“We’d have to paint the balls different shades of green,” Al said, in a perfectly awful attempt at an Irish brogue, “in honor of the great and mighty Dr. O’Dwyer, don’t you know.”
Rory smiled, but the look in his eyes was deadly serious. “I want to be useful. I want to practice medicine. I tried doing nothing for a while, but it drove me crazy.”
Al nodded. “Yeah, Teddy’s always gripin’ about not having anything to do. Right, Ted?”
Teddy and Rory locked gazes across the room. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, the ol’ life of leisure’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Rory leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on Teddy. “Join us, then.”
Teddy stared at him. “I... I don’t...” Izzy had never seen her aunt at a loss for words. This was getting interesting.
“We can use an R.N.,” he said. “You’d be doing a real good service.”
“I don’t think so.”
Harry, who’d been listening closely, said, “Why not, Teddy? It’d keep you busy, and you’d be—”
“I said no.”
Silence rang in the crowded room. Teddy and Rory exchanged a grim look. Rory nodded almost imperceptibly, and they broke eye contact.
Izzy tried to remember if Teddy and Rory had ever seemed this uncomfortable with each other before, and found that she couldn’t even recall a situation when they’d been in the same room together. They’d both been at her parents’ fortieth anniversary party last year, but Izzy didn’t think they’d exchanged a single word, and Teddy had left early. It had been the same way at other family functions over the years. Like Clark Kent and Superman, they were never in the same place at the same time.
Curiouser and curiouser...
The tension was broken when Izzy’s four-year-old nephew, Louie, sneaked up behind Harry and made a grab for his Yankees cap. “Hey, mistah. Can I try on your—”
Harry seized the boy’s wrist just as he’d gotten the cap off the head. With a start, Izzy saw that her old friend’s hairline really had started to recede; he looked completely different without the cap. “Drop it,” Harry said in an impressively menacing voice.
Louie hesitated, his eyes searching Harry’s as if assessing the magnitude of the risk, should he grab the cap and make a run for it.
“I’d drop it,” Clay advised him. “I saw him punch a guy’s lights out once for doing that.”
Izzy chuckled.
Clay leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I did. I also saw him run in front of an eighteen-wheeler once to get it when the wind blew it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showers in the damn thing.”
Harry glared at Louie. Louie glared at Harry. Finally the boy let go of the hat and moved away, shrugging with overstated indifference. “I didn’t really want it.”
Harry speared the kid with a venomous look as he readjusted the cap on his head.
The lights went out.
“Someone trip a circuit breaker?” Clay asked.
There were chuckles in the semidarkness.
Paola appeared in the doorway bearing an enormous cake alight with about a zillion candles. Clay’s grip on Izzy’s hand tightened painfully.
Al stood and raised his arms, like a conductor. “All together now. Happy birthday to you...”
Dozens of voices rose in enthusiastic song. The little girls gathered around Clay’s feet took a great deal of giggling pleasure in belting out “You look like a monkey...” at the top of their lungs.
By the time the song was over, Izzy felt as if every bone in her hand were on the verge of snapping.
“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Paola brought the cake over to the couch and held it in front of Clay.
He turned toward Izzy.
“Make a silent wish and blow out the candles,” she said quietly.
His gaze softened, strayed to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. Then he smiled, filled his lungs with air, and blew out every last candle.
HERE THEY COME! Kill ’em! Kill ’em!”
“Shoot ’em! Use your pump shotgun!”
Clay blinked at the minions of hell advancing toward him on the TV screen, then at the buttons on his controller. “What about the chain saw?”
“You don’t have a chain saw,” Paulie said impatiently. “Shoot ’em! C’mon!”
“You have a chain saw,” Clay pointed out, trying to remember whether the shotgun was button A, B, X or Y.
“I found it in the secret passage, remember? If you can get past all those moving walls without getting crushed, and find the secret—”
“Shoot ’em, Uncle Clay!” Joey screamed. “Kill ’em! Kill ’em!”
