Until There Was You (28 page)

“I’m so disappointed, Posey,” Stacia announced. “I’m stunned. Shocked. Horrified.”

“Okay, Ma, I get that. Look, Gret. It wasn’t— It didn’t have anything to do with the present.”

“Well, I think it’s disgusting,” her cousin said. “Dante crawls from your bed into mine, and you crawl from his into Liam’s, and I’m sorry, Posey, I guess I’m not like you, but I think that’s vile.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Posey protested.

“Liam? Now you’re sleeping with Liam? Oh, Posey, are you a sex addict?” Stacia asked. Max flinched and retreated once again, running the water to drown out the conversation.

“Ma, I’m not a sex addict! Come on! This is me, remember?”

“That’s right,” Gretchen snapped. “Posey who can do no wrong. Well, guess what?
This
was wrong. How dare you? You get everything, don’t you, Posey? You always have to have everything—Henry, Jon, a niecey-poo on the way, that fat kid who follows you around like a dog.”

“Don’t you dare—” Posey began.

“And now I find out you had Dante first, and I can’t take any more.” With that, Gretchen stormed out of the house, slamming the door. A second later, they heard the sound of a car peeling out of the driveway.

“I can’t believe what I’ve heard,” Stacia said, wringing her hands. “I’m stunned. Max, I’m stunned. Get me a sherry.”

Well, this birthday would certainly be memorable.

Max came back into the room and handed his wife her little cordial glass, then sat next to her, a wall of Teutonic solidarity. “You’ve upset your mother,” he said, his voice gentle but still stern.

“
I’ve
upset my mother, Dad? How about Gretchen has upset my mother?” she said sharply.

“We’ll deal with her later,” Max said.

“How could you keep this a secret? How could you even be with that man in the first place?” Stacia asked, tossing back her drink in one gulp.

Ironic, that Stacia now had a problem with secrets. Posey took a deep breath, then another. “Okay, let me explain. First of all, I always thought it was kind of ridiculous that you had such a grudge against Dante.”

“Oh! Now you’re taking his side?”

Stacia cried.

“Ma, calm down. He has a very successful restaurant. And so do you, in your own way. There’s room in the world for both.”

Stacia harrumphed.

“And secondly…” Posey’s voice trailed off. “Okay, secondly, it’s not like men are beating a path to my door. When he…asked me out—”
made a pass
“—I was flattered, you know? He’s a good-looking, charming guy. So we saw each other—”
slept together
“—a few times, and it just petered out. That was it.”

Stacia lifted a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Gretchen was so excited about him that I didn’t want to ruin things for her. Dante and I had a little talk and just agreed that some things are better left unsaid. I don’t know why he told her, since it obviously didn’t…mean that much.”

Posey clutched a throw pillow against her stomach. In hindsight, it was clear that she’d felt almost nothing for Dante, other than some basic attraction and the hope that they’d see something in each other…something special. It had had little to do with reality. She knew that now—now that she’d felt the real thing.

“And yes, Liam and I have been dating,” she added quietly. “For about a month.”

“Another secret. And here I thought we were so close,” Stacia sniffed.

Posey gave her mother a long look. “Speaking of secrets,” she said, sitting up a little straighter, “I was wondering if you could tell me about that letter.”

“What letter?” Max asked.

“The letter from my birth mother.”

The blood drained out of both parents’ faces, answering the question of whether Max knew about it.

“How did you find out about that? Did you find her?” Stacia asked, her voice shrill.

“No, Mom. Gretchen mentioned the letter. She read it when it first came.”

“What do you mean, she read it? That was none of her business!”

“Ma, she thought it was something about her parents. Can we stick to the point here?”

“You said you never wanted to find them,” Max said.

“I might’ve felt differently if I’d known my birth mother wrote to me, Dad! I can’t believe you kept that secret! Didn’t it occur to you that I’d like to know?”

“The letter wasn’t to you,” Stacia boomed. “It was addressed to me.”

That stopped Posey in her tracks.

“It’s true, honey,” Max said gently. “It came through the lawyer who handled your adoption, and it was addressed to ‘the woman who adopted my baby.’ We would never have hidden a letter that came to you.”

Posey exhaled slowly. “Okay. But it was about me, obviously.”

