In Your Eyes

by Laura Moore

  “Sure, come in.”

  Sydney took a tentative step inside, her eyes fixed on Murphy.

  “Don’t worry about Murphy,” Gen told her. “He’s busy with a bone. That’ll be his world for the next twenty minutes or so.”

  “I’m not really a dog person,” Sydney confessed, relaxing only slightly. “I know how much Alex loves them, though, so I guess I’ll have to accustom myself.” Her gaze flitted around the studio. “Do you mind if I look around?”

  Gen shrugged and said, “Go ahead,” aware that her tone was less than gracious. It was interesting. She’d felt much more at ease when it had been Alex wandering around her studio—even though she’d still been angry at having been investigated by him. With Sydney, Gen had the decidedly unpleasant impression that she was being visited by a productivity inspector.

  Sydney was circling the studio, taking in the various works in progress without making a single comment. Carefully bypassing Murphy, she came to stand by the stool Gen had vacated. For a minute she gazed at the bare wall. Turning toward Gen, she arched a dark brow. “I guess it’s a good thing after all that Alex is taking time out from his weekend to fly you to Boston.”

  Prickling with irritation, Gen said, “It doesn’t make any sense to begin the painting before I visit the wing. It’s not often an artist gets to create a work for a specific site. I want to take notes on the light and get a feel for the proportions of the building. I would have been more than happy to go alone—I didn’t ask him to do this,” she finished somewhat defensively. It was true. She hated imposing on others. And what was worse, she had the sneaking suspicion that Alex had arranged the entire trip to Boston this weekend solely because he knew her sister was celebrating her birthday. Having Sydney inform her that he was forfeiting his weekend only made her feel worse.

  “No, I suppose you didn’t,” Sydney replied. “But surely you’ve guessed how important this project is to Alex.” She sighed, and a touch of sadness crossed her face. “The new wing has consumed so much energy and time, it’s forced us to put a hold on other aspects of our lives. Still,” she said, brightening, “I’m more than willing to wait to plan our future together if it makes Alex happy. He’s worth it. But I’d appreciate it if you could do your best to complete the painting on time. I want every aspect of this project to proceed without the slightest hitch.”

  Gen jerked her shoulders in a shrug. “Sure, I understand.”

  “Thank you.” Sydney smiled. “I hoped you would.”

  After Sydney left, Gen puttered around the studio aimlessly, unable to get down to work. Her mind was too troubled. She would have loved to lay the blame on Sydney’s high-handed manner of asking her to get the painting completed on time. But that wasn’t the problem. Gen understood that she was creating on a deadline. She knew, too, that once she was into a project, she could work practically around the clock, eating and sleeping in brief snatches while the paint dried on the canvas.

  Which meant that she’d been lying to herself. It hadn’t been Sydney’s pointed reminder that there were time constraints involved. No, what had truly bothered her was hearing Sydney talk about her and Alex’s future together.

  That prickling feeling she’d experienced hadn’t simply been impatience or irritation. It had been jealousy piercing like a needle into her heart.

  TEN

  Flying home aboard a privately chartered plane was a novel experience. Gen half wished she’d brought Murphy along, just for the once-in-a-lifetime thrill of being able to walk across the tarmac, her dog at her heels, and climb up the metal ladder, to have the pilot smile his hello as he directed them to a row of wide, comfortable seats. . . . Murphy would have gotten a kick out of it, she was sure. And she could have leaned over and whispered in his furry ear how weird it felt to be sitting—no, flying—in the lap of luxury. But Mrs. Miller had said she had a mountain of correspondence to catch up on and a slew of telephone calls to return, too. If she was going to be stuck in the house all day, she’d be glad to have the dog for company. Which left Gen to spend the entire trip, from takeoff to touchdown, with her nose pressed to the oval window.

  Below her, the flat fields of Long Island were dressed in the vivid greens of their crops’ tender shoots. She saw the bright aquamarine of swimming pools and the smattering of yellow, red, and pink flowers decorating the gardens of the properties below.

  The plane banked, leaving the land to fly over the blue chop of the Sound. The sparkle of morning light glancing over the waves reminded Gen of Alex’s eyes, a vivid blue enhanced by the white of his dress shirt.

