Just then Cole let out a primal growl, low and deep in his chest. “He doesn’t belong here.” With surprising speed, he raced into the yard, tackling the black-clad young man to the ground and pummeling him repeatedly with his fists, all the while spewing profanities, mostly of the ‘son-of-a-bitch’ variety. Blake did not fight back, exactly. It was obvious he attempted to scuttle out of Cole’s grasp by the way he pushed the heels of his combat boots into the ground, but he was clearly no match for Cole’s strength and rage. Blood poured from Blake’s nose. He covered his face with his hands, but Cole pushed them aside.
“Dad, do something,” Rori screamed. But she needn’t have asked. Kevan sprinted across the yard and pulled Cole from Blake, like it was nothing more than separating two naughty kittens. The fight seemed to go out of Cole with the touch of Kevan’s strong arms. Cole went limp, his chest rising and falling from the exertion and emotion.
Blake fell back into the gravel, dust covering his black pants. He wiped his nose with his forearm, smearing blood in a pattern of a wave over his left cheekbone. “What the hell, psycho!” He appeared much braver than he had only moments ago.
“Shut your mouth,” shouted Cole. “No one wants you here.”
Rori, to my surprise, started to cry and moved closer to me. I put my mother-arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be all right,” I whispered, out of habit. This is the kind of things mothers say even when we don’t know if it’s true or not.
Behind us, the patio doors opened and shut again. I glanced over to see Ardan and Ciaran rushing out to where their eldest brother had his arm around Cole, holding him tightly. Ardan helped Blake to his feet. Ciaran stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, glaring at the scrawny, bloody boy.
Blake came over to where I stood with Rori. He pointed at his car. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“They’re all liars and you know it. You don’t have to be the same.” He looked suddenly like a petulant boy. For the first time I saw his youth under the piercings and purple hair.
“It’s my grandmother’s birthday.” Rori’s voice came out small. She remained in the crook of my arm.
Kevan stood next to us now. He stepped in front of Blake, grasping his collar in his fingers. “Listen, you’re not welcome here. I thought I made that clear already.”
“She’s eighteen now. She can do what she wants.” Blake’s face twitched, betraying the bravado of his words.
“I’m her father and while she lives with me, she lives by my rules.”
“You sticking to that same routine, huh?”
Kevan’s hands moved to grip the boy’s shoulders just above the collarbone. “Get in your car and go home. Tell your father I said hello.”
Blake’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “You know what he thinks of you.”
“Yes. I’m also aware of what I think of him.” This was said through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” He shook Kevan’s hands aside and turned on his heel, headed for his car, slid inside, and slammed the door. The car engine started and he backed out and down the driveway fast, spewing gravel from the squealing tires.
Kevan turned to Rori. “I obviously can’t keep you from sneaking around to meet him.” He gestured toward her clothing. “Or letting him dictate your fashion choices, but at least give me enough respect to keep him off my property.”
Rori wiped under her eyes where the tears had smeared her mascara. “I can’t control where he goes, Dad. As much as you’d like to believe everything’s my fault, it isn’t.” Her face crumpled into tears before she strode toward the door and disappeared inside the house.
Cole, to my surprise, ran after her. Clearly the boy didn’t know how to let go of Rori Lanigan. Despite her stinging words and glances, he cared enough to follow her inside, to perhaps try to comfort her. Indifference was the opposite of love, I thought again.
Rori’s father and uncles, however, remained where they were, all with the same guarded, half-lidded expressions on their faces. I felt suddenly furious. What I’d suspected earlier was true. The Idaho air caused me to feel bolder than I was at home, bolder than I’d ever been in my life. I crossed my mother-arms over my breasts that had fed two babies and looked at them one by one. “Gentlemen, there’s only one reason a girl like Rori chooses a boy like Blake.” I looked at Kevan when I said this next part. “You all need to get this ridiculous feud solved because the person it’s hurting the most is Rori. Girls turn to bad boys when the men in their family are not available. I’m sure the past seems like something you can’t get over but you’re wrong. Figure it out.”
