by Karen Rock
The question was asked of both of them, but his eyes lingered on her, making her heart beat faster. He definitely hadn’t pulled away since she’d rebuffed his earlier advance. Was it wrong of her to feel oddly glad about that?
“Sweet tea?” she asked in a soft voice, unable to look away from this gorgeous man. She inhaled his lemon-scented musk, the clean fragrance of his skin, and resisted the urge to close the narrow space between them with a birthday hug.
“Jameson for me,” said Gran. “Hey, you got anything more jazzy than this classical stuff? Sounds like a funeral dirge, and at my age, I don’t need a reminder. Let’s liven up the party.”
Heaven help her, Christie thought, hoping Gran didn’t scare everyone off before the clock struck nine.
But Eli simply pointed at the CD tower beside an elaborate sound system set in custom-built shelves. “Help yourself. Be right back.” With a last, long look at Christie, his expression unreadable, he headed off. Why was he behaving so differently tonight? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was flirting.
“I’m with you, doll,” said a voice behind them.
Christie turned. “John!” After a quick hug and a discreet bow-tie straightening she gestured to her grandmother. “Gran, you remember John?”
John’s spotted hand held the elderly woman’s fingers. “Someone as good-looking and young as you should never be called Gran.” Like Eli, he lifted her grandmother’s fingers to his mouth. Unlike Eli, he didn’t let go.
Gran preened, tossing back her soft white waves and fluttering her long eyelashes. “It’s Rosaline, remember? But call me Rose.”
A sense of inevitability built inside of Christie. Wasn’t this what she’d imagined if these larger-than-life personalities got to spend any time together? One of the many reasons she’d kept the personal and private sides of her life apart? She glanced across the apartment at Tommy, who scampered around being chased by Jeremiah, Eli’s neighbor’s son, at Becca texting in a corner, a scowl marring her pretty face, and Eli, busy in the kitchen slicing lemons and placing them in a glass for her. Here she was, as far over that line as she could get, no matter that she’d pulled away from Eli the other day. It’d be hypocritical of her to keep these two away from each other.
“How about some Cole Porter?” John wheeled himself after a hip-swinging Gran.
Her flirty elder looked over her shoulder, Betty Grable style. “I’d get a kick out of it.” They laughed uproariously at some private joke she couldn’t fathom. Besides, she was more concerned about Becca’s isolation. And she suspected Colton had everything to do with it.
As she crossed the room, she smiled politely at a few people then stopped in front of Becca. Unlike the rest of the partygoers, she wore ripped jeans and a black T-shirt that read Dear Life, You Suck.
“Nice outfit,” Christie said, joining her.
Becca looked up from her text then pocketed the phone. “It fit the mood.”
An upbeat tempo sounded as the music switched. She glanced over to see Eli join her gran and John, drinks in hand. She and Becca had only a minute alone before he came over.
“Don’t let Colton bring you down, Becca.”
Becca ducked her head, long brown hair obscuring her face. “How do you always know?”
“A lucky guess. Okay. Not so lucky. I mean, who else would make you look that unhappy?”
A half laugh, half snort sounded behind Becca’s curtain of hair before she brushed it back. “So true.”
“Then why take his calls?” Christie winced as Tommy nearly toppled a lamp lunging after Jeremiah. Mary caught him and escorted both youngsters to a train table set up with tracks and docking systems. She left them with a stern look.
“Because he’s the only one who cares.”
“Is he? What about me? Mary? Tommy? Your father?” She nodded toward Eli, who stood apart, holding her drink, looking uncertain about approaching. “Don’t we count? We’re card-carrying members of the Becca Roberts fan club.” She made a show of looking in her bag. “I know I’ve got mine somewhere.”
A grudging laugh erupted from Becca. “I get it. It’s just, well, why is it that the people you want to like you don’t, and the people that you aren’t worried about—no offense, Christie—do?”
She reshouldered her bag and said, “Maybe you’re choosing to like the wrong people.”
“Ha. Like I can control that.”
“Can’t you?”
For the first time, Becca looked uncertain. “I don’t know how.”
She put an arm around Becca’s thin waist and steered her into a quieter area by one of the windows. Rivers of headlights and crowds of weekend celebrators flowed below. “Focus on the reasons why Colton is wrong for you. Every time a good thing comes to mind, replace it with one of the bad. That way you can control those feelings until they stop.”
“Is that what you do when you think of my dad?”
Surprise burst inside like the spray of colored balloons bumping along the tin ceiling. “What do you mean?”
Becca lowered her square chin and pinned her with a stare. “Hello. You like him. It’s obvie.”
She felt the heat of red splotches blossoming across her upper chest. Why, oh why, had she let Laura pick out the lower-cut dress? There was no hiding her real feelings now, not that she would mislead Becca. She opened her mouth then shut it. What to say? Her patchwork skin proclaimed the truth. Did Eli know, too? She glanced over her shoulder but he’d stopped to talk to Mary’s husband, a napkin now wrapped around the drink he’d been holding for her. He caught her eye before she dropped her gaze and turned back to Becca.