  For a second, she was tempted to glance across the aisle where Alex and Sydney were sitting. But she resisted the impulse and kept her eyes trained on the view below. She knew that if she succumbed, her passing glance would become a stare as she indulged in this growing fascination. She’d stare until she knew yes or no whether they were the type of couple who held hands. She could only be grateful that it was impossible, given the roar of the plane’s engines, to overhear even a snatch of their conversation.

  Gen hated this absurd envy that had sprung up inside her; she’d already lectured herself a number of times, always ending with: Get a grip, Monaghan. She was not a lovelorn ninny and she wasn’t about to let her family see her behaving like one.

  Gen found it much harder to ignore Alex and Sydney in the confines of the limo. As soon as they climbed in the leather and wood-trimmed interior, she realized belatedly that she should have volunteered to sit in front with the chauffeur. They could have talked about the Sox and how maybe, just maybe, the Sox would redeem themselves, at long last allowing their die-hard fans to wear their caps with pride. Instead she got an earful of Sydney talking about acquaintances of hers and Alex’s. Eventually she managed to tune her out—wondering whether Alex, with his monosyllabic responses, was choosing to do the same.

  The chauffeur had opted to avoid the traffic around the Callahan Tunnel, blocked due to a stalled car. As the limo wove in and out of the busy lanes along Storrow Drive, Gen stared out the window. It was a beautiful day, the kind of Saturday morning that brought everyone out to wander along the Charles River and soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays. Gen glimpsed the sailboats and eight-men shells of the college sailing and crew teams practicing on the river, their white sails and hulls gliding smoothly, an Eakins painting brought to life. What a great day for Bridget’s birthday picnic, she thought happily.

  The limo exited the drive at Massachusetts Avenue and headed south toward Longwood, where the hospital was located. As they pulled up to the curb in front of the hospital, a gray-haired man dressed in a dark business suit approached them.

  “Mr. Miller, Ms. Raines, hello!” the man called out jovially, his smile as affable as the purple bow tie around his neck.

  “Hello, Dr. Williams,” Alex said. “Dr. Williams is the director of the hospital,” he explained to Gen. “Dr. Williams, may I introduce Genevieve Monaghan?”

  Smiling, Gen extended her hand. “Hello.”

  “Ahh, Ms. Monaghan, the artist.” Dr. Williams nodded as he made the identification. “We’re delighted that you’re creating a piece for the new wing. Ms. Raines faxed us information about you. We couldn’t be more pleased that you’re a Bostonian. And I hear your mother volunteers here at the hospital?”

  That bit of information must have come from Alex, for Gen hadn’t mentioned it to Sydney. “Yes.” She nodded. “She’s been volunteering for several years now.”

  “Excellent. Ms. Giovanelli, our director of community relations, will be sure to include that in the hospital’s newsletter.” Turning to Sydney, he continued. “By the way, Ms. Raines, Ms. Giovanelli asked if she might join you and Pru Trudeau in about an hour. She wants to pick that brain of yours.”

  “Of course.” Sydney smiled.

  “Good, good.” Dr. Williams rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Oh! Speak of the devil. Here’s Pru now. Prudence Trudeau heads our development office,” he told Gen as they turned to
watch a woman bustling toward them.

  “Good morning. Sorry I’m late,” she said as she shook hands with the group. “Little League game for Jimmy. The cleats went a-missing,” she explained, still sounding a little out of breath.

  Gen noticed that Alex cast Sydney a hard look before turning his attention to Pru Trudeau. “I hope meeting on a Saturday hasn’t inconvenienced your family, Ms. Trudeau.”

  “Oh, no,” she reassured him, shaking her head. “Jimmy insists he always strikes out when I’m in the bleachers, so it’s just as well. And I’m so eager to see the copy for the bulletin. Harry and Sydney have done a wonderful job.”

  Sydney’s smile lost its stiffness. “I’ve got the draft right here,” she said, hefting her attaché case a fraction.

  “Terrific. Why don’t we grab some coffee before we head up? Oh, and Kathy Giovanelli and I reserved a table at the Riviera Cafe for brunch at eleven-thirty,” Pru said, naming a chic and very expensive restaurant just off Harvard Square.

