The Beresfords (46 page)

“Did he?”

“Or nearly so. Something to that effect.”

“Will you ask him anyway? As a favor to me?”

“I—I—but—” My shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yes, Uncle Paul.”

The man all but clapped his hands together in satisfaction, before rising suddenly from his chair. “No time like the present. I’ll have a word with him and then send him in.”

“Now?” I exclaimed. “You want me to talk to him
now
? But—but—I want to pray about it first!” It was cheap, playing the God card, but desperate times…

“Then pray,” said my uncle, already at the door. “You have five minutes.”

The first thing I said when Jonathan popped his head in was, “Not here. I don’t want to talk here.”

We pulled on sweatshirts and went out back.

“Sit,” he asked, “or walk?”

“Walk.”

The backyard was as dimly lit as my uncle’s study, but the ground we paced was so familiar we could have made our way in darkness. Only the pool lights cast a wavering blue glow. The lounge chairs were stacked up and covered, the shed locked.

“You remember, Frannie, that ridiculous pool volleyball game?”

“Do I ever. Tom was in game mode. He got irritated with Eric for goofing off. And Greg wasn’t too happy with Eric either.”

“I’m not sure anyone was happy with anyone that afternoon,” Jonathan mused. “I know I was sorry because Caroline was egging her brother on, and I liked her and wanted to think so well of her. And Caroline was upset because I smashed that volleyball at her and because I talked religion. I think—yeah—probably only you and Julie were doing fine.”

“No…Julie was mad about Tom and Greg ganging up on Eric,” I noted. “That, and Rachel making her go to the movies when she didn’t want to.”

“Hm. I stand corrected. I guess you alone were happy that awful day.”

I shook my head. “No. I wasn’t either.”

“You weren’t? What was bothering you? You were all of—what—”

“Fourteen.” I was glad of the darkness, feeling the heat creeping into my cheeks. Why did everything—absolutely
everything
in my life have to come back to him? If I needed a sign from God, it was this: I had to go to Colorado to start a new chapter with no Jonathan in it.

I shrugged and said only, “Oh, you know—it upset me when everyone got mad at each other. I felt helpless and anxious and—overlooked. Typical adolescent stuff.”

We paused beside the bench in Aunt Marie’s flower garden, and without conferring sat down, our backs to the half-wall bordered in tulips, wallflowers and forget-me-nots.

“You’ve changed, you know, Frannie,” said Jonathan after a minute. “Since then. You’re…all grown up, I guess.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” I answered lightly. “‘
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a
n adult
, I put away childish things
.’
Corinthians.”

His face was in shadow. “I guess I just didn’t realize that when you grew up…I would be one of the childish things you put away.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not blaming you, Frannie—not reproaching you. You, who’ve been so good to me. I just mean to say that…all those years, your love for me was always there. It was something I
took for granted. If no one else believed in me—if
I
didn’t believe in me—you always did. That’s what I mean. I feel like you’ve… outgrown your faith in me.”

What have I outgrown? Nothing! Isn’t that why I have to go, you idiot?
The iron armrest of the bench chilled my fingers, but I hung on. “That’s not true,” I said. “I still believe in you. It’s unfair to say I don’t have faith in you anymore.”

“Is it? What does James say about faith without works?” His voice had a new edge.

“That faith without works is dead,” I muttered.

“Bingo. That’s ten points for Bible Girl. I think you’re willing enough for me to depart in peace and be warmed and filled, Frannie, but damned if you’ll have anything to do with me anymore. I don’t know. Maybe you haven’t outgrown your faith in me—maybe I’ve just outgrown deserving it.”

“What’s gotten into you?” I demanded, hating his tone. The mockery in it and the self-mockery. “No matter what you say, you
are
mad at me. I don’t see what right you have to be angry. You—you should be glad I leave you alone. You once told me not to make an idol of you!”

“All right,” he said. “Maybe I am angry.” He was on his feet again, pacing back and forth like a tiger on a leash. “Not for anything in the past, but for these last few weeks. You wanna explain to me how you would consider it ‘idolatry’ if you talked to me once in a while or—for God’s sake—made eye contact with me? If that’s idolatry, sign me up. I’m finding the world’s a cold and lonely place when you don’t have any worshippers.”

“Stop it, Jonathan. I don’t like to hear you talk like this! You sound like—” Like the Grants at their worst.

He halted in his restless movements, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t like it. I don’t much like it myself. I guess bitterness is one of the more recent character traits I’ve developed.”

“Don’t,” I said again, more gently. Reaching out, I took hold of his hand and pulled him back down on the bench. His pulse was racing. “You’re right. I have been avoiding you, and I’m sorry for it. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I needed some space.”

When I made to release him, he grabbed my hand again. “Frannie. Please don’t shut me out. Look—if I’ve done something since I came back to piss you off, don’t we have enough history that you could tell me? It’s like you—you have more to say to
Tom
lately, than me.”

“We’re fine. I’m not angry with you.”

“Then what
is
it?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing. Nothing to do with you,” I lied, panicked by his persistence. “You see why I needed space? Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not? I promise you—we’re fine. I haven’t lost faith in you, I still—admire you and think you’re the best person I know, but I just—” Inspiration failed me here. I ripped my hand back and wrapped my arms around my stomach because what I really wanted to do was push him away. What did he want from me? And why wouldn’t he drop this? Did he want to fight, to
thrash things out, so I would come crawling back again to adore him? The nerve he had, accusing me of forgetting him! I, who never forgot anything. I tightened my grip on my sweatshirt, but it was no use. My own indignation was fighting for expression. The words were just not going to be held inside. “I don’t know what you want from me!” I burst out. “What is this all about? I didn’t ask to have this discussion. Uncle Paul said he wanted me to talk to you about Colorado. Fine. I didn’t want to, but he wanted me to, so here we are. And we could get the stupid discussion over with if you would just come out and say what your problem is!”

I heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. “My problem? How many more ways can I say it? My problem is, I want for one minute to say what’s on my heart and for you to listen.”

“I do listen! I have been listening! What have we been doing for the last ten minutes?”

“You don’t! You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said tonight. You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said since I came back! You haven’t wanted to. You’ve avoided me. And when I corner you, you tell me you don’t want to talk about personal things. What’s the point, if we’re not going to talk about personal things?
That’s
my ‘problem,’ Frannie. I’m asking you, for the sake of our old—friendship—relationship—whatever the hell it was—I’m asking you to hear me out. Even if what I have to say puts an end to it, once and for all. If the damned thing’s already dead—I might as well have the relief of getting this off my chest.”

Good Lord. “Getting…what off your chest?”

He was on his feet again, and this time he jerked me up beside him. The moonlight bathed us in faint silver. I wondered if my face looked as wild and otherworldly as his.

“This:—” he was panting. “Just this. Damn it all. That… I—love you, Frannie Price. I love you with my whole heart. With all I’ve got. And if you tell me you don’t love me anymore—that you can’t love me like I love you—I don’t know how I’m gonna get over this one.”

He could not be saying what he was saying. Not him. Not to me. Jonathan couldn’t be saying such things to
me
.

“I didn’t know,” he went on feverishly, the words rushing now. “It took me by surprise. I’ve always loved you, of course. As a sister, and dearer to me than anyone in my biological family. Loved you, depended on you, known you were there, like the ground beneath my feet. When Caroline left me in pieces and I just wanted to run to the ends of the earth, I knew it would be okay. I would always have a home to come to because of you. But I didn’t
know
. I didn’t get it. Those two years in Australia, when you were in my thoughts and I would send you a postcard from time to time, and you would write me those letters—I didn’t know some kind of…invisible alchemy was happening. Those old attachments I felt to you—they got stronger. They changed into some other element. Something even more precious. All I knew was that I was really, really looking forward to seeing you again. I didn’t understand until I came back and walked in the door, and there you were. All grown up. Exactly how I remembered and somehow not at all how I remembered. You were wearing that blue dress and laughing and looking so beautiful, and stupid Tom had his arm around you. That was when it hit me, what had happened, and I finally got it through my thick head that the whole time I was away from you, I was falling in love.”

The cool night air couldn’t account for the run of
goosebumps
all up and down me. I felt wobbly on my feet, but I couldn’t have moved to save my life.

“Say something, Frannie,” he urged. He gave me a shake. “Anything.”

“I—I’m speechless.”

“Say you think you can love me back.”

Biting my lips, I gave him a wavering smile. “I love you back.”

Jonathan took hold of my elbows and pulled me closer, searching my eyes. “You do? You love me? Here we go again. You love me—like a friend? Or like a—a brother? It’s enough to start with. Or do you mean you might love me like—like I love you?”

“Yes.”

Throwing his arms around me, he swung me off my feet, laughing. “
Yes
?”

“Yes.”

Around went the world once more, and I shrieked and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Then why?” he demanded. “If you love me, then
why
have you been so horrible to me since I came back?” He let my feet touch the ground again, but we didn’t let go of each other.

“Because I thought you guessed it and it bothered you. I didn’t want you to have to avoid me.”

“So you avoided me first? Logical,” he teased. “I admit, though, the same game plan ran through my mind, after I tried to tell you I was over Caroline and you crushed me utterly. I thought you knew I wanted to throw myself at your feet and decided you’d better nip that in the bud.”

“No—” I protested, “it was your fault. You told me about your dumb Australian dates, Jonathan, and I thought you were hinting that I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”

“I only mentioned the dumb Australian dates because I didn’t want you to think I was just on the rebound. I wanted you to know I got that out of my system in Australia.”

We laughed foolishly, our foreheads together.

“Good thing I couldn’t stay away,” he murmured. “I don’t have your willpower. Or your self-control. I think you would have been strong enough to avoid me clear out to Colorado.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I answered. Pressed to his chest, I felt my heart beating like it would lift right out of me. If I told him now—if I confessed—my secret would no longer be mine. But I would be free. “Years of practice, Jonathan. Because I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. Not just—as your cousin—but really loved you.”

I watched comprehension dawn on his beloved, familiar face. Disbelief. Wonder. Sorrow. “Oh, Frannie, I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered—thrilled—no one minds hearing that they’ve been loved for years and years. But how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was, but it doesn’t matter now.” It didn’t. I wanted to laugh, to sing. I felt nothing but lightness and perfect joy.

“A struggle—and I must have hurt you so often, without meaning to.”

“You could never mean to, Jonathan. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

I felt his arms tighten around me and his lips brush my hair. “Frannie. Truly. I don’t deserve you.”

Grinning up at him, I whispered, “Do your best.”

His breath caught, and in his hesitation my own smile faded. His face moved toward mine and mine toward his. And then I shut my eyes.

It was much, much later, and only when it began to drizzle, that we headed for shelter, my spirits returning to earth enough to ask, “What will Uncle Paul think?”