“Wonderful,” Rafe affirmed. “More important, did you survive the boys?”
“No problem at all, but what about you two? Have you eaten dinner?”
“Yes, Mom. We stopped for a bite on our way home from the airport.”
“Well, I’m certainly going to make you a pot of tea, and the boys and I made oatmeal cookies…”
Zoe felt Rafe slide the jacket off her shoulders and gently squeeze her neck from behind. “Rather have a brandy?” he murmured to her when his mother disappeared into the kitchen.
She shook her head. The flight had left her groggy after forty-eight hours of sleeplessness. The blaze of apartment lights and Marjorie’s bright, curious eyes had struck her as a disorienting blur. She wanted to be able to think clearly, and instead couldn’t think at all. “Nothing, thanks. But I think I’ll check on the kids.”
“Zoe?”
She turned back, but Rafe didn’t say or do anything more than possessively brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Since their plane had landed, the silence between them had gradually become charged with a brooding uneasiness-her own doing, Zoe knew. Rafe had tried more than once to talk. Maybe if she’d let him, there would be less tension on his face now, less wariness in his eyes. She wanted to tell him he no longer had to worry about anything, but the right moment wasn’t now.
Carrying her suitcase back to her bedroom, she dropped it just inside and noted that Marjorie’s was neatly packed and ready for her departure in the morning. All she could think of was that Marjorie’s son would also be leaving all too soon.
Switching off the light, she tiptoed toward the boys’ room. The fuzzy darkness and silence enfolded her like a soothing balm as she moved closer to the bed. Both boys were asleep. Snuggled up to his blanket, Parker had kicked off the rest of his covers. She bent over to tuck him in again, dropped a soft kiss on his cheek and then glanced at Aaron.
That fast, two arms reached up to her in the darkness. With a smile and a tug on her heart, she crossed to the other side of the double bed and leaned over to hug him.
“You’re back,” he whispered. “Is Uncle Rafe back, too?”
“Sure-he’s in the kitchen right now. Did you have fun with Uncle Rafe’s mom?”
“Yes. Snookums? Don’t go.”
She sank on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hair and the covers. “I’ll stay for a minute, but you have to go to sleep, lovebug. It’s late.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back.”
Something welled in Zoe’s throat. “Didn’t you remember? I promised you we’d come home tonight.”
“So did Mommy. But she didn’t come back. Zoe?”
“What, darling?”
“Mommy’s dead. She isn’t coming back ever and my daddy isn’t either.”
He said it easily, bluntly, four-year-old style, as if he were informing her of something she might not have been sure of before. Zoe studied his eyes for tears, but she was the only one with sudden diamonds in her eyes. Propping her elbows on both sides of him, she leaned closer. “Know something?” she whispered lightly.
“What?”
“Part of your mommy and daddy can’t ever die for you, did you know that? Any time you’re feeling sad, all you have to do is close your eyes and feel how much they love you. Close your eyes and you can remember them kissing you good night; you can remember last Christmas; you can remember making cookies with your mommy and being snuggled on your daddy’s lap. You’re always going to be able to do that, sweetheart. Any time you want to, all you have to do is close your eyes to feel how much they love you. That love’s still there, and it won’t ever go away.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Can we see your whales again tomorrow?”
Smiling, she tucked the covers around his neck and kissed him again. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Slouched on the sofa with his long legs stretched out in front of him, Rafe had had his eyes peeled on the doorway since she’d left. When she finally wandered back in, he could see how tired she was. Pale mauve shadows made her eyes look huge, and her face was paler than cream. She needed sleep…but something more than fatigue had been eating at her all afternoon and evening.
He crooked his finger and motioned her next to him. She sank down on the couch’s center cushion like a duchess, all straight spine and a proper distance away, not at all what he had in mind. He figured she was worried about propriety for his mother’s sake.
He was worried about Zoe. He hadn’t been able to make a dent in her long silence on the trip home-not that silence in itself had to be dangerous. No two people could have been any closer than they’d been over the weekend, and in his head he knew he’d gotten through to her. He’d felt her love, and heaven knew he felt oceans of love himself for her. As soon as his mother was gone, they could talk. Zoe was temporarily overtired, but there was no reason to think anything was seriously wrong.
But there was. His pulse ticked an uneasy beat, affirming it. Wrapping his fingers around her shoulders, he gently but persistently tugged until, like an accordion, she finally folded closer. Marge was talking thirteen to the dozen. His mother always talked thirteen to the dozen, and Zoe was starting to smile…but it wasn’t a Zoe smile.
Zoe smiles were spontaneous and mischievous and showed off perfect white teeth. When she really laughed, her eyes overflowed with joy. He tucked her into the curve of his shoulder, but her spine was still rigid, and the curve of her lips was distinctly polite. He told himself again that he could wait until his mother was gone in the morning. And knew, immediately, that he couldn’t manage more than twenty more minutes before hauling her off to some private spot where he could find out what was wrong.
“…I should have brought pictures of when they were younger.” Marge’s knitting needles clicked as she rocked. “I’ve got tons of photographs, Zoe. Everyone’s the same. Brian and Nathan stand there looking like angels, their hair all combed, their shirts tucked in…and then there’s Rafe. He always stood in the left side of the pictures; I don’t know why. If he didn’t have a black eye, he always had a scrape that showed. I swear I could have safety-pinned his shirts and they still wouldn’t have stayed tucked in…”
“Mom, Zoe is bored,” Rafe said quellingly.
“She is not.”
“I am not,” Zoe affirmed.
The two women apparently enjoyed discussing embarrassing moments in his past history. Rafe might have been amused-his mother inevitably embellished the stories, and with such relish-if he hadn’t seen what she was doing. His mom was a pro at sneakily maneuvering in exactly the direction she wanted it to go. That she’d taken to Zoe the instant she met her was obvious. That she was ignoring her son sent him the warning message that she was gearing up to delicately pry, a complication he definitely didn’t need.
“Anyway, you’re having your own experience raising boys, it would seem.” Marge propped her glasses down on her nose to look over them at Zoe. Her steady stream of light conversation only gradually slowed to a gentler, more serious pace. “I think you two have done something perfectly wonderful, taking on those kids. Shouldering all the responsibility and juggling jobs and upsetting your lives-I don’t think many people would have done it. But I have to admit I’m not very clear on your plans from here. Rafe mentioned he’d have to be back in Montana-”
“At the end of next week,” Rafe finished for her, and droned warningly, “and I already told you we haven’t made firm plans about the children yet.”
“Did you, dear?”
“Yes. And I told you why we hadn’t talked yet, which was that we agreed from the beginning to try not to form conclusions or make judgments until we’d spent as much time together with the kids as we could.” Anyone who’d ever met Rafe could tell that the subject was now closed.