"You broke your promise once." His lips barely moved. "When I was sixteen."
"It was an accident." She wandered toward a boulder protruding from the sandy soil. "When you started playing high school football, I realized I finally had a chance to see you without breaking my promise. I started flying into Grand Rapids on Fridays to watch the games. I'd strip off my makeup and wrap this old scarf around my head, put on nondescript clothes so no one would recognize me. Then I'd sit in the visitors' stands. I had this little pair of opera glasses I'd train on you for the whole game. I lived for the times you'd take off your helmet. You'll never know how much I grew to hate that thing."
The day was warm, but she felt chilled, and she rubbed her arms. "Everything went fine until you were a junior. It was the last game of the season, and I knew it would be nearly a year before I could see you again. I convinced myself there wouldn't be any harm in driving by the house."
"I was mowing the grass in the front yard."
She nodded. "It was one of those Indian summer days, and you were sweaty, just like you are now. I was so busy looking at you that I didn't see your neighbor's car parked on the street."
"You scraped the side."
"And you came running over to help." She hugged herself. "When you realized who I was, you looked at me like you hated me."
"I couldn't believe it was you."
"Maida never confronted me about it, so I knew you hadn't told them." She tried to read his expression, but he wasn't giving anything away. He nudged aside a fallen branch with the toe of his running shoe.
"She died a year ago. Why did you wait until now to tell me all this?"
She stared at him and shook her head. "How many times did I call and try to talk to you? You refused, Kevin. Every time."
He gazed at her. "They should have told me they wouldn't let you see me."
"Did you ever ask them about it?"
He shrugged, and she knew he hadn't.
"I think John might have said something, but Maida would never have allowed it. We talked about it over the phone. You have to remember that she was older than all your friends' mothers, and she knew she wasn't one of those fun moms every kid wants. It made her insecure. Besides, you were a headstrong kid. Do you really think you'd have shrugged it off and gone about your business if you'd known how much I wanted to see you?"
"I'd have been on the first bus to L.A.," he said flatly.
"And that would have broken her heart."
She waited, hoping he'd come nearer. She fantasized that he'd let her put her arms around him and all the lost years would vanish. Instead, he bent to pick up one of the pinecones lying on the ground.
"We had a TV in the basement. I went down there every week to watch your show. I always turned the volume low, but they knew what I was doing. They never said a word about it."
"I don't suppose they would have."
He rubbed his thumb over the scales. His hostility was gone, but not his tension, and she knew the reunion she'd dreamed of wasn't going to happen.
"So what am I supposed to do about all this now?"
The fact that he had to ask the question showed that he wasn't ready to give her anything. She couldn't touch him, couldn't tell him she'd loved him from the moment of his birth and had never stopped. Instead, she only said, "I guess that'll be up to you."
He nodded slowly, then dropped the pinecone. "Now that you've told me, are you going to leave?"
Neither his expression nor his tone gave her a cue how he wanted her to respond, and she wouldn't ask. "I'm going to finish planting the annuals I bought. A few more days."
It was a lame excuse, but he nodded and turned toward the path. "I need to take a shower."
He hadn't ordered her to leave. He hadn't told her this had come too late. She decided it was enough for now.
Kevin found Molly perched in her favorite spot, the glider on the back porch of the cottage, a notebook on her thighs. It hurt too much to think about Lilly's earthshaking revelations, so he stood in the doorway gazing at Molly instead. She must not have heard him come in because she didn't look up. On the other hand, he'd been acting like such a jerk there was a good chance she was ignoring him, but how was he supposed to behave when Molly kept hatching up all these zany adventures without a clue how being near her affected him?
Did she think it was easy watching her splash around in that skimpy one-piece black bathing suit he'd had to buy her to replace the red one? Did she ever once glance down to see what happened to her breasts when she got cold? The legs of the suit were cut so high they practically begged him to slip his hands underneath so he could cup those round little cheeks. And she had the gall to be mad at him because he'd been ignoring her! Didn't she understand he couldn't ignore her?
He wanted to push aside the notebook she was writing in, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her straight to the bedroom. Instead, he headed for the bathroom and filled the tub with very cold water, once again cursing the lack of a shower. He washed himself quickly and slipped into clean clothes. All week he'd been driving himself, but it hadn't done a damn bit of good. Despite the carpentry and painting, despite the daily workouts and the miles he'd added to his run, he wanted her more than ever. Even the game films he'd started watching on the TV in the office couldn't hold his attention. He should have moved back into the B &B, but Lilly was there.
A stab of pain shot through him. He couldn't think about her now. Maybe he'd drive into town for another workout in the tiny health club at the inn.
But no, he found himself moving toward the porch, all his vows to stay away from Molly evaporating. As he stepped through the doorway, he realized he was in the only place he could possibly be right now, in the presence of the only person who might understand his confusion over what had just happened.
She gazed up at him, her eyes full of that generous concern she showed for anyone she thought might have a problem. He couldn't spot even a hint of censure toward him for being so surly, although he knew she'd get around to putting him in his place sooner or later.
"Is everything all right?"
He shrugged, not giving away a thing. "We talked."
But she wasn't impressed by his tough-guy act. "Were you your normal repugnant self?"
"I listened to her, if that's what you mean." He knew exactly what she meant, but he wanted her to pull the story out of him. Maybe because he didn't know what she'd find when she did.
She waited.
He wandered toward the screen. The plant she'd hung from a hook brushed against his shoulder. "She told me some things… I don't know… It wasn't exactly the way I thought."
"What way was it?" she asked quietly.
So he told her. Leaving out how muddled his feelings were. Just giving her the facts.
When he was done, she nodded slowly. "I see."
If only he did.
"Now you have to adjust to knowing that what you believed about her wasn't true."
"I thinks she wants…" He shoved his hands into his pockets. "She wants something from me. I can't-" He whirled on her. "Am I supposed to feel this sudden attachment to her? Because I don't!"
Her expression flickered with something that looked almost like pain, and it took her a long time to answer.
"I doubt she expects that right away. Maybe you could start just by getting to know her. She makes quilts, and she's an amazing artist. But she doesn't know that about herself."
"I guess." He jerked his hands from his pockets and did exactly what he'd been trying to avoid since last Friday. "I'm going stir-crazy. There's this place about twenty miles away. Let's get out of here."
He saw right away that she was going to refuse, and he didn't blame her. At the same time he couldn't be alone now, so he whipped the notebook off her lap and pulled her to her feet. "You'll like it."