Someone Like You (16 page)

“I wish you could have seen them together,” Cat said, taking her hand in hers. “If you had, then you’d understand.”

“I’ve read their clippings. That’s enough.”

“The clippings only got half the story. They really were like that, Joely. When they looked at each other, the rest of the world fell away, and it was just the two of them.”

“And that would be a swell story if there hadn’t been four of us at the time.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but there were good times, too.” Cat squeezed her hand. “A lot of them.”

Joely was trying to frame a persuasive argument that would prove her thesis when Cat swayed on her feet. “Come on,” she said, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “I’ll drive us home.”

“Clearly I’m on the decline,” Cat said as she flipped Joely the keys. “I used to be the one who drove everybody else home.”

“That was before you were driving for two.”

“We have to swing past Karen’s to get Annabelle.”

“We’ll drop you off, then I’ll go for Annabelle.”

“I’d fight you, but I’m too tired.”

“And I’m wired.” Considering the time difference and her lack of sleep, she should be falling over with exhaustion, but instead she felt like she had been mainlining espresso.

They walked down the pathway to Cat’s car, and Joely helped her sister into the passenger seat.

“Get in,” she ordered, “and don’t forget to buckle up.”

Cat laughed out loud. “I’m glad you’re here, Joely.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that
here
was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

FUNNY HOW THE things a woman couldn’t say echoed louder than the words she managed to say out loud.

Cat hadn’t seemed to notice when Joely swiftly changed the topic from sisterly affection to the shortest route from Cat’s house to Karen’s farm. Or, if she had, she didn’t let on, which was almost as good.

She let Cat out in front of her house, nodded a few times while her sister repeated directions to Karen’s place, then headed for the town limits. She tried to empty her mind of everything but the road, the car, and the fact that Annabelle was waiting for her, but the past kept tugging at her, trying to drag her down.

She would rather think about Annabelle. She couldn’t wait to scoop her up into her arms, breathe the sweet clover smell of her hair, listen to her clear, high voice. Longing for home tore through her like a summer storm. She longed for Scotland, for the house with the wonky roof, the enormous mahogany bed that sometimes seemed too small to hold her heart.

Karen and Danny lived five miles outside of town on one-quarter of the Porters’ dairy farm. According to Cat, the Porters had decided to move to Arizona, and since neither Danny nor Zach were interested in becoming dairy farmers, they divided the farm into four separate parcels that set them up for a very nice retirement far from Idle Point.

The back door was open when Joely arrived, and she rapped on the jamb and called out, “Hello! Anybody here?” to no response.

Okay. Don’t let your imagination run away with you. Karen’s not about to kidnap Annabelle and hold her for ransom. Maybe they were out in the pasture tending sheep or doing whatever it was you did with the alpacas once you found out exactly what they were in the first place.

“Joe-leeeee!” Annabelle’s shriek made her jump. “Come see!”

She spun around in time to see Annabelle dart back into the barn. Her batteries were beginning to wind down, and the thought of making pleasant conversation over livestock made her want to jump back in the car and run away, but that wasn’t the way adult women acted. No matter how tempting the thought was.

Annabelle’s back was to Joely. She was kneeling on a pile of straw, cooing over something small and furry. But it was the man next to her, who was neither small nor furry, who caught her attention. Danny Porter was the same age she was. He couldn’t possibly have a full head of gray hair. Then again, he was married to Karen . . .

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, crackling her way toward them across a carpet of straw. “Things took longer than we’d figured, and I—”

He turned around, and she stopped midsentence.

“Zach?”

“It’s the gray hair,” he said. “Better than going into the witness protection plan.”

Neither one of them pretended they didn’t remember the last time they had seen each other. A young man’s funeral wasn’t something you could forget.

“You look great, Joely. Being an expat agrees with you.”

“You look good, too,” she said as she struggled to push the past behind her where it belonged. “I like the gray hair.”

“Karen left a box of that five-minute hair color on my pillow. She thinks I need a makeover.”

“Don’t,” she said, tugging at her own dyed-and-highlighted locks. “Too high-maintenance. Take it from a woman with a lot of experience.”

He really did look terrific. Tall. Lean. A pair of wire-framed glasses on his strong, straight nose. He looked like what he was: a grown man who was comfortable in his own skin. Adulthood suited him.

She glanced around the barn. Karen and the kids were nowhere in sight. “Where is everyone?”

“Dinah cut her foot on a nail. When Will heard his sister was going on a trip to the emergency room, he decided he wanted to go, too, so he stepped on a piece of glass. And Kerry went along for the ride.”

“Are they okay?”

“Karen phoned from the hospital. Danny’s meeting them there. Dinah’s getting a tetanus shot, and Will needs two stitches.”

“And Kerry?”

“She’s waiting for them to start passing out lollipops.”

“Thanks for staying here with Annabelle. You should have phoned me. I would have come right over and taken her off your hands.”

“No biggie,” he said, and she almost laughed at the thought of William using that expression. “She’s something, your Annabelle. I think she’ll be asking you for a cria of her own.”

“Cria?”

“Baby alpaca. If you spend five minutes with Karen, you’ll know everything there is to know about them. One of the mothers has a problem with her milk, and they’ve been hand-feeding her cria. Annabelle took to it like an old hand.”

“She’s just like William. They both love animals.”

“William’s her father?”

Joely nodded.

“She calls you Joely.”

“That’s my name, Zach, isn’t it?”

“Very progressive.”

“Not really.” There was no point to dancing around the truth. “I’m—” Why was it so hard to say? “I’m not her mother.”

“So you and this William aren’t—?”

“No,” she said. “We aren’t.”

