across the manicured lawn circling Noah and Paul at the far end. Unable to look away, Isabeau watched Noah reach out and grab Robert around his waist. The boy squealed in delight, his volume increasing as he was pinned to the ground by his uncle and held there so that his sister could exact her revenge for whatever wrong Robert had done.

Isabeau pressed her hand to her stomach and tensed against the pain that lanced her like a scalpel. “Children are a gift,” she managed past a throat that had gone dry. “At any age.”

Anne withdrew her hands. Isabeau could see her mentally struggling to figure out how she had guessed correctly. “It comes with the job,” she explained. “I have to be good at reading people.”

“Well, congratulations,” Anne replied, her words sharp, biting. “You must be very good at your job.”

Isabeau went back to watching Noah play with his niece and nephew. He seemed so genuinely happy, so at ease with them.

He had quite a family. Close-knit. Loving.

It made her feel alone.

Next to her, Anne let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap. It’s just, I’m too old to start over—the diapers and the tears, the sleepless nights.”

“The joy of holding something born of love, the satisfaction of helping to shape a young life. I envy you. Not everyone gets that.”

“You’re still young. You have plenty of time to…” Her words trailed off as Isabeau turned her head.

Squeals of laughter erupted from the far end of the garden.

Emotion swam in Anne’s eyes. “I feel selfish and petty.”

“That was not my intention.”

“You must believe me horrible.”

Isabeau dragged in a deep breath. There were tears in her throat now, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re struggling with a major life change. You’re feelings are understandable.”

“Are they?” Anne asked quietly. “You can’t have children, can you, Isabeau?”

She didn’t want to cry. She’d accepted her fate years ago, why would talking about it now bring her so much pain? Shifting her gaze, she stared across the yard at the answer to her unspoken question. Then she said aloud what she’d never told anyone before. “I suffered more than a crushing hand injury in that automobile accident, I also had internal injuries. The damage was so extensive that…I was told I’ll never conceive.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” she reiterated, then stood and went in search of a quiet place where she could be alone and grieve.

****

Noah finally located Isabeau inside the house, sitting on the stairs. Can of soda in her right hand, she sat on the fourth step from the top, her eyes closed, the fingers of her free hand slowly massaging her temple. For a moment, he stood there and gazed at her, while a kaleidoscope of emotions ran through him. She still wore the simple black dress from the funeral, her dark hair smoothed away from her face and off her neck. But surprisingly, her feet were bare—her customary spike heels kicked off and resting a few steps below.

Watching her, he felt something inside of him shift, something he wasn’t ready to look at too closely. All he knew was he liked waking up with her in his bed—nestled against his side. Her face pressed into his neck, hand atop his chest. His right hand had been curled protectively over her left, his other hand buried in the inky black silk of her hair. She’d been wearing the T-shirt he’d tossed on the chair and little else, and although she’d brought him to mind-blowing orgasm a few hours before, he awoke wrapped in her scent, wrapped in her. Aching.

He swallowed. “There you are,” he said, climbing the stairs and settling for running his fingers over the smooth skin of her shoulder. “I saw you holding my nephew’s hand. Should I be worried that he’s planning to steal you away from me?”

She tipped her face to look up at him, and his chest tightened. Her lips formed a smile, but there was an intense sadness in her eyes. “Isabeau, what is it?”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I was looking at these photographs.”

“And that made you sad?”

She didn’t answer. “Who is this?”

Disappointment filled him, tightened his jaw. Damn, he was tired of the secrets. He wondered how long before she trusted him enough to let him in. Whether he had the patience to wait, or whether he should push her for answers. Uncertain, he followed her pointing finger to the black framed photograph near her shoulder.

“You would pick that one, wouldn’t you?” he asked, then sank down onto the step beside her. Barely wide enough for two people, she had to shift in order to accommodate him. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the step behind him, then, because he liked the feel of her skin, he traced the back of his fingers up and down her arm from shoulder to elbow. “That’s Danny and me.”

“You look like you were causing trouble.”

“If Danny was with me, I usually was.”

“How old are you there?”

He thought back to the summer it had been taken, remembered it was the year he’d kissed his first girl, Gwen Ryder. A kiss hadn’t been all they’d shared that summer. “I was fifteen.”

“And?”

“And what?” he asked, sliding the can from her fingers and taking a drink, before handing it back.

“You’re grinning like a little boy with a secret, Noah Clark. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking.”

His grin widened at her comparison. “Let’s just say that summer changed my life.”

“How did it…oh.” Her forehead creased, her mouth turned down at the corners. “I get it, now.”

He didn’t mean to laugh. “You’re beautiful when you’re jealous.”

Her frown deepened. “I’m not jealous.”

“That’s good, because that was a long time ago and you…” His smile slipped away as he came to his own realization. He groaned aloud. “Were you even born yet? I suddenly feel so—”

“Pervy?”

Pervy? He glanced at her, incredulous. “I was going to say old.”

She had the audacity to laugh at him.

Her eyes sparkled with joy. The last bit of sadness disappeared from her features as her laughter flowed across his skin, as arousing as a caress. “You’ve got an amazing laugh.”

She sent him a wary look. “Yeah, and an incredible mouth, and beautiful eyes…” She rolled those beautiful eyes and turned back to the photographs. “I changed my mind, you’re not pervy, you’re slick.”

“I meant every compliment I ever gave you.”

“Sure, you did,” she replied, skeptically. But then her mouth curved, and he knew she was pleased to hear him say it. “What about this one, with Paul. How old are you here?”

Noah allowed his gaze to take in her high cheekbones and full lips, the delicate curve of her jaw and her slender neck. He couldn’t recall ever noticing a woman’s neck before. Not as a part of her anatomy that he found compelling. “A few years older than you are now. That was taken at Paul and Anne’s wedding.”

She leaned closer, her fingers smoothing over his image. “Your hair’s so long. As long as Dom’s.”

“Hmm.” He skimmed his hand up her arm and settled it at the back of her neck, where he toyed with the small hairs that had worked loose from their twist.

“You look…”

“Half in the bag?” he guessed.

BOOK: After Midnight
9.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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