Her parents exchanged a glance. “Yes, of course it was,” Stacia said. “And we always agreed that if you ever said anything about wanting to find your birth parents, the first thing we’d do was hand you that letter. But you never did. So we didn’t say anything.” Stacia folded her arms across her massive chest and dared Posey to find fault.

Max came over and sat next to Posey and put his arm around her shoulders. As always, the smell of her dad was comforting, his big arm heavy and solid. “It was a tough time,” he said. “Your aunt and uncle had just died, you were getting ready for college. We wanted it to be your choice to find her, not to have this letter just come out of nowhere. We figured if she wanted to write to you, she would have. So we kept it secret. Maybe it wasn’t right, but…well, we thought it was.”

Posey nodded. In her heart, she knew her parents would never do anything to hurt her. Not on purpose. “I’d like to see it now,” she whispered.

Max and Stacia exchanged a look. “I’m sorry, Posey,” her father said. “We lost it in the fire.”

T
HE LETTER
,
WHICH
Stacia coolly recounted with the help of an index card on which she’d noted the pertinent information, was more of a recitation of facts than anything. Posey’s birth mother had updated the family medical history: Posey’s maternal grandfather had diabetes. Her paternal grandmother had had breast cancer. Posey’s birth mother’s name was Clarice. She had brown eyes and brown hair. Her father’s name was Paul. He had brown eyes and black hair. They’d been in college (English for her, art history for him) when she got pregnant. Clarice had not seen Paul since they graduated. She had felt compelled to write after eighteen years because the baby she’d given away was now the same age she was when she’d had her. She hoped that “the baby,” as she called Posey, was happy and healthy.

And that was it.

“Nothing about wanting to meet me?” Posey said quietly.

Max squeezed her hand. “No, honey. Which is not to say that she might not want to meet you now, if you reached out.”

“So all of a sudden, you want to meet her?” Stacia asked, her voice tight.

Posey swallowed. What she wanted was a stiff drink. And Liam, maybe. Liam definitely. “I don’t know, Mom.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to point it out, honey,” Stacia said, “but she could’ve had any arrangement she wanted, and she chose a closed adoption. For whatever reason, she thought that was best.”

“I know.” Posey sat there for another minute. “I’m gonna go, okay?”

Her parents followed her to the door. “Are you going to apologize to Gretchen?” Stacia asked, her way of regaining the moral high ground.

“Not really high on my list of things to do,” Posey said tightly, and with that, she walked out to her truck, her steps shortened by her dress. The new sandals were already giving her a blister.

At home, she changed into shorts and a sweatshirt and poured herself a glass of wine. A healthy glass, one guaranteed to induce a buzz. She sat on the back steps, rubbing her dog’s head as he licked her ankle.

The sky was that sweetly painful shade of between, not quite dark, not quite light, the blue aching and melancholy. The birds quieted, a bat wheeled out from the belfry, and from the swamp, the frogs sang their nighttime song.

What a sucky birthday. Well, it hadn’t all been bad. A niece was on the way, and that was…that was unabashedly wonderful. She fished her phone out of her pocket and texted Henry and Jon, apologizing for the drama and telling them she wanted more info on her soon-to-be niece and would stop by tomorrow.

But still. As the sky darkened, it seemed that melancholy wouldn’t be put off. The Meadows would be ripped down. Gretchen was furious, her mother was furious and somewhere out there was her birth mother, who, one would assume, loved to read. Her birth father, who liked art and old things. They had dark hair and dark eyes, as did she.

Posey knew she was lucky. She had a brother and a brother-in-law and would soon have little Betty to spoil. She had Brianna as a surrogate sister, and she had parents who would lie down in front of a bus for her. She’d had everything she needed. She even had Liam, sort of.

But even so, even if she might never admit it out loud, it was hard not to feel a little lonely, picturing two dark-eyed people in their fifties who never wanted to meet her.

When the church bell rang, she just about leaped out of her skin, bolting off the back step, spilling her wine. Shilo jumped up, barking and running in a circle before dashing under the lilacs, and Posey stared up at the belfry. Her bell swung back and forth, right on time, and the deep iron tone rang out loud and strong into the night, reverberating in Posey’s stomach, filling the air. Nine cavernous, unspeakably beautiful clangs marking the hour, the sound so rich and profound that it felt like it might lift her right off her feet.