“Don’t worry,” Becca said nonchalantly. “He’s into you, too. So what’s the holdup? He’s single. You’re single. Unless... Is it because of his cancer? He’s better now, as in not going to get sick again. And it’s not like there’s a better guy out there.”
“Wow. That’s a compliment,” a deep voice said from behind them. “What did I do to earn that?”
Christie froze. How much of that had Eli heard?
“Nothing,” Becca answered then stopped, midexit, when Eli held up a hand.
“What’s on your phone? Or should I say, who was on your phone?”
Christie winced. His concern was understandable given the earlier Colton incident. But why ruin his evening by getting upset? Hadn’t Joan taught him in therapy to pick and choose his battles? Timing was everything, as was consistency.
“Check it out for yourself,” Becca grumped before handing him the phone and joining her brother at his train table.
“She’s still talking to Colton,” he said, his voice flat as he scanned her texts. “But, oh wait, she says she won’t ditch my party to meet him. What a punk that kid is.”
Leaning closer let her view the screen and imagine the feel of being tucked against him, his muscular arms around her.
“And what a nice girl you have as a daughter,” she reminded him. Christie looked up and pointed to Becca. She supervised the boys, joining them as they played with the trains. “See?”
Eli scratched his head. “That’s why I don’t get this. Why is she letting that creep hang out with her?”
“Because you’re not.”
He took a step back as if struck. “We’ve been doing more together lately.”
“True.” Christie put a hand on his tense arm. He looked ready to bolt. “But what have you done that’s special? Just the two of you?”
“I... Well...now that I’m not making her costumes and she’s doing her project with you, not much.”
A cheer rose from a crowd gathered by Eli’s baby grand, Gran at its center. “To Eli!” she called, raising her amber-filled glass. The lean curve of his back as he stepped forward, the swell of muscles under his shirt, was worth another toast in her books.
“To Eli,” everyone echoed, clinking stemware.
Christie raised her sweet tea, took a drink to Eli’s health then lowered it. It was bad luck not to. “You need to find something in common, something other than dance.”
“Like what?” He sipped his whiskey, pushed on him by Gran no doubt, then coughed.
She waited for him to get his air back. What she was about to suggest needed his full attention. “How about taking another look at her phone? Check under pictures.”
“Photos?” Eli’s voice lowered. “Is there something I’m not going to want to see there?” He looked sharply at Becca, who was building Tommy a loop track.
“Just check, Eli.” Christie sighed.
Eli’s thumb scrolled through screen after screen. After a minute, his eyes lifted to hers, wetness lurking in their corners.
“These are great.”
“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Christie couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice or off her face.
He lowered the camera. “Why is she taking pictures of kids at the oncology unit?”
“Why don’t you ask her? Becca!”
Becca pushed a green train over a bridge then trudged over, her feet dragging. “May I have my phone back?”
Eli held up her phone. “Not until you explain what’s on it.”
Becca stared at her hands. “I’m not going to meet him, Dad. In fact—” she stared at Christie “—we might be breaking up.”
Eli made an impatient noise and turned the phone around. The screen showed a picture of an upside-down Vanessa, her limbs holding her in place as they pressed against the inside of a yellow activity-lounge tube. Her eyes seemed to leap out of the snapshot, their dancing expression conveying a desperate happiness. The angles of her body communicated both her struggle and her triumph.
“Oh. That.” Becca crossed her arms and bit her lower lip.
“When did you become a photographer?”
Becca’s eyes widened. “I’m not.”
Eli nodded firmly. “You are. Some have it and some don’t. You, Becca-Bell, have talent.”
“I do?” she breathed, forgetting—for once—to scold him about the childhood nickname.
“Yes. Do you see how you—”
With a satisfied glance, Christie wandered away, leaving the two standing a little closer, heads together. Becca might be the best gift Eli received tonight. Would their shared creative passion repair the damage years of distance had inflicted? Only time would tell. But it was a start—especially if Becca overcame her resentment and asked for help in completing the ambitious project.
Preoccupied, she nearly trod on Mary’s gray heels.
“Christie, I’d like you to meet my husband, Patrick.”
The florid, heavyset man swallowed his bite of buttered soda bread and extended a hand.
“Heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet the woman who’s changed Eli’s life.”
Christie battled down another flush. “That might be a bit of a stretch. Mary’s done so much.”
The family helper shook her head, sending her pearl-drop earrings swinging. “I’ve tried. But it wasn’t until you came that Mr. Roberts perked up. He even got out his Nikon yesterday.”
A burned smell made Mary’s nose wrinkle. “Oh, and if I haven’t gone and forgotten the artichoke dip.” She leaned in and kissed her husband before hurrying away. “See you after your shift.”
The sergeant’s walkie-talkie crackled. He cocked his head, listened to the static then replaced his hat. “Got to go, too,” he said with a wave. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Christie nodded then wandered toward the boisterous piano group. They’d formed some kind of kick line, Gran at its center, as John banged out “New York, New York.” Gran was right. She was the party, whereas Christie felt like the ghost who haunted it.
