Blogger Bundle Volume VI: SB Sarah Selects Books That Rock Her Socks

by Kathleen O'Reilly

The fingers, so desperately holding on to hers, jerked away as if they’d been burned.

  Okay.

  Daniel stuck the burned hand under the table. “What are you doing out?” he asked. “I thought you had kids. I heard that killed a social life.”

  The man laughed. “They’re at home with the babysitter. It’s our tenth anniversary. I promised Lara it was date night.”

  Lara laughed, grabbing her husband’s hand. “It happens so rarely now. Who is this?” she asked, forcing the introduction.

  Daniel nodded in her direction. “This is Catherine. Catherine, this is Lara and Eric Dowling.”

  Nothing more. Not “my date,” “my friend,” “my lover,” not even “the granddaughter of my client.” So many labels to choose from, and he chose none, which was a choice in and of itself.

  Lara looked at her, curiously, and Catherine wondered if they were comparing her to Michelle.

  Catherine put her fingers to the diamond teardrop at her throat, wanting to tell Lara that Daniel had given it to her, just tonight, for her birthday, but then Lara would look at her strangely, wondering what insecurities had prompted that, so Catherine held her tongue.

  “Still working downtown?” asked Eric.

  “I am,” answered Daniel, not saying anything more, not asking anything more.

  Lara tugged at her husband’s arm. “It was good to see you. Catherine,” she said politely, and then they both walked away. Catherine looked at Daniel, who was studiously not looking at Eric and Lara. His mouth was tight and his eyes were hollow again.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked her.

  She wasn’t sure that dancing was the right answer, but she nodded and went into his arms, and there she could forget about labels and rules and trying to discover whether or not lines were being crossed.

  “We used to go out with them,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “I figured that one out,” she said, and his hand slid around her waist, curling there, and she knew he wanted her. No matter what label he picked or didn’t pick, she knew that he wanted her. Catherine reached under his jacket, touching his back, and closed her eyes.

  “They always were a little pretentious. Michelle used to make fun of them behind their backs. I told her it wasn’t nice to do that, but I’d laugh anyway, because it was true. And they were good people. They just had flaws.”

  It was the longest speech he’d ever made about his wife, and Catherine was glad he’d told her something human about her. Catherine so desperately wanted to like this ghost of a woman who stood in between them.

  As she danced there with him, moving in slow circles, as the music soothed her, as the smell of sandalwood reassured her, Catherine floated away from all those past lives and past friends.

  This was their first. Their first dance and she knew she could dance with him again and again. She leaned her head against his shoulder, wondering if there was another deltoid-scapula combination so well-designed to fit her.

  Not a chance. This one shoulder was pretty much it.

  This broken man with the sorrowful eyes and a grin so long out of practice. This man who made love as if his life depended on it, who curled into her afterward as if his life depended on it.

  Could people fall in love twice? She was betting her heart that the answer was yes, and yet, at the same time, she knew that she wouldn’t ever feel like this again. The music cast a spell—soft, soulful and designed for people in love. She felt his mouth on her cheek, and she knew he was falling under the same spell that she was.

  “Happy birthday,” he whispered, kissing her lips, and she forgot about Lara and Eric and Michelle and everyone else. Right now, it was only Catherine and Daniel and the music, and that was all right with her.

  14

  IT WAS FOUR O’CLOCK in the morning, and a sane man would be asleep. Not Daniel. The knot keeping his sanity together was slowly slipping loose. He was getting used to walking around without his ring. At first, he didn’t like the way Catherine’s eyes would slip over to his left hand, as if it were some sort of test he was failing. Now, the mark of pale skin on his finger was disappearing from view, almost as if it had never existed at all.

  Dammit.

  He looked at Catherine. The birthday girl was sacked out, oblivious to the scary workings of his inner mind.

  Catherine, who really loved her birthdays. He shook his head. Who knew? All she wanted was one day of pure, unadulterated happiness. Daniel completely understood that, and tonight he had taken her on an official date.