As the last note finally faded from the night, Posey raced inside, charged up the stairs, out onto the catwalk and up the skinny stairs to the belfry.

There was a note secured with duct tape, right on the lip of the bell.

Happy Birthday.

It wasn’t signed.

It didn’t need to be.

“B
AD CHOICE
,” M
AC
muttered into his coffee cup the next morning. Posey had just broken the news about The Meadows, and the mood was glum.

“Right?” Elise said, blinking back tears. “I totally thought we had that one in the bag.”

“Well, at least Viv won’t have to see it,” Posey said. “The salvage can only start after her death. It’s in her will.”

“She’s lucky, then,” Mac added. “We’re the ones who’re gonna have to drive past and see that poor place ripped apart. It’s not right.”

Quite possibly the longest speech Posey had ever heard from him. “I’m sorry, guys,” she said.

“Seriously? It’s not your fault, Posey,” Elise said staunchly. “You were great, visiting that old grouch all the time. She totally led you on, making you think we had a chance. She took advantage of you, Posey.”

“Well. She doesn’t get a lot of company.”

“No. Elise is right,” Mac said, his voice hot. “You went above and beyond the call. And Elise—you were…” He seemed to lose steam as he looked directly at her. “You were…very…um…good.” His cheeks flushed. “Back to work,” he mumbled and headed for the back room, the flow of words clearly more than he could handle.

Elise sighed. “I wish I didn’t like him so much,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Posey said. Elise looked so miserable. “Maybe you should look around a little. Maybe for someone your own age.”

“Whatevs,” Elise mumbled.

The rest of the day was quiet. Somewhere during the night, Posey had decided to just let the issue of the letter rest. No point in dwelling on it—her biological parents were out there, always had been, and she was here, and she was fine. Her birth mother had put her up for adoption, and Posey was grateful. It would’ve been nice if Clarice—the word felt strange just to think—if Clarice had wanted to send her a letter, give some indication that she had some feelings for the baby she gave up? Sure. But she didn’t, so that was that.

Posey paid bills, answered emails, worked up a bid for a house in Durham. They sold a grand total of two items—an old fire department light and a carved wooden pedestal. Since it was so quiet, she sent Elise and Mac home, watching with a pang as Elise stared after Mac’s broad back. One of these days, the girl would give up and move on.

But speaking of relationships, it was Wednesday— Liam night. And at the thought of seeing him (possibly seeing him naked, which was always quite the thrill), and thanking him for fixing the bell, Posey’s heart rose considerably. Maybe she’d even cook. Yes. She could do it. That class hadn’t been for nothing, after all. She closed up shop and headed to the market for the ingredients for spaghetti Bolognese, needing to call Jon only twice with questions. Once home, she put on
Hot August Night,
muting the music only to hear the bell chime six times—the greatest sound ever, in her opinion. It rang at six in the morning, nine, noon, six in the evening and nine. She could hear it from Irreplaceable, even. Hopefully, no one would complain, though how someone could object to that sound was a mystery.

She showered, squished down her cowlick and opened her closet. She only owned two dresses—the sheath and the itchy one. Well. Shorts, then. But a girly shirt, a yellow tank top with a little stripe of satin at the edge. Bought in the juniors department, but hey. She looked kind of cute. Definitely female. Maybe she’d get her ears pierced, even.

Since they’d hooked up, Liam had called her every Wednesday afternoon to ask if she was free that night. Gretchen had warned her not to be too available, but Posey didn’t really go for that kind of game playing (and what did Gretchen know about relationships?). It seemed dumb to pretend she was unavailable if she was dying to see him.

But Liam hadn’t called today.

Maybe, she rationalized, he didn’t need to, because this was their thing, their routine, and he was as comfortable with it as she was. She chopped an onion and added it to the frying pan with the garlic. It was starting to smell really good in here. Shilo whined, so she tossed him a little ball of ground beef. Poured herself a little wine. Checked her hair. Squished down the cowlick again, which only seemed to give it new life. Replayed “Kentucky Woman” and danced around with Shilo. Sautéed the beef. Added it to the sauce. Looked at the clock.

Quarter to seven.

