“Christie?”
“Yes, Margo?”
“It isn’t too late to fix the rift between you and Cash. Don’t let him go. He loves you. He may not have told you in so many words, but it’s obvious to those of us who’ve known him a long time. It would be a terrible mistake not to fight to get him back. Unless you don’t care enough?”
“I do care. I can’t concentrate anymore, can’t sleep. I’m a mess. But I don’t know how to reverse what has been done.”
“One of you has to take the first step to repair the relationship. Go for it, Christie, or you will be sorry for the rest of your life. I’m not going to say any more. Now, how was your flight?”
“Tiring. I had to be up early to get to the airport ninety minutes before flight time, then once on board there was a delay. Sitting on the runway for twenty minutes while a cadre of jets were lined up in front of us jangled my nerves.”
“How thoughtless of me. You need to rest. Here I am showing off Emily Anne with no regard for your comfort. Finish your sandwich and you can take a nap.”
Christie did not resist. One side of her told her to be a proper guest, but the other wanted to hide from any more talk about Cash, and whatever was a reminder of him. Yet everything in this house, including Margo, reminded her of what she had enjoyed and lost.
An hour and a half later she rejoined Margo in the family room. Sunset was shooting vermilion swirls across the sky. Margo told her that Cash had called and had invited himself to dinner. Margo hadn’t had a chance to mention that Christie had arrived before he severed the connection.
Hal came into the room with a tray. “Margo thought you might like a cup of tea. We usually have a cup around now. A few cookies, too, to hold us until dinner.”
“Tell Christie the truth, Hal. We used to have a cocktail and snacks, but I’m nursing, so alcohol is out. I keep telling Hal that he and Elliot can have a drink without me, but sweet as my husband is, he insists that he likes our newly instituted teatime.”
“I like playing the martyr role,” Hal said. “Makes me feel chivalrous.”
The sound of the front door opening and closing gave Christie a jolt. Was it Cash? How would she react after all these weeks? Footsteps echoed on the tiles and she held her breath. Elliot walked into the room, his shirtsleeves splattered with paint. Christie breathed a sigh of relief.
“Not too late for tea, am I?”
“No, Daddy, Hal just brought the tray in. We have lemon cookies, too. Mama’s recipe.”
“My favorite. Your mother made the best lemon cookies.”
It was good to hear Elliot mention his wife. Margo had told Christie that for months after her mother’s death, Elliot could not bear to hear his wife’s name spoken. His grief had prevented him from drawing comfort from pleasant memories. Elliot had dwelled on his wife’s death, the slow, inexorable march toward the end of her life. That had been hard on Margo, because she wanted to remember the good times, not the dying process. Christie surmised that the miracle of a new life had infused Elliot with new love and hope.
“How are your art lessons coming along?” Elliot asked.
“I’ve had to put them on hold. First the Farley case took up an inordinate amount of time, then the publicity brought a run of new clients.”
“It would be a shame if you gave up.”
“I’m going to try for a weekend seminar at Point Reyes. The instructor leans toward seaside locations, and that suits me.”
“Christie is going to give us competition, Daddy,” Margo said.
“I doubt that. But I enjoy painting and I’m glad that Margo pushed me into joining a class.”
Margo smiled at her and was about to say something when the doorbell chimed. Christie tensed. Hal crossed the family room to answer the door. Voices in the entry. Cash’s deep voice. Jovial. Hal’s laughter. Two men who had been friends since childhood, and a wife and father-in-law who rounded out the familiar circle. Where do I fit? she wondered. On the outside was the answer. Definitely on the outside.
Two sets of footsteps sounded briskly across the tiles, then were muted by the rug. Christie willed herself to look up, to meet Cash’s face, to paste a smile on hers. Act natural, she told herself, and wondered what natural was when your heart was breaking.
Cash bent to kiss Margo on the cheek, chucked Emily Anne’s chin, shook hands with Elliot, and nodded in Christie’s direction. She tried to speak, to say hello, but her throat was constricted, so she simply nodded back. She wished that she were holding the baby—she needed a distraction, something or someone to focus on. Other than Cash.
Hal offered Cash a mug of tea, and Cash clapped his friend on the back.
“I never thought you’d become a teetotaler,” he said.
“I’m starting to like it,” Hal replied.
“He likes the cookies that come with it,” Elliot said.
“Hal, you’re blushing,” Margo teased.
The easy bantering between friends did not ease the tension that crackled between Christie and Cash. It only underlined the thought that raced through her mind: that she did not belong.
Hal reached for the baby. Christie watched him kiss Emily Anne on the cheek as he brought her against his chest. “Sweet baby,” he cooed. Emily Anne’s little hands balled into tiny fists, and she waved them up and down. She sputtered and a bit of drool dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Margo handed Hal a washcloth and he dabbed at Emily Anne’s lips. The baby shook her head from side to side, resisting her father’s attempt to clean her. She scrunched her face into wrinkles.
“She’s going to cry,” Elliot said.
“Here, let me have her for a minute.” Cash took the baby, cradled her in his arms, and then gently positioned her so that her head rested on his shoulder. He patted her back as he rocked on the balls of his feet, crooning a soft melody. The baby burped and giggled, her mood reversed.
“Hey, buddy,” Hal said, “you’re a natural.”
“I’ve had a lot of experience with my sister’s kids. She wrangled me into babysitting when they were small.”
Christie agreed with Hal’s assessment. The way Cash held the baby, the expression on his face, the gentleness in his hands, seemed natural. It was a side of him that was opposite his hard, professional persona. Perhaps this was his true side. His friends obviously were well acquainted with this part of Cash’s character—the important part, she theorized. If only she had recognized it sooner.
Christie looked up. Margo was staring at her, perhaps appraising her?
“How about giving Christie a turn with Emily, Cash?”
Without a word, Cash’s expression went neutral. He carefully placed Emily into Christie’s arms. His hands brushed her shoulder and a lightning flash shot through her. He still had the power to make her tremble. She looked into the baby’s face. Innocent blue eyes stared back at her, and chubby hands flailed energetically. Christie stroked the back of the baby’s hand with her thumb. Emily Anne gurgled and Christie smiled. She turned to Margo and read approval in her face. Everyone was smiling at her and Emily, and Christie realized how contagious a baby’s smile and laughter were. She dared a glance at Cash and then quickly looked away, but not before she noticed he appeared more relaxed. His posture was no longer stiff. Perhaps they would get through this weekend without too much grief after all.
In the morning, the household was abuzz. The christening was scheduled for eleven o’clock at the old church. After a quick cup of tea and muffins, Margo began primping the baby. Christie watched, spellbound, as the new mother brushed her baby’s soft fluff of hair, and clipped a pink-and-white bow on the top of her head. Margo asked Christie to bring her the white cotton-and-lace christening gown that was spread out on the bed.