Uncle Clay?
Clay picked a button and stabbed it. One of the minions recoiled slightly, but kept coming. The two boys groaned. “Wrong button, Uncle Clay. That was your knife. You need the pump—”
Staticky gunfire pop-pop-popped, and then an agonized howl filled the living room. The screen went red.
“What happened?” Clay asked.
“You bit the big one, Uncle Clay.”
“They shot you. Wanna try again?”
“I think I’ll pass.” Clay rose from the carpeted floor and stretched his back. “I’ve suffered enough humiliation for one evening.”
The boys shrugged and started a new game. Clay went to the window and pushed aside the curtain. The mild day had turned unexpectedly wintry, and now the forecast was for eight to twelve inches of snow by morning. It had begun falling already, giant, wet flakes plummeting out of the darkening sky and piling up fast. Most of the guests had already gone home. Clay knew they should have left for home already—it was almost an hour’s drive on a good day—but he’d gotten sucked into that video game, and Izzy didn’t appear in any hurry to leave.
She sat in one corner of the sofa, reading a picture book to little Lucy, curled up on her aunt’s lap with her eyes gradually drifting shut. Across the room, Harry and Teddy were discussing the merits and flaws of various country music artists. Strange bedfellows... Some of Izzy’s brothers and sisters were still here, with their spouses and kids, but most of the guests had already gone home.
Clay’s gaze took in the many and sundry birthday gifts piled up on every available surface, which had been presented to him after the cake. Paola had knitted him a handsome sweater of heathered gray wool, with leather patches on the elbows. Many of her granddaughters had utilized their own budding needlework skills in creating gifts for him. The older girls had produced fairly impressive hats, scarves, and gloves, in assorted vivid colors. But his favorites were the miscellaneous oddly shaped items of mysterious function that the little ones had made.
He picked up Lucy’s present from the end table next to him: a small red pouchlike doohickey, with lots of dropped stitches and several unmatched buttons sewn on for decoration. As he rubbed his fingers over it, his throat suddenly constricted without warning, just as it had when they’d brought in that cake. Be cool, he admonished himself. Don’t lose it in front of everyone over a little bit of wool with some buttons sewn on.
He drew in a deep breath, and that helped, but then he noticed Izzy’s gift in a box on the floor, and another jolt of emotion threatened his composure. The box contained a package of modeling compound, a roll of wire mesh, several small blocks of granite, and a variety of paints, inks, and tools—supplies for repairing the medieval landscape he and Grandpa Tom had constructed in the basement.
During the past month, she’d nagged him in a friendly way to fix the project. Since he hadn’t shown any inclination to do so, she’d apparently decided to force the issue. Clay generally disliked being manipulated into things, yet he found Izzy’s stubbornness about these repairs oddly pleasing.
Some things are worth holding on to.
Clay saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and peered through the darkened dining room into the brightly lit kitchen. Izzy’s parents were sitting across the table from each other, drinking coffee and talking. As Clay looke
d on, Al brought Paola’s hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips.
No one in my family has ever gotten divorced, Izzy had told him.
Clay turned to watch Izzy reading softly to her niece, now fast asleep, and felt something come together inside him. Pieces of a puzzle snapped softly into place, taking shape as a sort of decision—not a conscious decision, a product of the mind. It was more a resolution of the heart, intuitive and involuntary and completely beyond his control.
Izzy, apparently realizing Lucy was asleep, closed the book and kissed her softly on the head. Then she caught Clay’s eye and smiled that breathtaking, incandescent smile of hers. She was beautiful, achingly beautiful. He smiled back, feeling a sense of rightness, of connection with this woman, this old friend of his, that stunned him.
The feeling should have raised warning flags, should have made him feel threatened, terrified even. The old fear of abandonment was still there, he realized, but it was... different. He could step back from it and see it, not as a debilitating and insurmountable part of him, but as a thing—a small thing, small enough to be conquered.