I left them all standing there, gaping at me as the sky turned the orange of twilight, and I went inside to face the devil dressed in pink silk.
***
“What on earth is going on out there?” Riona sat on the couch, holding a glass of wine in her hand, her skirt perfectly draped over her legs.
“I’m not certain.” I scanned the room. No sign of either Rori or Cole. “Blake was here.”
“Blake Sloane? Doctor Sloane’s son?”
“Right. The boyfriend.”
“Oh, it’s simply ridiculous. What would she see in that boy? He looks like a chicken wing. My God, it’s disgraceful. And he’s clearly influenced Rori in the worst ways possible. The minute she started up with him she went bad.” Her brow wrinkled as she took another sip of her drink. “Blake’s mother died ten or so years ago. She was killed in a boating accident with her married boyfriend, while still married to Barry. Quite the scandal in our social circles, I can assure you. After her death, he raised the boy by himself. His father, the original Doctor Sloane—he delivered all my children in Boise—would roll over in his grave to see what’s happened to both of them.” Riona set her almost empty glass on the coffee table.
Unsure what to say next, I used the same excuse I used at cocktail parties when I was either bored or uncomfortable in a conversation. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom.”
“Of course.” She nodded and pointed a perfectly manicured finger toward the hallway. “First door on the right.”
The powder room was painted a soft blue and had a simple but elegant white sink. On the wall were three photographs, arranged in a triangle. They were of a pretty blond girl at various ages—I guessed three, seven, and fourteen. It took me a moment to realize they were photographs of Rori. As Cole had mentioned earlier, she was a natural blond. At age three she had soft curls and pudgy cheeks; at seven she had freckles scattered over her skin, no front teeth, and a wide grin. At fourteen she wore braces and just a hint of mascara that made her blue eyes pop from the photo. Where was this girl without the awful black bangs covering her eyes and the tattoo that marred her pretty white skin, and where was that wide, innocent smile? Where had she gone? Was she buried with her Uncle Finn and her mother?
When I finished, I walked out to the hallway. The voices of Rori and Cole traveled from the room opposite the bathroom despite the closed door. I stopped to listen.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
“I am. I have been,” answered Cole. There was heat in his voice that did nothing to cover his pain. “But what the heck, Rori? What’re you doing with Blake?”
She didn’t answer right away. Through the wall I imagined I could see her struggling to find an answer that she most likely didn’t understand herself. There are certain choices, especially made by the young, which are not explainable to others, created from pain and disappointment and loneliness. But what she said next surprised me more than anything I’ve heard in my life. “I have no choice.”
Cole spoke immediately, his voice sounding as shocked as I felt. “What do you mean you have no choice?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Tell me, please. Rori, we used to be best friends. You told me everything. What changed?”
“Everything’s changed, Cole. You know that.”
“What’s he
doing to you?”
“Never mind. Cole, just leave it be. Leave me be. Please.”
Footsteps moved toward the closed door. I marched down the hall and into the living room. Ardan and Ciaran were sitting in the chairs facing the couch. Kevan was sitting next to his mother, albeit a good distance from her. The room was in silence but for the clink of ice in Kevan’s scotch. Everyone looked over at me when I entered. Kevan stood, offering me his chair. I took it just as Rori came into the room, followed seconds later by Cole. Someone must have brought my wine in from the patio; Kevan topped it off and handed it to me. I took a grateful sip.
“Mr. Lanigan,” said Cole. “I’m going now. I truly apologize for all the fuss.”
“You don’t have to go,” said Kevan.
Cole’s gaze darted to Rori. With a stony expression on her face, she went to the bar and popped open a ginger ale. “I need to,” said Cole. “I should check on my mother, anyway.”
“Come on then. I’ll walk you out,” said Kevan.
I caught Rori’s gaze. Her eyes were glassy with tears. The sweet, little blond girl behind the dyed bangs was still inside there. She still loved Cole. I was certain of it. I shivered and sipped my wine. What did Blake have over her?