  “I love the Riviera,” Sydney pronounced happily. “We haven’t been there in months, have we, Alex?”

  Turning to Gen and Alex, Pru Trudeau said, “We’d love it if you could join us.”

  “Thank you, but I doubt Dr. Williams and I will be finished in time,” Alex replied.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll have to decline too,” Gen said. “I have a family gathering to attend.”

  “It’ll be a girls’ brunch then,” Pru said cheerfully.

  A flash of irritation darkened Sydney’s expression, then it was gone. “Yes,” she echoed. “A girls’ brunch, though right now I would just love a cup of coffee.”

  “Off we go, then. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Monaghan.”

  After Pru and Sydney had left, Alex turned to Dr. Williams. “Why don’t we take Ms. Monaghan inside the wing so she can get started.”

  “But of course. Ms. Monaghan, if you’ll come this way,” Dr. Williams said, extending his arm for her to precede him. “We’ll go in the front entrance. That way you can have the full effect of the atrium’s space. I think you’ll be quite pleased at the construction crew’s progress, Mr. Miller. We’re right on schedule.” He held open one of the wide double doors and with a courtly sweep of his arm ushered Gen into the wing.

  Her feet came to a halt as she looked around.

  The entrance to the wing was built of glass and steel ribbing. The space had obviously been conceived with the idea of infusing a sense of hope into those who entered. Like a cathedral of light, it soared to the heavens. Lost in admiration, Gen tilted her head back to peer at the rays of sunlight streaming in through the paned glass, her feet turning in a slow revolution.

  Lowering her gaze at last, her eyes met Alex’s. She’d felt him watching her. “It’s spectacular,” she said simply.

  An indefinable emotion crossed his face. He gave a slight nod of his head, acknowledging her words.

  “Yes, it is.” Pride rang in Dr. Williams’s voice. “Our new wing is going to be used for the hospital’s rehabilitation facilities. This atrium will be the registration area, with the corridors that you see on your right and left leading to specially designed therapy rooms with state-of-the-art equipment and technology. The rehabilitation center will play a vital role in helping the community, as its facilities will be open to outpatients as well as inpatients. Thanks to Mr. Miller’s generosity, we have the opportunity to make this one of the finest rehabilitation centers for our children in the entire nation.”

  Gen walked toward a freestanding wall that served as a focal point for the atrium, intuiting that this was the wall where her work would rest.

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  Alex’s question had Gen turning around. “Yes,” she said, slipping her backpack off her shoulders. “I’ve got my sketch pad in here. Can you tell me what’s going to be in front of this wall?”

  “Wilfrid Seigel suggested we use it as a waiting area for the families. He showed me a sketch—” Alex broke off, watching as Gen opened her sketch pad and drew quickly.

  “Something like this?” she asked, handing it to him.

  “Yes.” He regarded her closely, his brows knitted together. “How did you know that the sofas would be arranged in an open circle?”

  “Because it works, because it’s right. A square formation would have been too cold. Circles heal.” Gen shrugged as if stating the obvious. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, unnerved by his penetrating gaze.

  He smiled. “I was just wondering how you came to be so wise.”

  If he only knew, Gen thought. Right now she was feeling very far from wise, especially when his words, when the heat of his smile, made her giddy with pleasure. And reckless with want.

  “If you’ve everything you need, Dr. Williams and I will leave you alone so you can work without distraction. The security guard can page Dr. Williams in his office if you have any questions. When you’re done, have the driver take you to your family’s house in Somerville.”

  Perhaps it was the effect of the heady warmth Alex generated inside her. Perhaps it was the stunning beauty of the building he’d donated and what it represented. Whatever the reason, Gen found herself saying, “Would you like to come to Bridget’s party? It’s not fancy or anything. Just grilled hamburgers and hot dogs followed by an extremely vicious game of softball.”

  She was so lovely standing there, staring back at him, so honest and fresh. For a moment the rest of the world faded away. Alex needed more than a moment, though. All morning, he’d suffered through Sydney’s chatter, alternately filled with resignation and frustration. By the time the limo was cruising along the Charles River, he was definitely ready to roll down the window and toss Sydney out. But somehow he didn’t think he could explain tossing his supposed lover out the window to Gen.