  Before now, he could justify those dinners with Catherine, but not tonight. Tonight was all flowers and romance and bright gold jewelry.

  Actually, if he wanted to do right by her, he’d just walk away from her. They’d found exactly zero evidence to support her claim that Charles Montefiore wasn’t cooking the books to line his own pockets. It probably wouldn’t be long before she wasn’t talking to him, anyway. If he walked away now, that’d make her life easier, make his conscience clearer and make everything so simple, exactly like it was before.

  But he couldn’t walk away, they couldn’t drag him away. He was bound to her in ways that he wasn’t going to put under a microscope. He liked having her to talk to, he liked watching television with her and knowing she was there, he liked waking up with her and reaching out and knowing she was there.

  Daniel liked being happy.

  At some point, he should invite her to his apartment, but that felt weird in so many ways. Too many ways to count. There were pictures there…

  Oh, man.

  Why was he sitting up at four o’clock, staring at the woman half-buried under the covers, thinking about being happy when he should be contemplating the box of pictures stored in the back of his closet? The pictures that he had no place for, but it seemed stupid to take them back to the storage depot.

  So where was he supposed to put them? On the walls? God, no. That would send Sean and Gabe over the edge. He didn’t feel right about keeping them hidden in the closet, either. He looked outside, noted the sun would be coming up soon and he should leave, even though it was Saturday and was there any crime in sleeping late on the weekend?

  After all, he wasn’t solving the problem with the pictures tonight. Not enough time. Would there ever be enough time? Catherine’s arm reached out, searching for him.

  Nope. There was never going to be enough time. That was the way life was.

  Daniel lay down and pulled her close, until she woke, soft and sleepy and so alive.

  THE HOME OF Brianna Taylor Kelley was one of the old stately town houses along Central Park. Catherine was curious about the woman behind the ring, and Daniel seemed eager to put it behind him.

  Last night, they had passed some milestone, and when he walked with her today, he held her hand as if they belonged together. Oh, hope was a troubling thing, but Catherine was still caught up in her own post-birthday glow, triggered by a post-birthday shower with Daniel that had brought him to his knees—an expression that could be interpreted in many different ways, all of them good.

  A butler led them into the main room on the first floor, and Catherine’s mind went straight into appraisal mode because Ms. Kelley’s place was a gold mine, and she wondered if her grandfather knew. There were two beautiful matching Sevres presentation vases, sitting on the Louis XVI table in the corner that was probably George Jacob, or a really good imitator, and could easily bring in six figures. The carpet was Aubusson, circa 1750 or 1760. One of the paintings on the wall was an actual Gainsborough, a portrait of a young woman with blushing cheeks and love in her eyes. Catherine had always believed that it was a particular talent of the famed artist to bring that much happiness to his subjects. Earlier, when she’d looked in the mirror, she saw the blushing cheeks and the love in her own eyes.

  “You like my things?”

  Catherine looked up at the sound of the elegant voice, which perfectly matched the older woman’s appearance—graceful white hair, an innate sense
of style that even Sybil would have coveted. Ms. Kelley’s smile was genuine, and she led them over to the giltwood love seat with thin Regency-style legs. Her mother loved such things, and Catherine eyed the carving on the legs to admire the craftsmanship and the exquisite condition. She glanced over, and noticed Daniel eyeing the legs as if he were afraid he would break it.

  “I think I’ll stand, if it’s all right with you, ma’am,” he told her politely. “I don’t think this will take long. We found a ring that I believe belongs to you.” He held it out, and placed it in Ms. Kelley’s palm, and she welled up with tears.

  “Where did you find this?”

  Daniel smiled. “We own a bar. O’Sullivan’s. When my brother tore down one of the walls, he found it.”

  “O’Sullivans. And you tracked it to me?” she said, her eyes staring at the ring.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It is yours?” asked Catherine.

