Deeply, Desperately (19 page)

I refrained.

"You're actually quite lucky," the woman said.

"How so?"

"These paintings will be gone in a few hours. We're having a showing tonight." Her face lit. "Would you care to meet the artist? He happens to be here."

"Oh, I don't know," I hedged, trying to play it cool.

"Nonsense. You must! Your name?" she asked.

"Lucy Valentine."

Her eyes widened. "Any relation to Oscar Valentine?"

"My father."

She practically cooed, probably seeing dollar signs. "I'll be right back. Look around," she offered. Heels tapped as she hurried away.

I stared at the painting before me, the face of the ballplayer blurring under my gaze. It was the colors, I realized. The background colors that fascinated me. Each player was surrounded by a glow of varying col--

"Lucy Valentine? I'm Cutter McCutchan."

I tore my gaze from the artwork and turned around.

My breath caught, and I staggered backward.

He took a step back from me as well, as if surprised.

My jaw went slack, my eyes widened.

His lips tightened, his eyes narrowed in a deep squint.

"I--ah--" I couldn't find words.

He was tall, with old-fashioned movie-star good looks. Dark brown eyes, dark hair. Strong chin, chiseled cheeks, full lips.

Cutter McCutchan was nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous.

And he was the spitting image of my father.

"I'm s-sorry," I stuttered. "I have to go."

It was too much for me to take in. The realization that my father had a son.

Bells chimed as I pushed into the snow. I stared blindly, unable to remember which way to turn.

"Uva! Uva!"

I lifted my head, focused blurry eyes.

Raphael.

I ran toward him, slipping and sliding through the snow.

I threw my arms around him. He wrapped me tightly in warmth and protection and love.

"Come," he said, opening the car door for me. "Let's get you out of the cold."

"He has a son, Raphael."

"I know, Uva. I know." He guided me into the car.

Before I knew it, we were sliding into traffic.

He patted my hand. "I came as soon as I saw your note."

"Does he know he has a son?" I asked. "Of course he knows. He has to know."

"He only found out a week ago."

"Does Cutter know about him?"

"No, Uva. Sabrina didn't want either to know."

I swallowed hard. "Has Dad told Mum?"

Raphael shook his head. The wipers swiped the window in soothing rhythm.

Thoughts raced, questions too.

A brother. I had a brother. Younger, by the look of him, but not by much. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-four."

Four years younger. I had a brother.

I'd always wanted siblings. For company, but also because of the Valentine legacy ...

Gasping, I said, "Does he see auras?"

"I don't know."

"He does," I said adamantly, answering my own question.

"How do you know, Uva?"

"His paintings. I was fascinated by them--because he painted auras around his subjects."

"I hadn't noticed."

I leaned back in the seat, closed my eyes.

Thoughts jumbled together, some knotting, some unraveling, as I tried to piece together how I'd gotten to this place.

It had all started with my father's strange behavior lately, then Preston Bailey and that Christmas invitation. Then there was the lie that she didn't know Cutter when she had the flyer for the opening ...

My eyes popped open. "Preston knows Cutter is a Valentine."

I could see this. It was why she'd acted so strangely when I told Leo I was an only child--not because she might be my sister (I can't believe I ever entertained that notion) but because she knew I had a brother.

"Yes. She requested your father's help to get her a job with one of the bigger papers. If not, then Preston would bring Cutter to Dovie's Christmas party."

I could see this. She knew Dad had contacts at the
Globe
... She was desperate to leave the
Beacon
and move on to bigger opportunities.

"Your father is complying, but he fears she will write a tell-all article. She insists she will not. He doesn't know whether to believe her."

Oddly, I did. Though she was desperate enough to use Cutter, I didn't think her so immoral as to reveal the truth in an expose. Just a smidge immoral. After all, blackmail was blackmail.

"But how did she know about Cutter in the first place?"

"Something about old photos. Your father will have to explain."

"If he ever tears himself away from Sabrina."

"They have been getting together, trying to figure out what to do."