Is that the kind of person you are? he’d asked her that night in the basement. The kind who sticks around?
Yes. Yes, I am.
It could work, he and Izzy. It could.
“What’s so funny?” Izzy asked him.
“Funny?”
“You’re smiling.”
It was true, he was grinning like an idiot. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Lookit that.” Al was standing in the doorway, pointing his unlit cigar at the window. “It’s really coming down. I don’t mean to be a wet blanket or nothin’, but shouldn’t you folks be thinking about hitting the road?”
“Damn.” Teddy rose and went to the window. “I didn’t realize how bad it was getting.”
Paola put an arm around her husband’s waist and addressed Clay and Izzy. “Why don’t you all stay here? This sofa pulls out.”
“I can drive in this,” Clay said confidently.
“No, Paola’s right,” Al said. “I’m sure you’re a terrific driver, Clay, but that snazzy car of yours isn’t exactly ideal for these conditions. If you hit a patch of black ice, there’ll be nothin’ you can do but pray. I hate to think of you slidin’ into a ditch with my Isabella in her condition.”
“Of course,” Clay said. “I wasn’t thinking... Of course. We’ll stay. I appreciate the invitation.”
“And, Teddy,” Paola said, “if you don’t mind sleeping on the daybed in the basement—”
“I’d rather go back to Brooklyn and spend the night in my own apartment,” Teddy said. “It’s not that far, but I don’t have my car.”
“I’ve got a Jeep, so I’m gonna take my chances with the roads and head back to NoMo,” Harry told her. “I can drop you off on my way.”
Teddy shot him a look. “Brooklyn’s not on the way to North Moon Bay.”
Harry shrugged. “I like to drive. And it isn’t often I can set the radio to country without the other people in the car jumping down my throat.”
“Deal.”
As Harry and Teddy were getting their coats from the front hall closet, two of Izzy’s nieces fluttered into the room, laughing breathlessly.
“You go first.”
“No, you!”
After much prodding by her sister, one of the girls handed something to Clay, her hand half covering a mouth glittering with braces. The offering was a red paper heart trimmed with lace cut from a doily and ornamented with sequins and glitter. The name “Angie” was written on the back in purple crayon.
“Angie, this is beautiful,” Clay said.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m touched. Thank you.” Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek.
“I have one, too, Uncle Clay.” The second girl’s homemade valentine was pink, and decorated with pictures of flowers cut out of magazines.
“You made this yourself—” Clay checked the signature on the back “—Rosa?”
Rosa nodded.
“I’m impressed. It’s lovely.”
Rosa turned and presented her cheek, which Clay dutifully kissed. As he straightened, he noticed Izzy smiling in his direction. The look in her eyes filled him with warmth.
“You’ll pick me up tomorrow, right?” Teddy asked Clay as Harry helped her on with her coat. “On your way back?”
“Of course,” Clay said. “We’ll call before we set out.”
Teddy and Harry made their goodbyes and headed toward the back door off the kitchen. Angie and Rosa took Clay’s hands and began pulling him in the same direction. “We’re making valentines in the basement,” Rosa said. “Want to come see?”
Do I have a choice? “Sure, I’d love to.”
Clay allowed himself to be half dragged by the girls to the top of the basement stairs. The door to the back vestibule was ajar, and through it he heard Teddy say, “So, does the baby’s father know about Izzy’s marriage?”
“He’s out of the picture,” Harry answered. “As far as I can—” He fell abruptly silent.
Teddy chuckled. “Gotcha.”
Harry said, “How long have you known that Clay’s not the—?”
“For sure? About three seconds.”
Déjà vu. Clay shook his head. Nothing slipped by ol’ Teddy.
“Come on, Uncle Clay.”
“Shh.” Clay extracted his hands from theirs. “I’ll meet you down there,” he whispered, and shooed them gently down the stairs.
Teddy’s voice. “So, we’re talking a platonic marriage here?”
“Far as I can tell.”