The front door slammed; Rori flinched. Her grip on the can made a crackling sound.
***
Kevan returned and joined his mother and daughter on the couch. Rori didn’t look at him and remained as still as a live mannequin they sometimes have in shopping mall display windows.
Therein followed a discussion of politics and the world’s economy, which Kevan, Ardan, and their mother fully participated in, while Ciaran browsed the books on the shelves, slipping a finger along their spines and occasionally pulling one out, reading a sentence or two before returning it. Rori sat silently, taking small sips from her ginger ale.
I joined Ciaran at the bookshelf. “Anything interesting in here?”
“Not one thing.”
“You don’t read, then?” I asked.
“Of course I read.”
“What was the last thing you read?”
“Vanity Fair on the plane home from Paris.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a cliché.” I laughed.
“What does that mean, exactly?” He played with a button on his dress shirt and raised his eyebrows.
“International playboy.”
He shook his head, as if disgusted. “You got that from Ardan. He doesn’t understand from his perch of propriety that the world could also be his playground. Instead he chooses to spend his time molding young minds to be the ass-kissing conventional men they all want us to be.”
“Who wants you to be conventional?”
“Everyone.” He raised one eyebrow. “But they’ll never take me down.”
I laughed in spite of myself. Ciaran was like a party.
He leaned closer, speaking softly in my ear. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Matching his quiet tone, I stepped closer to him. “I’m old enough to be your mother. Stop flirting with me.” I followed this with what I hoped was a withering gaze, which seemed to have absolutely no effect on him.
His eyes twinkled at me as he raised an eyebrow and grinned. “How old are you?”
“You’re not supposed to ask a lady her age. But I’m forty-five, if you must know. I’m an old lady, I’m sure, in the circles you run with.”
“That would make you twelve when you had me. Very unlikely, therefore proving that I’m not too young for you.”
“Do you treat all women like this?”
“Like what?” he asked, much too innocently.
“Like you’re trying to get them into bed.”
“Well, why wouldn’t I try to get all beautiful women into my bed, at least once? It’s actually a favor to them. Trust me, you wouldn’t be disappointed. I have girlfriends of all ages—you aren’t even close to being the oldest of them. And you could certainly be one of them, if you’re at all inclined.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He laughed. “I’m hurt.”
But I laughed too. It was easy to laugh with this young man who was absolutely harmless because I wasn’t at all attracted to him, despite his good looks. Thinking this, I looked over at Kevan. There was something about the eldest Lanigan, on the other hand, that made me feel off-kilter and slightly crazy.
The caterer, wearing a white apron over her black pants and button-down shirt, called us all to the dinner table. Happily, I was seated between Rori and Ciaran. The first course was a Caesar salad. After we all took a bite, Riona put down her salad fork. “Good God, there’s enough garlic in this to kill a small dog with our breath.”
Kevan glanced at the kitchen. “Mother, not so loud.”
“Why should I keep my displeasure to myself? I’m sure you’re paying a small fortune for this dinner. It’s impossible to find decent food in Idaho.” She looked over at me. “Edward, my late husband, loved it here, but I could never find anything redeemable about it in any way.”
“God is dog spelled backward,” said Ciaran. “And you just used them together in the same sentence, Mother. Isn’t that strange?” He grinned. Was he trying to lighten the mood or was this his way of digging at his mother?
“Dogs and God are often in the same sentence,” said Kevan, in a way that matched his brother’s light tone. “Dogs are sent directly from God, isn’t that right, Rori?”
Rori looked at him with a blank expression. “I guess.”
“Come on, now. Don’t you remember how we always used to say that?” asked Kevan. He looked over at me, and repeated it, softly. “Shakespeare was a Christmas present when Rori was six, and when we told her Santa had brought him for her she shook her head and said, completely seriously, ‘Not Santa, Daddy. We all know God sent him to us.’”
How sweet she must have been then. “Did you ask for him that year, Rori?”