"What do you mean? Figure what out?"

"How to keep it all quiet. They don't understand."

"What?" I asked, not sure I agreed with keeping Cutter a secret. Though I was shocked and ran out, I knew immediately I wanted him in my life, that I already cared for him.

"Objects set in motion tend to stay in motion."

Surprisingly, traffic was congested, but not nightmarish. "You aren't about to launch into a physics lesson now, are you?"

"Would I do such a thing?"

"Yes."

"You're right. But I won't. My point is that Preston Bailey set the ball rolling. Your father found out. You. That ball will keep rolling."

"Unless someone stops it."

He beamed. "You were paying attention to your laws of motion."

"You're a good teacher."

He patted the top of my hand. "You're a lousy student."

"Pasa!"

"It's the truth."

"Doesn't make it any easier to hear."

"It never is," he said solemnly. "And now, will you tell your mother?"

I wanted to. And she deserved to know. "No, I don't think so." I said softly, echoing Raphael's words to me yesterday, "Dad's secrets are not mine to tell."

As soon as I came in my front door, I dropped into my favorite chair. Raphael and I had driven around for a while in silence until I realized I just wanted to go home.

I skipped the train idea and braved the ride home. The drive had been slow but not too bad. Plows were working hard, pushing snow, dumping sand. By first light all the streets would be clear. And I would be free to follow my vision right back to Sarah Loehman's house.

Grendel was lying atop Em's wedding dress, which was balled in a corner. That she left it here told me more about her state of mind than anything.

Maybe Marisol and I wouldn't have to become (more) involved at all. And maybe the prenup Joseph was filing would never come to light and break Em's heart.

Grendel hopped into my lap, stared at me with his big golden eyes. "I have a brother," I said aloud.

He tipped his head, swished his tail.

"I know. I'm kind of shocked too."

I wanted to pick up the phone, call my mother, more for comfort than anything. But I knew myself too well. The minute she suspected I was upset, the news would spill from me, and I couldn't let that happen. Dad needed to be the one to explain about Cutter.

My second thought was to call Sean. I glanced at the clock. He should be here soon enough. I'd just wait him out.

I checked my phone for messages from Aiden. Nothing. I dialed, hoping he had news about the case. He didn't answer.

Dropping my head on the back of the chair, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was two hours later and my phone was ringing. I jumped up, stubbed my toe on a kitchen stool, and answered it. "Ow, ow, ow!"

"Lucy, are you okay?"

"Stubbed my toe." I blinked, the pain momentarily forgotten. "Dad?"

"Who else?"

My heart squeezed a little too tight.

Raphael mumbled something in the background.

"That's enough out of you, Raphael. Such harassment. I should fire him. I should for the beard alone. Hideous."

"What did Pasa say?" I asked, not worried about Raphael's job in the least.

"Nothing your tender ears should hear."

He'd have himself another heart attack if he knew what I had planned with Sean later.

I grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge. Grendel
came running when he heard the crinkle. I needed to start weaning him to every other day ... starting tomorrow. "He told you I knew."

"He told me."

"You should have told me."

"I didn't know how. I'm--I'm still trying to deal with it myself."

I sank onto the couch, pulled my legs up. Grendel circled the leg of the coffee table. I tossed a section of cheese and Grendel pounced on it, dragging it around.

"Is this why you've been acting so strangely? And have you rekindled your relationship with Cutter's mother?"

"Yes," he said. "Threw me for quite a loop. And as for the second half of your question, that's none of your concern."

"I beg to differ."

"Our relationship is none of your concern. Perhaps Oliver is. I'm sorry you had to find out about him the way you did. Does your mother know?"

Oliver "Cutter" McCutchan. My brother. Love filled my heart. But how would Mum feel?

"No. Are you going to tell Cutter?"

"When the time is right."

Grendel was back, licking his lips. I tossed another piece of cheese in the opposite direction. "And when might that time be?"

"I don't know."

I didn't like that answer. "It doesn't seem fair that he's been left in the dark. You too. Did Sabrina have any explanation?"

