Gabriel's Angel (22 page)

“Sounds as though I'm going to have to watch my step.”

“Probably.” She was giddy with success, but she was still practical. “I really shouldn't have champagne. Michael—”

Gabe kissed her, and signaled for his car.

Chapter 12

“You look exhausted.” Amanda gave a quick shake of her head as she stepped into the house.

“Michael's teething.” The excuse was valid enough, but more than a fretful baby was keeping Laura from sleeping at night. “He's been down all of ten minutes. With luck, he might make an entire hour straight.”

“Then why aren't you napping?”

Since Amanda was already stepping into the parlor, Laura followed her in. “Because you called and said you were coming over.”

“Oh.” With a faint smile, Amanda took a seat, then tossed her purse on the table. “So I did. Well, I won't keep you long. Gabe's not home?”

“No. He said he had something to see to.” Laura sat in the chair facing her and let her head fall back. Sometimes small luxuries felt like heaven. “Can I get you some coffee, or something cold?”

“You don't look as though you can get yourself out of that chair. And, no, I don't need a thing. How is Gabe?”

“He hasn't been getting a great deal of rest, either.”

“I'm not surprised. No word from Lorraine Eagleton or her attorney?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't suppose that you're able to take the attitude that no news is good news?”

Laura managed a smile. “Afraid not. The longer this goes on, the easier it gets to imagine the worst.”

“And if she takes this to court?”

“Then we'll fight.” Despite her fatigue, her newly discovered power came through. “I meant everything I said to her.”

“That's really all I wanted to hear.” Sitting back, Amanda adjusted the pin on her lapel. A little too thin, a little too pale, she thought as she studied Laura. But, all in all, she thought her daughter-in-law was holding up well. “When this is over, you and Gabe should be able to tie up a few loose ends.”

Laura caught herself before she dozed off. “Loose ends?”

“Yes, little things. Such as what you intend to do with the rest of your lives.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Gabe has his art, and you both have Michael, and however many other children you choose to bring into the world.”

That was something that made Laura sit up straighter. More children. They'd never discussed the possibility of more. As she began to, she wondered if Gabe even wanted any. Did she? She passed a hand over her now flat stomach and imagined it filled with another child—Gabe's child this time, from the very first moment. Yes, she wanted that. Glancing over, she saw Amanda studying her quietly and with complete understanding.

“It's difficult to make decisions with so much hanging over us.”

“Exactly. But it will pass. When it does, what are you going to look for? Since I spent more than two decades under the same roof as Gabe, I know that he can, when the muse is on him, lock himself in his studio for hours and days on end.”

“I don't mind. How could I, when I see what he can accomplish?”

“A woman needs a solid sense of accomplishment, as well. Children can be the best of that, but . . .” She reached for her purse, opened it and took out a business card. “There's an abuse clinic downtown. It's rather small, and unfortunately not well funded. Yet.” She intended to correct that. “They need volunteers, women who understand, who know there can be normal life after hell.”

“I'm not a therapist.”

“You don't need a degree to give support.”

“No.” She looked at the card on the table as the idea took root. “I don't know. I . . .”

“Just think about it.”

“Amanda, did you go to the clinic?”

“Yes, Cliff and I went there yesterday. We were very impressed.”

“Why did you go?”

Amanda lifted a brow in a gesture Laura knew Gabe had inherited. “Because there's someone we both care about who we wanted to understand better. Don't get up,” she said as she rose. “I'll let myself out. Give Gabe my love and tell him his father wants to know if they're ever going to play poker again. The man thrives on losing money.”

“Amanda.” Laura pushed off her shoes before she curled her legs up in the chair. “I never had a mother, and the one I always imagined for myself was nothing like you.” She smiled as her eyes began to close. “I'm not at all disappointed.”

“You're coming along,” Amanda said, and left Laura sleeping in the chair.

She was still there when Gabe came in. He tilted the bulky package against the wall. When she didn't stir at the rattle of the paper, he walked over to the couch. He didn't even have the energy to wish for his sketch pad as he stretched out his legs and almost instantly fell asleep.

The baby woke both of them. Gabe merely groaned and pulled a throw pillow over his face. Disoriented, Laura pulled herself up, blinked groggily at Gabe, then put one foot in front of the other to get upstairs.

A short time later, he went up after her.

“My timing's good,” he decided when he saw that Laura was fastening a fresh diaper.

“I'm beginning to wonder about your timing.” But she was smiling as she lifted Michael over her head to make him laugh. “How long have you been home?”

“Long enough to see that my wife has nothing better to do than lounge around all day.” He plucked Michael from her while she pretended to glare at him. “Do you think if we kept him awake and exhausted him with attention he'd sleep tonight?”

“I'm willing to try anything.”

At that, Gabe sat on the floor and began to play nonsense games. Bouncing the Baby, Flying the Baby, Tickling the Baby.

“You're so good with him.” Finding her second wind, Laura sat on the floor with them. “It's hard to believe you're new at this.”

“I never thought about parenthood. It certainly has its compensations.” He set Michael on his knee and jiggled him.

“Like walking the ten-minute mile at 2:00 a.m.”

“That, too.”

“Gabe, your mother came by.”

“Should I be surprised?”

She smiled a little as she leaned over to let Michael tug at her hair. “She left a card—from an abuse clinic.”

“I see.” He reached over himself to untangle her hair from Michael's grip. “Do you want to go back into therapy?”

“No . . . at least I don't think so.” She looked over at him. Michael was chewing madly at his chin. All the therapy she needed was sitting across from her. “She suggested I might like to volunteer there.”

He frowned as he let Michael gnaw on his knuckle. “And be reminded day after day?”

“Yes—of what I was able to change.”

“I thought you'd want to go back to modeling eventually.”