“Join us,” hollered Gran, but Christie veered away. A fan kick was a no-go in a dress this short. She followed Mary instead and helped her in the kitchen by dumping pita chips into a bowl, scraping off the dip’s blackened top and arranging chilled shrimp on a bed of lettuce. She set the dishes beside platters of cheese, fruit and veggies. Christie appreciated that, despite Eli’s wealth, Mary hadn’t hired a caterer. The homey touch made it more personal.
Scout crowded against her legs, begging for scraps, as she carried the last tray to the counter.
“Scout, shoo.” She pointed to his dog bed. “Good boy,” she added when he turned twice and settled down.
“Food’s out,” called Mary. When the singers continued warbling, she shrugged and passed around napkins and plates to the rest of the attendees. “Guess they’ll stop when they’re hungry.”
“Or out of Jameson.” Christie nodded toward the nearly empty bottle perched beside the sheet music. Did Eli play? She’d love to hear it if he did.
Speaking of whom...her eyes took their fill of Eli’s rugged profile. He was still scrutinizing the cell-phone pictures and speaking animatedly with a smiling Becca. The sight melted her heart. Finally. A bond that might take. A connection stronger than all of the Coltons in the world.
“Christie!” Becca called, waving her closer. “Dad’s going to help with the photo shoot.”
She made a plate for each of them and hurried over. “That’s wonderful.” She handed them the snacks. “So you like the idea of a calendar with pictures and wishes?”
He put an arm around Becca and pulled her close. “It’s great. And if I call in a few favors, we can make it happen.”
Becca looked up at her father. “I emailed Ms. Consalati and she said as long as I wrote a research paper, too, she would take away my incomplete. I’m going to high school!”
Eli rested his head atop his daughter’s. “Yes, you are. And you figured it out on your own.”
What a perfect thing to say. Eli was getting a handle on this father–daughter thing.
Becca’s phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. “It’s Vanessa. I so have to get this.” Her cell was already at her ear as she walked away.
Eli turned toward her. “So Becca meant what she said about me earlier?”
Oh. Right. The conversation where Becca accused Christie of liking Eli. Her pulse sped. She waved a napkin in front of her face.
“How much of that did you hear?” Christie studied her bright red toenails.
“Only Becca saying I’m the best.” Eli watched Becca disappear into the back of the apartment. “Where did that come from? And are you feeling okay? You look flushed.”
Her lungs let go of the air they’d been hoarding. “More tea will help. Thanks.” Christie picked up the glass she’d left on the table earlier and took a long gulp of its cool, sweet contents. Much better.
“So, why were you two talking about me?” Eli probed, shifting in his shining black Oxfords. In the background, the piano keys banged out the song “Let’s Do It,” an off-key chorus accompanying it.
Gran’s husky contralto rose above the rest, belting out the lyrics “Let’s fall in love...” as she gazed down at an eyebrow-waggling John. Why was life so uncomplicated for them? They were enjoying each other’s company, plain and simple. So why, when it came to her and Eli, did their distance seem insurmountable?
“Something about her thinking we like each other.” Christie’s voice came out unevenly—he was standing very close to her, near enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
“Hmm. Guess she knows how to read her dad, at least.” He ran a hand through his hair, the intensity in his eyes making her flinch and turn away.
Her chest rose and fell, colored dots appearing on the edge of her vision.
“Christie. Talk to me.”
She shook her head mutely, unable to meet his gaze. There were too many secrets her eyes might tell.<
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He cupped her elbow and steered her farther from the party guests until they stood alone in a far corner. A sign outside the window cast red light on his pale face.
“Am I really alone in this?” His voice sounded as tattered as a retired flag. “I didn’t want to press you after our run in the rain because you looked so...surprised by my admission that I want more. But can you really tell me you’re not feeling something for me, too? Because I’m losing my mind, losing sleep. Every waking moment is me thinking about you...about us.”
His urgent tone made her look up into his pleading eyes, the surge of hope in their depths making her heart leap.
She nodded and felt his hand tighten, his hold draw her close. Her eyes shut, and she shivered at the caress of his breath against her temple. This was it. All this time, imagining what it would be like to have Eli’s arms around her, to feel him against her, their hearts beating together... It was close to coming true and she wasn’t going to deny it any longer...even though she knew she didn’t deserve any of it. And Eli needed to know why.
She wanted to admit what was in her heart before things went further, but she became suddenly conscious of the quiet crowd and the dimmed lights.
“Time to sing, everyone,” Mary said. She carried a chocolate sheet cake with loopy writing and a blaze of candles. Luckily everyone was looking her way and not theirs.
John pounded out the opening notes to “Happy Birthday.” Christie avoided Gran’s speculative gaze as she and Eli stepped from the shadows and joined the assembly. Her voice blended with the rest, her body relaxing against the warm arm encircling her waist. Time to tuck away her rational self and live in this perfect, happy moment. There’d be time enough for doubts later.
“Make a wish, Eli,” John called. “You’ll need a big breath to blow out all those candles.”
The group laughed then hushed as he closed his eyes and inhaled long and deep. Christie stepped aside to join Becca, Tommy and a tail-wagging Scout. Eli’s breath exploded from him, obliterating every pinpoint of light and smearing some of the candle wax on the frosting. Wow. Whatever he’d wished for, he meant it.