You Are Invited...

by Holly Jacobs

  That’s all he’d done, right? Just held her until she’d fallen asleep. He’d probably gotten up gingerly and left then.

  Right?

  She’d like to think so, but she remembered stirring and feeling the solidness and warmth of Finn.

  From the glint in Finn’s eyes, she was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing as he answered, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

  “Well, that’s settled then,” her mother said.

  Settled was definitely not how Mattie felt.

  She felt decidedly unsettled at the thought of spending a day with Finn Wallace.

  * * *

  FINN WATCHED MATTIE flit through the house, moving from one busywork job to the next in between taking care of Abbey. She’d read his niece countless pages about Oz. Finn had never read the actual book. It was different from the movie. He couldn’t help but make a connection between Dorothy’s quest for where she belonged and his own.

  Mattie fussed over Abbey. Got her drinks she didn’t want. Made her favorite muffins. Wherever he went, she wasn’t. She flitted somewhere else.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was avoiding him.

  And the fact she was doing it so well was amazing since they were the only two adults in the house with one sick child.

  Mattie’s flitting was exhausting him, so he finally stepped out onto the porch in hopes that she’d sit still.

  To make it look official, and because it had been weighing on him, he made a call to his attorney—a call he’d rather Mattie didn’t hear. He didn’t want to discuss the lawsuit with her today.

  He looked through the window. Abbey was curled up under a mountain of blankets with the dog. Both Abbey’s and Bear’s heads were on the pillow, sound asleep. And Mattie, now that he wasn’t there driving her off, was sitting on the chair, looking as if she could fall over with exhaustion.

  Her head kept nodding backward, but when it finally hit the chair, she’d jerk herself upright, as if her plan was to stay awake and watch over Abbey. All his assurances couldn’t convince her that his niece was fine.

  And he couldn’t hold that against her, since he had a medical degree and couldn’t manage to convince himself, either.

  He wanted nothing more than to watch over Abbey and see to it she never got sick again.

  Something had changed.

  He’d always been the kids’ uncle. He’d thought of himself as a benevolent relative who swept in a couple times a year for fun outings, and sent presents on the appropriate occasions. He’d sent presents because he’d miss birthdays and Christmases. He’d tossed money around, thinking that made up for it, and Bridget had let him. Bridget had loved him and believed in him. She was willing to let him play that role.

  The only person to ever call him on it was Mattie.

  She’d told him over and over that time meant more than all the money in the world. She’d understood that effortlessly.

  She’d abandoned everything to be here for Bridget when she was sick. She’d tossed her life aside and been here, day in and day out.

  Even as she got sicker, Bridget had excused his absences. She’d told him over and over that she loved him and was so proud of his career.

  Mattie challenged his excuses.

  And she was right.

  After the kids’ father walked out, Finn should have been here. He should have looked out for Bridget and the kids. He could have stepped in and helped. Mattie knew that and thought less of him for not doing it. Hell, he thought less of himself for the way he’d acted.

  Even when he sued Mattie for custody, she’d put the kids’ needs first. She’d looked out for their best interests and had let him into their lives.

  In medical school they taught future doctors to keep their distance, and Finn liked to think he’d mastered the art of that, to what extent? He’d lost valuable time with his family by keeping his distance from them, as well...keeping his distance when they’d needed him most.

  Mattie would never have bought into that. He knew this as sure as he knew anything. He’d seen her in action. When they were arguing about custody, she’d made some remark about how could she compete with a man who saved lives on a daily basis.

  But he did it without making any emotional attachment to his patients. He’d kept that same distance from his family without meaning to...until Mattie.

  And now?

  Now? Now, that was the question.

  He wasn’t sure how to combine his career with the kids’ needs. He didn’t know how to build a balanced life. But the way he saw it, he didn’t have an option. The kids were too important for him not to sort out a way.

  And Mattie?

  She required some figuring out, too.

  He made his calls and came back inside to find Abbey still sleeping on the couch. He followed a muffled noise and found Mattie in the kitchen scrubbing a pan with far more oomph than necessary.

  “Mattie?”

  Silence.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I saw Abbey on the couch so still I went to check that she was breathing.” She rinsed the pan and put it in the drying rack, then reached into the sudsy water and pulled out another one. She attacked it with the same vigor as the first and still didn’t face him.

  “She’s fine,” he said for the hundreth time. “She’s simply tired from her ordeal.”

  “I know.” She stopped scrubbing. “But for a moment, when I saw her, I thought of those last moments with Bridget and...”

  “Mattie.” He took the pan from her hand, dropped it in the sink and turned her around. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were filled with unshed tears that tore at him. He led her to a stool to sit down. “Bridget was sick for a long time. It’s different with Abbey.”