  He wished he could turn back the clock, to yesterday morning, when he’d seen Gen naked on the beach. This time he wouldn’t hesitate to follow his desires and take this extraordinary woman in his arms. . . . And what would she have thought? That he was a two-timing son of a bitch. One didn’t have to be a mind reader to tell that Gen believed he and Sydney were together.

  Alex knew the smart thing would be to refuse Gen’s spontaneous invitation to come to her sister’s party, fabricate some excuse, keep his distance, and above all not indulge in this growing attraction he felt for her. But it was too late, his normal self-control already shot to hell. “I’d like that very much,” he said quietly. “I’ll do my best to wrap up my meeting with Dr. Williams quickly.”

  Scooting forward on the leather seat, Gen addressed the limo driver. “This is great. You can pull up right here.”

  “Yes, miss,” he answered and steered the limo into an open space beside the tree-lined park.

  It required only a quick glance at the people milling around and at the small children laughingly chasing one another for Gen to nod happily. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”

  “How can you tell? There are only about fifty people.”

  Gen turned to Alex and grinned. “Yup, an intimate family affair. I think you and Phoebe Hayes, my godmother, will be the only two non-Monaghans here. I hope this won’t bore you. It’s really a low-key affair—Oh! Thank you,” she said, surprised to find the chauffeur had already circled the car and was opening her door.

  Alex got out of the limo and stood next to her, watching the crowd of people mingling. Some of Gen’s relatives had obviously just arrived, if the hugs and cries of welcome were anything to go by. “A party in the park,” he said.

  “Large, open spaces are a basic necessity in our family,” Gen informed him cheerfully. “By the time Benjamin was born, Mom and Dad couldn’t fit all the family and friends into the house. Now it’s a family tradition. Spring-through-fall birthdays get the playing fields, winter birthdays get the hockey rink. Whosever birthday it is gets to be captain and pick his or her team.”

  “Was it your sociologist father who devised this plan?�
�� he asked.

  “How’d you guess?” She grinned as a sudden shout went up and the first wave of children and adults began hurrying toward them. “Brace yourself. Here they come.”

  Gen and Alex were soon surrounded and Gen was engulfed in the arms of a slim, russet-haired woman. “Gen!” she cried. “No one told me you were coming. I thought I was going to lose the game for sure without my best pitcher.”

  “No fear, Bridge. I got lucky and was given a ride here. Bridge, this is Alex Miller. You can thank him for what’s bound to be a shutout game,” she said, pointedly ignoring the chorus of loud jeers that erupted at her outrageous boast.

  “Hello,” Alex said to Bridget. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks—and thanks for the present, too,” she said, nodding her pointed chin at Gen. “Sis, you’re looking great. Must be the sea air—or something.” She grinned.

  Gen was about to reply when an older couple approached. With a broad smile she flew into their outstretched arms. “Mom, Dad, I’d like to introduce you to Alex Miller.” Turning to Alex, she said, “This is my mom and dad, Tansy and Robert Monaghan.” Her lips quivered, hinting at mischief as she added in a teasing voice, “I won’t bother introducing you to all the others, especially since you already know everyone here so well. It’ll be a cinch to guess who’s who.”

  The little witch, Alex thought to himself, tempted to throttle her, and then kiss her senseless, both impulses impossible given that he was surrounded by a legion of Monaghans. Luckily for him, Gen’s enormous family were obviously used to having to repeat first names to strangers, and so he was able to begin the daunting matching process.

  The group began a disordered march across the playing fields to where the grills and coolers were arranged beside picnic tables covered in bright plastic tablecloths. Alex found himself walking next to Robert Monaghan, Gen’s father. A tall, lean, silver-haired man, he wore slightly rumpled khakis, tennis shoes, and a tattered sweater that had suede patches on the elbows. The lines on Professor Monaghan’s face did nothing to diminish the sharp intelligence of the blue eyes appraising him. “Tansy and I are extremely grateful that you were able to arrange for Gen to attend Bridget’s party.”