Every time she heard a car on her street, her heart wobbled. Crikey, she had it bad. And maybe…it seemed, anyway…that Liam had it bad, too. While their sex life was undeniably fun, and smiling during kissing was becoming a habit, Liam also had a way of looking at her once in a while, or touching her lips, and his gaze would lose that laughing light, and he’d look…in love.

Those other Wednesdays, he’d been here by now. Which meant nothing.

No need to obsess—going slow was the way to go. That was what blew it with Dante. Not that Dante was nearly in the same class as Liam, of course. Dante was all surface charm. Liam…he had substance. He’d come from a ragtag upbringing by some not-very-nice people, yet managed to build a successful business. He’d been a devoted husband. He certainly was a loving (if neurotic) father. He’d come from nothing and made something of himself.

He’d become the man she’d imagined he could be all those years ago.

When the phone rang, shocking her out of her dopey-with-love reverie, she dropped the spatula, spattering sauce on her shirt. Dang it! But hello, here he was, and just the sight of his name on her caller ID made her heart actually flutter.

“Hello, God’s Gift.” She grinned.

“Hey, Cordelia. Any chance you can meet me at Rosebud’s tonight?”

She looked around her kitchen—the first meal she’d prepared in, oh, a decade, unless you counted scrambled eggs. “Actually, I made dinner. Want to come here?” He didn’t answer. “Spaghetti Bolognese. Smells wicked good.”

“Uh…Rosebud’s would be better. If you don’t mind.”

She hesitated. Not really what she had in mind for tonight, but… “Okay. Give me a half an hour?”

“Sure.”

“See you then.”

But he’d already hung up.

Posey stood there a minute, looking at the phone. A trickle of dread threaded through the earlier glow. But no, that was silly. Nothing to worry about. He wanted to eat at Rosebud’s, what was the harm in that? And it was public, too—he’d kissed her in public over in Kittery, and now he wanted to be seen with her right here in town. It wasn’t bad…it was the opposite. A very positive sign.

No reason to worry at all.

T
HERE WAS NO GETTING
around it. This was going to suck.

Granted, Liam had once been master of the art of breaking up. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d been master of the art of dumping someone. It hadn’t been as classy as breaking up. Nope, back in the day, he’d been an idiot who’d slept with a lot of girls, and when someone else caught his attention or when a girl got too clingy or demanding or predictable, he’d say something brutally casual—
Yeah, about that…it was fun while it lasted.
The cruel pause.
Was there something else you wanted?
And then, because he’d been such a prick, he’d give that sleepy grin that made women of all ages blush, pinch her chin and wink at her from time to time, ensuring that she’d stay half in love with him—you know, just in case the urge struck. Why some brother or father hadn’t beaten him to a pulp was a mystery, because if someone treated Nicole like that, he’d go after the guy with a car battery and a healthy set of jumper cables.

Until Emma, he’d never been in love. He’d been a player. A dick, in other words. And he was about to be a dick again. He’d chosen Rosebud’s because he was a coward. There it was in a nutshell. Seeing Cordelia in public was very different from seeing her in her house, with that goofy dog and the battered-looking cats, the soft old couch where a person could really relax, the huge bed that seemed a place he’d like to stay for a week or so. He was fairly sure he couldn’t go through with this if she cried, and he was also pretty sure she wouldn’t make a scene in public. Booth in the corner, back near the pool table. Not real crowded on a Wednesday night. Private, yet public, and therefore safe.

Coward.

“Hey, biker boy!” There she was. “So, about the bell. You are a prince, Liam Murphy. I almost spit blood, I was so excited when I heard it! I can’t believe you fixed it! I was sitting on my back steps, and when it went off, I jumped up, spilled my wine, broke the glass, and you should’ve seen Shilo, he was going crazy, running all around the yard, barking. It’s amazing. Have you heard it ring? You probably did. It’s the best sound in the world.”

She seemed a little…sweaty. And tense. Trying a little too hard. She took a deep breath and slid across the table from him. “Thank you,” she said more calmly. “It’s the nicest present anyone’s ever given me, Liam. Well, I take that back. My brother gave me a niece for my birthday. I just don’t have her yet. But the bell is definitely second best. Really. It was…it was perfect.”

The words were like a dull knife in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he said, looking into his Sam Adams.