  “I know.” She took a napkin from the holder on the counter and rolled it back and forth in her fingers. “Rationally, I know that. But that last day with Bridget... It seemed almost normal. Not normal, normal, but the new normal we’d established. The kids came in to see her after school, then Lily sat with her while I organized the gang and got them dinner, saw to homework. You drove in after work and stayed for a couple hours. I came in as you kissed her good-night. You said, ‘See you in a couple days’ to her, and nodded at me.”

  He’d been abrupt with Mattie when she’d moved in with Bridget. “I was put out with you. I don’t even know if I realized it, or realized why,” he mused.

  She stopped shredding the napkin and finally looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. “Why were you mad at me?”

  “You were doing something for Bridget I couldn’t. You were there. I sent Lily and visited, but I couldn’t be with her and—” He cut himself off. “I’m sorry for that now.”

  “You don’t have to be. I’ve been furious with you, too. That night, after the kids were in bed, I slept a few hours and then came to relieve Lily. Bridget opened her eyes and smiled. I told her to go to sleep. And that was it. An hour later, she made some weird watery breath sounds, then sighed. I thought, Wow, she’s okay. I don’t have to call Lily. Then I realized she hadn’t breathed again. She’d stopped. It wasn’t like some TV movie. There was no last goodbye. No final words.”

  “I think she’d said all she wanted to say over those last few weeks of her life,” he assured her.

  “I’m sure she did. But she was so important to me. She meant so much to me. It felt like her death should be...” She looked helpless as she tried to explain, �
��Bigger. Grander. Some big finale. Instead, she simply slipped away. I was so angry. And I couldn’t be angry at her. I mean, she was my best friend. I knew she didn’t want to leave. She hadn’t wanted to leave her kids, to leave me...or you. And I was mad, so the next day when you showed up—”

  “I was upset that you hadn’t called me.”

  “There wasn’t time. But your attitude gave me a target for my anger, and I was mad at you in return. I’ve been mad at you ever since. And when the guy brought those papers, I thought, Perfect, and was even angrier. But now...”

  “Now?” he pressed.

  “I’m not angry anymore. I’m scared about Abbey. I’m scared I’ll lose the kids, but I can’t help but see how much they mean to you. You’ve been here as often as you could. You’ve been here for me. You didn’t go to work today, and I’m sure that was a problem.” She shook her head. “Being angry with you is too draining. We both want what’s best for the kids. They’re loved. That’s what Bridget wanted most for them. She wanted them to have the security of knowing that they’re loved. We’ve both given them that.”

  “I’ve changed since Bridget died,” Finn confessed to her.

  “I don’t think so. I think you’re exactly who you always were. I can simply see the real you now.”

  “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

  Her fingers started toying with the blob in her hand that had once been a napkin. “I’m exhausted, so I’m not sure I want to know, if you don’t mind.”

  He took her hand in his, stilling her fingers, and brushed her hair out of her face with the other hand. “I see one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, that’s me, gorgeous.”

  He knew that she was never going to see herself the way he saw her. The way Bridget had seen her. The way pretty much every person she met must see her.

  He’d always thought she must be a loner as she bumped along from place to place, but now he understood that people gravitated to Mattie. She could waltz all over the world and she’d never be alone because most people recognized immediately that she was someone who cared.

  Bridget had known. That’s why she left the kids to Mattie. She knew that Mattie would make them the center of her life in a way he never could. Mattie had done that for Bridget in a way he couldn’t.

  And suddenly he knew he wanted her to...

  He simply wanted her.

  He’d held her before, but mainly to offer solace. This time, he held her wanting...no needing, to be close to her. Like everyone else who’d fallen under Mathilda Keith’s spell, he’d fallen and fallen hard.

  He leaned down and kissed her, waiting for her to slug him, to tell him that he repulsed her and that the only reason she let him be a part of her life was for the kids’ sake.

  But she didn’t.

  He was amazed that she kissed him back, and he realized that he wanted more. Much more. He’d never been one to play games, so he said, “I want you.”

  Again, he waited for her to laugh, or storm away, and again she surprised him. “I want you, too.”

  She took his hand and they tiptoed through the living room where she stopped a moment and stared at Abbey still lost in sleep, then, to his utter amazement, she led him to her room.

  * * *

  MATTIE STARED AT FINN. He’d fallen asleep in her bed.

  What had she done?

  Even more important, why had she done it?

  She gingerly rolled off the bed, gathered her clothes and made for the bathroom, where she jumped in the shower and then dressed at record speed. Thankful that the master bath had a second door that led to the hallway, she rushed downstairs to check on Abbey.

  How could she have lost herself with Finn Wallace and left Abbey alone downstairs?

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Abbey hadn’t moved. Bear looked up as she came into the room, but then lay back down and closed his eyes again.

  Mattie sat in a chair and wondered.