  “Oh, yes. The SCH is Samuel Coleridge Hollowell. He was named after the poet, but no relation. His mother simply loved the poetry of Robert Browning, but always confused the man with Samuel Coleridge and so Samuel ended up Samuel instead of Robert.”

  Catherine was intrigued. “Were you engaged to him at one time?”

  She slipped the ring on her finger, holding up her hand to the light like a young girl. “We were married.”

  “Married?” Daniel sat down next to Catherine. “How did the ring end up at O’Sullivan’s?”

  Ms. Kelley, or rather Mrs. Hollowell, shook her head. “Samuel was a fireman for the City, just like his father and his grandfather. So big and strapping…and heroic.” Her smile was full of misty memories. “That was my Samuel. Whenever there was a fire, he was the first one there. It was a fire that killed him. We’d only been married a year, but I felt as if I’d loved him forever. We were supposed to be together longer than that.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it was painful,” Daniel said, and Catherine avoided looking at him. She didn’t need to; the sorrow was apparent in his voice.

  The old woman studied the ring in her palm. “There are some times that I almost forget, but I don’t want to forget. We had so many good days, but not enough good days.”

  The room chilled, and Catherine rubbed at the goose bumps on her arm. There was a ghost in the room. Maybe two.

  Please let this conversation end soon.

  “You didn’t remarry, did you?”

  “No. Everyone wants to replace things, replace people, but this house is filled with irreplaceable things, and Samuel was irreplaceable, as well.”

  At that, Daniel stayed quiet. Catherine knew he’d found his answer.

  “Where was the fire?” she asked, needing to change the subject. “How did the ring get from the fire to the bar?”

  Ms. Kelley looked at her with kind eyes. “It was on Tenth Avenue.”

  “That’s right near the bar,” Daniel explained.

  “There was an explosion.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Catherine, and she was. It wasn’t fair that people had to hurt, that people had to lose the ones they loved. It wasn’t fair at all. It wasn’t fair to Ms. Kelley, it wasn’t fair to Daniel and it wasn’t fair to Catherine, either.

  “We should go,” said Daniel, rising to his feet. He looked at Catherine, nearly a smile. Not quite. It was never going to be quite enough.

  “Of course. Thank you for the ring. I should give you a reward.”

  Daniel waved it off. “No, please.”

  She put the ring back on her hand and it still fit. Sixty years later and it still fit perfectly.

  Daniel turneed pale, and Catherine scrubbed at the goose bumps again. It didn’t matter how hard she tried; some things wouldn’t go away.

  THAT NIGHT, Daniel worked at Prime. He reconciled four months’ worth of inventory, created budgetary projections into the year 2020 and analyzed the tax code of New York City, just in case.

  Anything was better than thinking about this afternoon.

  Sean came downstairs at around midnight, and no matter how hard Daniel tried to blend into the woodwork, he found him. That was the trouble with the storage room/office/basement. A man could run, but he really couldn’t hide.

  “Why are you still here? You should be gone.”

  “Catching up,” answered Daniel. “I thought I’d make up for some time that I’ve missed.”

  “You dumped her, didn’t you? We never even met her, but you couldn’t handle it, could you?”

  “Sean, don’t you have a job upstairs?”

  “Cain’s up there. So is Gabe. So is Tessa. I’m fine.” He pulled up a beer case and sat down, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s chat.”

  Daniel swore under his breath. “What do you want to know?” It was after midnight. He was extremely tired. He wanted to go see Catherine, but a man didn’t show up at a woman’s apartment at this time if he respected her at all, and besides, this afternoon had spooked him in a big way. If a seventy-year-old woman could live her life with one love, why couldn’t Daniel?

  “Let’s start with the basic facts. Name.”

  “Catherine.”

  “Last name.”

  Daniel stayed silent.

  “Okay. Next question. Where did you meet her?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Fair enough. Next question. Did you dump her?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the hell is wrong with you? Go home. Go be with her. Work some of that tension off.”