“Yeah.” She speared a piece of lettuce with her fork and moved it around her plate.
“It was one of those moments I’ll never forget,” said Kevan.
“Well, apparently that was when you were both still God-fearing,” said Riona.
“Rori’s still God-fearing, aren’t you?” asked Ardan, looking concerned.
“Sure.” Rori rolled her eyes and pushed her plate away. “God’s totally looking out for us. That seems obvious.”
“Rori,” said Kevan. “Please, don’t.”
“Don’t what, Dad?”
“Why did you name him Shakespeare?” I asked, hoping to break the tension.
“Uncle Finn thought of it,” said Rori. “Because he chewed this fancy pen Dad got Uncle Finn for a gift, right under the Christmas tree. ‘Shakespeare stole my new pen, Rori.’ Do you remember that, Dad?” Her voice was quiet but deliberate. She wants to hurt him, I thought. Like she’s hurting.
Ardan covered his mouth with his napkin but caught my eye before turning to his mother. “Mother, how’s San Francisco? It must be agreeing with you. You look wonderful.”
“Lying doesn’t suit you, Ardan. I’m a hideous old lady. It was a terrible winter. There was rain every day for weeks. And the fog bank every morning is enough to make one want to jump off the nearest pier.” She pushed her salad plate to the right and took a dainty sip of water.
Ciaran raised his wine glass. “Mother, we’re remiss. Let’s have a toast to our beloved birthday girl.”
Ardan nodded his head. “Ciaran, you do the honors. You’re always the best one of us with words.”
Ciaran turned to look at Ardan with his eyes narrowed. “Is that supposed to be a dig?”
“Of course not. You’re the best at public speaking,” Ardan said.
Ciaran set down his glass and pushed back slightly from the table, gripping the arms of the chair. “No, really, Ardan, you do it.”
Kevan tapped his glass with a butter knife and then raised his glass. “Mother, happy birthday. May you live to be a hundred, with one extra year to
repent.”
“We always use the same toast for birthdays,” Rori whispered to me as everyone toasted. “It’s an Irish thing.”
Under the table I squeezed her hand. “It’s nice.”
The server began to clear the salad plates and then brought out the entrée, freshly caught steelhead covered with basil and fresh lemon juice. Amongst the clattering of plates and further talk between the brothers, Rori whispered to me again, “I wish you’d stay here forever.” This time she put her head on my shoulder. “Maybe you could?”
What was it about the Lanigan family that made my heart bigger? I wanted to adopt them all, despite their thorns and sharp edges.
“I’m here now,” I whispered back.
“At least there’s that,” she said.
***
After dinner, Ardan and Ciaran, like children let out of school after an arduous test, quickly gathered their belongings and left, saying polite goodbyes to those of us unlucky enough to remain in the presence of the birthday queen, namely Rori, Kevan, and me. When they were gone, Riona extended her hand to me. “It was a pleasure, Blythe. And how wonderful you’ll be here all week. Such an unexpected surprise.” I had a sudden image of icicles hanging from the back of her throat, making everything freeze as it exited her mouth.
“Thank you,” I said. “Good night.”
Riona left the room, leaving a hint of Chanel No. 5 behind. Kevan headed back to the formal sitting room, but I lingered, hoping to have a word with Rori. I grabbed her hand. “Rori, please know you can talk to me anytime without fear of me saying anything to anyone.”
She tightened her grip on my hand. “Sure. I know. But everything’s fine.”
I gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her thin arms slid around my neck and she pressed her cheek into my collarbone. My mother-heart went soft, of course, at the vulnerability in that unexpected gesture. I didn’t want to let her go, but I did, as this is the way of things. We never quite know what to do with unanticipated gestures of vulnerability. It is only later in the examination of them we think of all the ways in which we might have reacted, ways in which we might have met them in that soft underbelly of a place and said, Here I am. Rest your weary head upon my breast and I will love you. I will be your mother.
Blue Midnight (Blue Mountain Book 1) Page 18