“Hey, Posey! What can I get you?” Rose called over from the bar.

“Hi, Rose! Um…I’ll have a glass of white zin, if you won’t tell Henry.”

“How is Henry?” The bartender grinned.

“Still gay.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Rose brought over a glass of pink wine. “Any food tonight, kids?”

“I’m all set,” Liam said.

“Oh, um, me, too,” Cordelia said, and he knew she knew what was coming, because when had Cordelia Osterhagen ever turned away food?

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else,” Rose said, gliding away.

So. Time to make the break. Liam took a sip of his beer.
Hey, it’s run its course, don’t you think? But it was fun while it lasted. Take care.
“How are things with you? Birth mother, all that stuff?” he asked, managing to glance up at her.

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded oddly normal, and her hair was sticking up on the left. So ridiculously cute.

Get this over with, idiot.
“Life’s gotten a little more complicated recently,” he said carefully. “I really can’t be in a relationship right now.”

She swallowed. Otherwise, she didn’t move a muscle. “Is this about the Tates?”

“Yeah. Sort of. I need to focus on Nicole, and I…” He shook his head. He wasn’t about to blame his daughter for this. “It’s not really about Nicole, Cordelia. I can’t… Look. You and I, we want different things. That’s all.”

“What…what different things do we want?”

He returned his eyes to his beer. Fascinating beer, Sam Adams. Nice color. Very…amber. “Listen, you’re fun, and I like you, but I can tell you’re getting…attached. I’m sure you want to settle down, have a couple kids, whatever, and that’s great, but I’m not looking for that.”

She was listening. She’d always been good at that. Liam forced himself to go on, his chest actually hurting. “This was supposed to be fun, and it has been, but…it’s run its course.”

Her eyes were huge, her mouth slightly open. Then she took a quick breath, pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah, no. I understand.” She took a sip of her wine. Her hands were shaking. She must’ve noticed that, too, because she folded them and put them in her lap.

If she’d thrown her wine in his face, that would be something he could react to. If she called him names, he could agree. Slapped him—hey, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been slapped.

“Liam,” she whispered, “I don’t need much.” The words sliced into his gut like a razor. “I mean, I know you have to think about Nicole, and I wouldn’t expect anything else. But I don’t see why we have to…stop seeing each other. I can… I mean, what we have, it’s…it’s enough. We could just keep things the way they are, right?”

Liam looked at his beer, because it was too hard to look at her. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

Because she deserved more, of course. She was the type who was meant to be married, to have a bunch of kids and animals, a big noisy family and a guy who loved her with all his heart. A guy she loved with all hers. And while she might be in the throes of a mighty crush on him—just as she’d been a long time ago—he didn’t want to sit around and watch her learn, bit by bit, that he was no one from nowhere, and the only thing he had going for him was his daughter, and he had to protect that child, not just from the Tates, but from the Tanners of the world, from Nicole’s own mistakes and the random accidents of life. He couldn’t take his eye off the ball for even a minute.

“So that’s it, then?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry if you thought something else,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

“No, it’s…it’s okay.” She sat for another minute. Her mouth quivered, and Liam hated himself more than he could ever remember. He looked down, not trusting himself to blow a perfectly effective break-up. In a few minutes, she’d be out of here, and he could go home and wash his hands and check on his kid and beat his head against the wall and do all those other fun things that made up his life these days.

“Do you remember that cat?” she asked suddenly.

He looked up. “What cat?”

“Joe. The little stray you fed back when you worked at Guten Tag.”

He hadn’t thought of that cat in years. But yeah, he remembered. “What about him?” he asked.

She looked at him steadily, her usually pixie-cute face solemn. “I always thought that said a lot about you,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “That you took care of him. Fed him and tamed him until that lady adopted him.”

And there it was, that completely baseless idea that he was somehow a hero. “He wasn’t adopted, Cordelia,” Liam said tonelessly. “He got hit by a car.”

Her mouth opened. “But…you told me yourself. Some woman came around—”

“I lied. He got hit by a car, and I buried him near the Coast Guard station.”

“He got hit?” There were tears in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you—”

“Hi, Liam, how are you?” Taylor “the Teeth” Bennington Linkletter swayed over to him and placed an oily kiss on his cheek.