  “It’s after midnight, Sean.”

  “So?”

  Daniel looked up at the ceiling, as if white plaster could help him understand his brother’s mind. “I don’t show up at anybody’s door this late.”

  “But you’re not broken up. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do next week?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t think it concerns you.” Actually, Monday was Labor Day, and he was thinking about taking Catherine out to the Hamptons again. That’d be nice, although the traffic would be killer.

  “Do you know what next Saturday is?”

  Then it dawned on Daniel that Sean wasn’t talking about Labor Day. He was talking about September eleventh.

  Daniel swore again.

  “Keep her, Daniel. If she can make you forget that goddamned day, then I don’t care who she is or what she looks like.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten,” snapped Daniel. Because he hadn’t. “It doesn’t matter what I do. She’s not going to like me very much in a couple weeks.”

  “Why not? She got this far with you. Who knows, she must have figured you out. You’re not that complicated, Daniel. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “It’s something else.”

  Sean sighed and stood up. Daniel heard Gabe’s feet on the stairs. Wonderful.

  “Sean, get your ass upstairs.” Gabe looked at Daniel, surprised. “Why are you still here?”

  “Does everyone forget I work here?”

  “Not that much,” answered Gabe. “Thanks for tracking down the ring lady.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  Then Gabe turned to Sean, and turned back to Daniel. “What are you guys talking about so late?”

  “Nothing,” replied Daniel. And Gabe studied him suspiciously.

  “Tessa’s ass,” quipped Sean, which effectively got Daniel off the hook. He looked at Sean and nearly smiled. Nearly. Sean continued, “I tried to tell him that I didn’t want to hear about it, I think it’s quasi-creepy, eyeing your brother’s girlfriend, but Daniel…It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about. You wouldn’t believe how many psychos are out there, never saying a word—”

  “That’s enough, Sean,” interrupted Daniel.

  “You can go home,” said Gabe. “I don’t want you looking at Tessa’s ass, thank you very much. Go find a girlfriend of your own.”

  “I’m out of here,” said Daniel, saving the files and packing his things away. W
eirdly enough, he felt better. Not better enough to knock on Catherine’s door, but he’d see her tomorrow. Early in the morning. Maybe she’d like breakfast. Scratch that. He’d been trying to wean off the food thing. Man, this date stuff was difficult.

  He looked at his brothers and smiled.

  Family. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.

  CATHERINE WAS JUST waking up when she heard the buzzer at her door. She threw on a robe and pressed the button. “Daniel O’Sullivan’s here, Miss Montefiore.”

  Catherine checked her clock. It was eight in the morning on Sunday. Did he never sleep? She looked down at her nightshirt and flannel boxers and huffed. This was so not fair. A miracle worker, she was not. Two seconds later, he was at her door. Catherine let him in, gazing wistfully at his jeans and white button-down, all neatly pressed. “Come on in.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come so early.” He didn’t look sorry. He looked perky. And eager. And wide-awake. She, on the other hand, was a sleepy schlub.

  “Is something wrong?’ she asked, dragging a hand through her hair and finding a few tangles in the back.

  “Oh, no. I knew you were anxious to work on the archives….”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “I can come back later. I’m sorry.”

  She waggled a finger at him. “Don’t you start with the apologies. Let me go make some coffee. Wake up. Maybe get cleaned up. How do you do this?”

  He noticed her portfolio lying open on the side table. “Do you mind if I look?”

  Catherine blushed, but decided that, since the man had seen her naked, she shouldn’t be shy about her art. Slowly, she nodded. “Don’t tell me if they suck.”

  Daniel pulled out the sketches carefully and stared.

  So, she had to ask. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think they suck. I think they’re very good. Better than very good. Excellent. Tons better than some of that crap at MoMA. I just don’t get the whole modern art thing.”

  Catherine shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  He looked at one, twisting the paper. “Is this me?”

  Catherine slipped it out of his hands. “No.”