“No, I haven't any desire to go back to modeling. I think I could do this, and I know I'd like to try.”

“If you're asking for my approval, you don't need to.”

“I'd still like to have it.”

“Then you do, unless I see this wearing you down.”

She had to smile. He still saw her as more fragile than she was or could ever have afforded to be. “You know, I've been thinking . . . with everything that's happened, and everything we've had to think and worry about, we haven't had much time to really get to know a lot about each other.”

“I know you take entirely too long in the bathtub and like to sleep with the window open.”

She took the stuffed rabbit Michael liked to chew on and passed it from hand to hand. “There are other things.”

“Such as?”

“The other night, I said that you could ask me anything and I'd tell you the truth, and then I'd ask you something. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“I never had my turn.”

He shifted so that he could rest his back against the daybed. They were avoiding speaking of the phone call they were both waiting for. And they both knew it. Perhaps that was best, Gabe mused as the baby continued to rub his sore gums against his knuckles.

“Do you want to hear about my misspent youth?”

Though she was plucking nervously at the rabbit's ears, she smiled. “Is there time?”

“You flatter me.”

“Actually, I'd like to ask you about something else. A few days ago, when it rained, I went into your studio to close the windows. I looked through some of your paintings. Perhaps I shouldn't have.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“There was one in particular. The one of Michael. Your brother. I'd like you to tell me about him.”

He was silent for so long that she had to fight back the urge to tell him that it didn't matter. But it mattered too much. She was certain it was his brother's death that had sent him to Colorado, that was preventing him, even after all these months, from having a showing of his work.

“Gabe.” She laid a tentative hand on his arm. “You asked me to marry you so that you could take on my problems. You wanted me to trust you, and I have. Until you can do the same, we're still strangers.”

“We haven't been strangers since the first time we laid eyes on each other, Laura. I would have asked you to marry me with or without your problems.”

Now she fell silent, as surprise ran through her, chased frantically by hope. “Do you mean that?”

He shifted the baby onto his shoulder. “I don't always say everything I mean, but I do mean what I say.” When Michael began to whimper, Gabe stood to walk him. “You needed someone, I wanted to be that someone. And I, though I didn't know it until you were already part of my life, needed someone, too.”

She wanted to ask him how he needed her, and why, and if love—the kind she'd always hoped for—was somehow mixed up with that need. But they needed to go back further than that if they were ever to move forward.

“Please tell me about him.”

He wasn't certain he could, that he wouldn't trip over the pain, and then the words. It had been so long since he'd spoken of Michael. “He was three years younger than I,” he began. “We got along fairly well growing up because Michael tended to be even-tempered unless backed into a corner. We didn't have many of the same interests. Baseball was about it. It used to infuriate me that I couldn't outhit him. As we grew older, I turned to art, and Michael to law. The law fascinated him.”

“I remember,” she murmured, as some vague recollection stirred. “There was something about him in an article I read about you. He was working in Washington.”

“As a public defender. He set a lot of tongues clucking over that decision. He wasn't interested in corporate law or big fees. Of course, a lot of people said he didn't need the money, anyway. What they didn't understand was that he would have done the same thing with or without his stock portfolio behind him. He wasn't a saint.” Gabe set Michael in the crib and wound up the mobile. “But he was the best of us. The best and the brightest, my father used to say.”

She had risen, but she wasn't certain he wanted her to go to him. “I could see that in the portrait. You must have loved him very much.”

“It's not something you think about, one brother loving another. Either it's there or it isn't. It isn't something you say, because you don't think it needs to be said. Then all you have is time to regret.”

“He had to know you loved him. He only had to see the portrait.”

With his hands in his pockets, Gabe walked to the window. It was easier than he could have imagined to talk to her about it. “I'd badgered him to sit for me off and on for years. It became a family joke. I won five sittings from him in a poker game. A heart flush to his three of a kind.” The pain clawed at him, no longer fresh, but still sharp. “That was the last time we played.”

“What happened to him?”

“An accident. I've never believed in accidents. Luck, fate, destiny, but they called it an accident. He was researching a case in Virginia and took a small commuter plane to New York. Minutes after takeoff it went down. He was coming to New York because I was having a showing.”

Her heart broke for him. This time there was no hesitation as she went to him and put her arms around him. “You've blamed yourself all this time. You can't.”

“He was coming to New York for me, to be there for me. I watched my mother fall apart for the first and only time in her life. I saw my father walk through his own home as if he'd never seen it before, and I didn't know what to say or do.”

She stroked his back, aching for him. There was no use telling him that being there was sometimes all that could be done. “I've never lost anyone I've loved, but having you and Michael now, I can imagine how devastating it would be. Sometimes things happen and there's no one to blame. Whether that's an accident or fate, I don't know.”

He rested his cheek on her hair and looked out at the flowers she'd planted. “I went to Colorado to get away for a while, to be alone and see if I could paint again. I hadn't been able to here. When I found you, I'd begun to pull myself back. I could work again, I could think about coming home and picking up my life. But there was still something missing.” He drew back and cupped her face in his hand. “You filled in those last pieces for me.”

She curled her fingers around his wrist. “I'm glad.”

When he held her, she closed her eyes. They would make it, Laura told herself. Whatever happened, they would make it. Sometimes need was enough.

“Gabe.” She slid her hands down until they gripped his. “The paintings in your studio. They don't belong there.” She squeezed his fingers with hers before he could speak or turn away. “It's wrong to keep them there, facing the wall and pretending they don't exist. If your brother was proud enough of you to want to be there for one of your showings, it's time you had one. Dedicate it to him. Maybe you didn't say the words, but there can't be any better way to show that you loved him.”

He had started to brush it aside, to make excuses, but her last words hit home. “He would have liked you.”