  She wondered why she’d told Finn about that last time with Bridget. She’d taken it for granted that there would be a last look. Last words.

  Something she could hold on to.

  Instead, her friend—the sister of her heart—had just stopped.

  And here Mattie was, trying to pick up the pieces.

  With Finn Wallace upstairs in her bed.

  That added a whole new dimension to her confusing thoughts.

  So she watched Abbey sleep instead. She watched the little girl’s chest rise and fall as she slept next to the giant puppy and clutched a plastic bottle of lotion.

  Up and down. Abbey’s chest rose and fell.

  Up and down...

  Up and down...

  “You left,” Finn said from behind her.

  She’d done such a good job of not thinking that she hadn’t heard him come in. She didn’t turn around, but kept her focus on the girl and dog. “I needed to see Abbey.”

  “About—”

  Mattie was saved from whatever Finn was about to say when Abbey opened her eyes. “Aunt Mattie, Uncle Finn. What’ja doing?”

  Mattie stood up and walked over to the couch. She nudged the dog farther down and sat next to Abbey. “We were waiting for you to wake up so you can take your medicine.”

  She put her hand on Abbey’s forehead and was relieved that the only warmth she felt was regular body heat.

  Abbey nodded. “Okay. It tastes like bubble gum.”

  “It does,” Mattie agreed, then had a horrible vision of Abbey sneaking extra tastes. “But even if a medicine tastes good, you shouldn’t take it—”

  “Unless you or Uncle Finn give it to me,” Abbey finished.

  “Right.” Mattie breathed a sigh of relief.

  Abbey smiled. “Yeah, you told me. And Mommy used to tell me, too. I’ll remember.”

  “I’m glad you remember.”

  Abbey had mentioned her mother so matter-of-factly. It was another instance that Mattie wasn’t sure Abbey remembered, or simply remembered hearing about. But either way, Mattie planned on seeing to it that she kept those stories and memories alive for Abbey, Mickey and Zoe.

  She’d visit them at Finn’s and she’d collect those stories and tell them to the kids over and over. “It’s important to remember. And I keep telling you things that are important, like don’t touch medicine, don’t talk to strangers—”

  “Don’t leave stuff on the stairs,” Abbey added. She turned to her uncle and said, “I forgot about the not leaving stuff on the stairs and Aunt Mattie fell.”

  “When?” he asked sharply, looking for some bruise or telltale sign of her fall.

  Given that he’d pretty much seen every inch of her only a short time ago, he should know there were no bruises. She felt herself blush at the thought, and she replied more curtly than she’d intended, “I don’t know. A couple weeks ago.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I obviously survived.” Hey, it wasn’t Finn’s fault he’d seen her naked. She owned that, so she smiled, hoping to soften her response. It wasn’t Finn’s fault that they’d...

  She hunted for what to call what they’d done. Been intimate. That was safer than some terms. She should never have been intimate with him. Their relationship was already complicated enough.

  “Let me get your medicine, sunshine.” Bear barked and wormed his way out of the makeshift bed. “And let Bear out,” she added.

&
nbsp; When she returned to the living room, Finn was sitting on the couch by Abbey. He’d taken her into his arms. He nodded as if what Abbey was saying was the most important thing in the world.

  “...and then I took a bath and put on my lotion. I smell like Mommy again. See?” She thrust her arm at Finn, who dutifully and dramatically sniffed her arm.

  “You smell like your mom, all right.”

  “Can you tell me a story of Mommy?” Abbey snuggled closer to him.

  “Once, when your mom and Aunt Mattie were about five—”

  Abbey interrupted. “Mommy stories always have Aunt Mattie in them, don’t they?”

  “Almost always,” he agreed. “They were best friends. Almost sisters.”

  “Yeah, Mommy and Aunt Mattie had brothers, and brothers are hard work, Aunt Mattie says.”

  “I never thought about it, but I bet I was hard work for your mom. I was older and thought I was cool, but sometimes she could make me forget.”

  “Make you forget you’re old?” Abbey asked.

  Mattie snorted at that, and Finn shot her an intimate look. A look that reflected a whole lot more going on than two adults working together for the children’s sake. She felt her cheeks warm again as she stood there, the antibiotic in her hand.

  Finn focused again on Abbey. “One summer night your mom sneaked into my room. She had to be about your age now. She woke me up. It was very late, but she’d seen fairies in the yard and wanted me to catch one.”

  Abbey glanced out the window, as if checking to see if the fairies were still there. “We had fairies in the yard?”

  Finn pulled her closer. “Well, I went outside with her to see. She was barefoot and it was a cool evening. She pointed to a blinking light and I caught it in a Mason jar.”

  “Was it a fairy?” Abbey asked.

  “Well, to me it looked like a lightning bug, but your mom swore it was a fairy that had disguised itself.”