"Oliver has had a good life, Lucy. Not lacking for anything," he said, not really answering me.

"Except for me. And you. And Dovie."

He didn't say anything.

"How did Preston know about him?"

"While researching our family for her articles, she kept coming across photos of Sabrina and me together at various events taken years and years ago. She put two and two together that we had had a relationship. Then she came across a photo of Sabrina with Oliver when he was younger. The resemblance was striking even then."

"And you never guessed?"

"I never met the boy. Oliver was raised primarily in Vermont with his father. He's only returned to Boston in the last year."

"You're his father."

"Semantics, Lucy."

"Not really."

He had nothing to say, not anything about sass or impertinence. I dropped the last piece of cheese square on the coffee table, and Grendel vaulted up, speared it with his fangs, and dove for the floor, sending mail and folders flying in the opposite direction.

Kneeling, I swept the papers into one big pile. Most had spilled out of Sarah Loehman's and Leo Epperson's files.

Sifting through the stack, I fished out the mail and set it aside. Picking up a sheet of paper, I scanned it. Leo's. I dropped it back into his folder.

"The sooner you tell Cutter the better."

"Stop calling him by that ridiculous nickname."

"I like it."

"I forbid it. Are you laughing at me?" my father asked.

"Yes."

"I forbid that too."

"When are you going to talk to Mum?"

"Is this interrogation over?"

"Dad."

"Lucy."

"You need to talk to her. You don't want her finding out on her own."

"Lucy?" my father said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"You're forgiven. Consider it a Christmas gift."

"I suppose it's better than the cactus you got me last year."

"Hey, I thought you liked the cactus."

He laughed. "It's the thought."

Smiling, I hung up. Glancing out the window, I noticed Dovie's house, all aglow. It was late, but I knew she wouldn't mind. I threw on a coat and headed out the door.

I trudged through the snow up to Aerie. It was closing in on midnight, and I thought Sean would have showed by now. He wasn't answering his phone either, which caused a pit in my stomach I could fall into.

The lights blazed in Dovie's sitting room as I climbed the steps to the deck, opened the back door. I peeked in. Dovie was asleep, curled in one corner of a
cozy couch, a cashmere throw tucked all around her. Papers were strewn across her chest, lap, and couch. The TV was turned down low. On the screen Iron Chefs sliced and diced.

The floor creaked as I took a step back. My hopes of not waking her vanished as she lifted her head. "Lucy?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. I thought you were up. The lights were on."

She quickly gathered a handful of papers, shoved them into a box. One fell to the floor and I crouched down, picked it up. It was an old letter, the writing long, sloping, masculine. The paper was yellowed with age, creased from wear. "What's this?"

"Nothing at all. Just a foolish old woman spending too much time in the past."

I noted the signature on the letter.
Yours with much love, Henry.

In all the busyness of late, I'd forgotten about Dovie's penchant for melancholy this time of year. I sat down next to her, handed her the letter. She shoved it in the box.

"It's silly," she said.

"It's not."

"I hated him."

"I doubt that."

"I wanted to hate him."

"That I believe."

She cracked a smile, set the box of old love letters on the floor. "He was an amazing man. A stubborn, headstrong, foolish, amazing man. But enough. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've had my night of woe. Now, what brings you up here?"

I sat down next to her. I couldn't tell her about Cutter. I just couldn't.

"I don't know. Lonely, I guess."

"Where's Sean?"

I picked at the edge of her cashmere throw. My bottom lip quivered. "I don't know."

Between Cutter and Em and the letters and Sean ... my chest hurt with all I was holding in.

"LucyD? Are you crying?"

I backhanded the tears from my eyes. "No."

"Lucy, darling, what's wrong?"

"I'm going to lose him."

"Don't you worry about that curse. I'm convinced he's the one to break it for good. You need a drink." She patted my leg and rose. "Martini?"

I nodded. "It's not the curse."

"Then what is it?" she asked, pouring gin into a tumbler.