A burst of laughter from Teddy. “Then the only reason they’re sharing a bed is to con me into thinking it’s the real deal?”
“Bingo. So, are you gonna tell them you know otherwise?”
There was a pause of a few seconds. “I think not,” Teddy decided, amusement in her voice. “Not yet, anyway.”
“A shrewd decision,” Harry said. Clay heard the outer door squeak open and felt a gust of cold air as the pair departed.
“They made their bed,” Teddy said as footsteps descended the back steps. “They’ll just have to sleep in it for a little while longer.”
The door squeaked closed, muffling their laughter.
CHAPTER TEN
I MADE YOUR BED,” Paola told Clay as he came down from his shower wearing one of Al’s bathrobes. She glanced at his bare legs and chest. “Didn’t the pajamas fit?”
“I, uh, I don’t really like—”
“Neither does Al,” she said, plumping up the pillows and arranging them neatly at the head of the sofa bed. “That’s why those pajamas have never been worn.”
“Where’s Izzy?”
“In my room, getting changed.” She nodded toward the bed. “I hope you’ll be comfortable on that. It’s kind of old and lumpy.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thanks, Paola.”
As soon as his mother-in-law left, Clay stripped off his robe and got into bed, sucking in his breath at the shock of cold sheets on bare flesh. He shivered beneath the covers, thinking about the conversation between Teddy and Harry in the back vestibule, and listening to the rest of the household retire for the night, until Izzy came downstairs. She went directly to the bedside lamp and turned it off, but not before Clay got a look at what she was wearing.
“Whoa.” Sitting up, he reached over and switched the lamp back on, staring openly at Izzy as she circled the bed. Suddenly he didn’t feel cold anymore. “That’s your mother’s?”
Izzy looked down at the bottle green satin kimono in which she was wrapped. Where it crossed over her chest, the low neckline of a matching nightgown peeked through, displaying more cleavage than he’d ever seen on her.
“My mother’s taste in nightgowns is... a little bit different from mine.”
“I’ll say.” Jesus.
She began undoing the sash. “You want to turn off that light?”
“No.”
She paused, the sash untied but the robe still closed. “Let me rephrase that. Please turn off the light.”
“No.”
She studied him, her breasts rising and falling beneath the gleaming fabric. Her gaze flicked briefly to his bare torso and the blankets bunched around his waist. “Fine.”
Parting the kimono, she lowered it off her shoulders, turning her back to him as she did so. It was a move reminiscent of a stripper’s coy seductiveness, but so gracefully executed and so completely without artifice as to be a thousand times more arousing. Indeed, as he watched her slide her arms out of the silken robe and drop it onto a chair, he felt a familiar heat and heaviness in his lower body, and he found himself wondering if he shouldn’t have worn Al’s pajamas after all.
The green nightgown was cut in fluid lines that caressed her body, dipping low in back to reveal lots of smooth, golden skin. Her hips flared from her waist in a contour that was most decidedly female, and God, that sweet ass, perfectly round and firm beneath the slick fabric.
“Now will you turn the light off?” she asked, a little testily.
He smiled. “No.”
With her back still to him, she sighed and lifted her arms to rake her fingers through her hair in evident frustration. The movement caused the green satin to shift and slide over her generous curves. Clay’s body stirred in response.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “It’s just that I feel a little self-conscious.”
“You shouldn’t. That looks incredible on you.”
“It would look better if I were... you know. Tall and thin. Clothes look best on women who are built like models.”
He laughed at her misguided notions. “Clothes look best on women who are built like women. Especially clothes like that. Turn around. Let me see the front.”
She hesitated, then turned around, her arms still crossed in front of her. “What happened to your passion for flannel?”
“I’ve decided I like you even better in silk.” Did he ever. The smooth fabric stretched slightly over her breasts, highlighting taut nipples. Clay felt himself grow fully aroused, and he fought off a primitive urge to grab Izzy and throw her to the bed. Down, boy.
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