McKettrick's Heart. Linda Lael Miller
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Название: McKettrick's Heart
Автор: Linda Lael Miller
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon M&B
isbn: 9781472016072
isbn:
“They’re bonding,” she said to Florence, who was setting out a light lunch on the small wrought-iron patio table.
Florence grumbled as she poured lemonade into chilled glasses, one for Psyche, one for Molly and one for herself.
“Give her a chance, Florence,” Psyche pleaded softly.
“She’s probably some kind of crook,” Florence whispered. “Keegan thinks so, and so do I.”
“Well, you’re both full of sheep-dip,” Psyche said. “I had Molly’s background checked. Do you think I’d hand my baby over to some stranger?”
“No telling what you’d do,” Florence groused.
“Hush,” Psyche said, but gently. She’d been younger than Lucas when Florence had joined the family, pushed up her sleeves and put Psyche’s topsy-turvy world to rights. Her parents, both alcoholics, had been content to donate money from a distance and leave their only child’s upbringing to a person they referred to, on the rare occasions they referred to Florence at all, as “the domestic.”
Molly stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, crouched to unbuckle Lucas’s safety strap, hoisted him into her arms. He rested his head on her shoulder and snoozed on.
Molly carried Lucas up the steps with an ease Psyche envied.
There were so many simple things she couldn’t do anymore.
“Here,” Florence said, reaching out for Lucas. “I’ll put the little guy down for his nap. He can have lunch later.”
“Let Molly do it, Florence,” Psyche said.
Molly gripped Lucas a little more tightly and made for the door.
Florence stepped out of the way, but only at the last possible moment.
“She’s a stranger,” the older woman insisted, once Molly was well inside and she’d closed the heavy door. “Whether you paid a bunch of fancy detectives to investigate her or not!”
“Nonsense,” Psyche replied, sitting down at the table and reaching for her lemonade with an unsteady hand. “She’s Lucas’s mother.”
“You’re Lucas’s mother,” Florence said staunchly.
Psyche shook her head. “I’m a ghost,” she said pensively. The lemonade was ice-cold and struck just the right balance between sour and sweet. She relished the taste, though she knew it would probably make her violently ill later on. Almost everything she ate or drank did. Calling a halt to the chemotherapy hadn’t relieved her of the nausea.
“Don’t you talk that way!” Florence scolded, shaking a finger under Psyche’s nose the way she had when she was a little girl, tracking in mud from the backyard or fidgeting in church.
“Why not?” Psyche asked, nibbling at a corner of a little sandwich with smoked salmon and cream cheese inside. “It’s the truth.”
“I’ve never heard such silliness!” Florence ranted on. “You’re as alive as I am. As alive as anybody.”
“No, I’m not. It’s strange, Florence, but the grass seems greener than I’ve ever seen it, and the sky is bluer. I hear every bird, every bug rubbing its wings together in the flower beds. And yet there’s something—remote about it all. As though I’m…receding into another place.”
Florence, reaching for a sandwich of her own, suddenly bent her head, curved her always-straight shoulders inward and began to sob.
“I can’t bear it,” she cried. “Why isn’t it me that’s dying? I’ve lived my life—”
“Shh,” Psyche told her, rising to stand beside Florence, put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “It’s all right.”
“It isn’t all right!” Florence fumed. “It’s a damn shame, is what it is! It isn’t fair!”
“You were the one who told me life isn’t fair, so we oughtn’t to expect it to be,” Psyche soothed. “Remember?”
Florence looked up, her beloved face ravaged by grief. “You’re like my own child, my own baby girl… .”
Psyche’s heart turned over. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
“Look at me, carrying on!” Florence boomed, straightening her shoulders, picking up a table napkin and swabbing at her tears. “You need me to be strong, and I’m falling apart like an old potato sack with its seams bursting.”
“It’s all right,” Psyche repeated.
The door opened again, and Molly stood on the threshold, looking as though she didn’t know whether to join Psyche and Florence or dash back into the house.
“Come and sit down, Molly,” Psyche said. “I want to hear all about your walk with Lucas.”
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