This was the place where you normally inserted one of those hideously awkward silences that made you question every personal decision you’d ever made about your life, but Zach hadn’t read the instruction manual.

“How long have you been together?”

“Over four years.” She sounded defensive. What was that all about, anyway? She had nothing to feel defensive about. Her life was her life. She didn’t have to explain it to anyone.

“You look happy,” he said, considering her. “Are you?”

She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt happy. Lately she had managed moments of happiness, but that pure thread of joy that used to run through her early days with William and Annabelle had been missing for a long time. Uncertainty had replaced it. A sense that every day brought them closer to saying good-bye.

“Uh-oh,” Annabelle called out. “The bottle’s empty! May we have more please, Zach?”

“Zach?” Joely’s eyebrows shot skyward. “When we were her age, everyone was Mr. and Mrs.”

“You’re home, Doyle. We don’t stand on formalities around here.”

“I think we’d better go,” she said to Annabelle. “It’s been a long day.”

“But the cria needs more milk.”

“Your new friend Zach will take care of it. It’s almost suppertime.”

“Have supper with us,” Zach offered. “Karen and Danny should be home in a little while.”

“Now there’s a great idea for you,” Joely said. “The poor woman comes home from the ER and finds two strangers sitting here waiting to be fed.”

“You’re not strangers.”

“You know what I mean. The woman has three kids. She doesn’t need company for dinner.” She took Annabelle’s hand. “Besides, Cat’s waiting for us. We should go home.”

Annabelle frowned. “Do you mean home to our real home or home to Aunt Cat’s house?”

First it was “Zach.” Now it was “Aunt Cat.” Where was this coming from?

Zach walked them out to the car. “I was really sorry to hear about Mimi’s accident.”

Joely nodded. “Thanks.”

“How is she?”

“Not good.” She glanced pointedly at Annabelle, then back at Zach. “The house is pretty much of a write-off.”

“I hate hearing that,” he said. “Mimi’s always been special to me.”

It took a second, but the memories came flooding back. “That’s right,” she said. “You liked all those old folk songs, didn’t you?”

“You’re looking at the last of The Doyles groupies,” he said with a rueful laugh. “Cat claimed I dated her so I could sit there and listen to Mimi Doyle’s stories.”

Annabelle tugged on her sweater. “What stories?”

“Great stories,” he said, crouching down to be on level with the child. “Stories about kings and queens and movie stars and princesses and the sweetest, most beautiful music you’ve ever heard in your life.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened. The man was speaking her language. “Like a fairy princess?”

“Yes,” he said, “except the fairy princess was real, and she had two beautiful daughters.”

“He’s talking about my mother, Annabelle,” she cut in before they veered too far off Reality Road. “She was a singer a long time ago.”

“When you were a little girl?”

“Long before,” Joely said.

“She was a great singer,” Zach said. “So was your dad. The Doyles were right up there with Peter, Paul, and Mary.”

“How old are you really?” she asked with a bit more bite than she intended. “Their music was over by the time you could afford to buy your first eight-track.”

“So was Mozart’s,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” He gave her a funny look. “Don’t tell me you don’t like their music?”

“I don’t like their music.”

“Come on. They were great.”

“Your opinion. Their music was a tad too . . . sentimental for me.”

Annabelle poked her in the left hip. “What does ‘sentimental’ mean?”

“Cheaply emotional,” she said, then chuckled at the frown on the little girl’s face. “Like too much sugar in your tea.”

Annabelle thought for a second. “Like the Barney song.”

Zach started to laugh. “How old are
you,
Annabelle? Forty-three?”

“Seven,” Annabelle said in her most British voice. “I am seven.”

“Call me crazy, but she looks like you,” Zach said.

Okay. Now it really was time to go.

She helped Annabelle into the backseat and buckled her in.

“Good to see you, Zach,” she said, jingling her sister’s car keys for emphasis. “Thanks again for watching Annabelle.”

“I didn’t say good-bye to Mamie,” Annabelle piped up from the backseat. “The babies need another bottle! Don’t forget to give them another bottle.”

“Don’t worry, Annabelle,” Zach called through the open window. “I’m on the job.”

They waved good-bye to Zach and the livestock and hit the road.

“Did my sister tell you to call her aunt Cat?” Joely asked as they drove to Geno’s Pizza to pick up a large pepperoni for supper.

Annabelle yawned.

“Honey, did Cat tell you to call her aunt Cat, or did you decide all on your own?”

A shrug of tiny shoulders and another yawn. “I forget.”

Joely knew better, but she didn’t push. Cat would have run it by her first. This idea was pure Annabelle. Like most little English girls, Annabelle understood familial relationships. Maybe they hadn’t said she could call Joely “Mommy,” but the fact remained that Joely was the only mother she had ever known, and everything else she understood derived from that. If Cat was Joely’s sister, then it would follow that she was also Annabelle’s aunt.

“Can I have Pepsi with my pizza?” Annabelle asked.

“You know how I feel about fizzy drinks.”

“In America you drink Pepsi with pizza.”

“Okay, but just this once.” Annabelle squealed with excitement, and Joely laughed. “Tomorrow it’s back to milk.”

“Can I have ice cream after the pizza?”

“I think the Pepsi’s enough for one day.”

“But I love ice cream.” Annabelle’s feathery brows knotted over her tiny nose as she stared at Joely. “Dinah has ice cream every single day.”

“And when Dinah’s all grown up, she’ll wish she’d eaten more broccoli.”

“I hate broccoli. I only like ice cream. If we lived in America, I could eat ice cream every day.”

Less than twelve hours on U.S. soil, and her beloved English rosebud was turning into a pint-sized American beauty.

William was in for an earful when they finally connected.