Until There Was You (25 page)

“So clear.”

“I’m all set!” Gretchen breezed back into the room, hair perfect, a different outfit now. She held a small satchel in her hand.

“Oh, Louis Vuitton!” Dante said. “Very nice!”

Posey snorted. They might be perfect together.

“See you tomorrow, Posey,” Gretchen said, beaming at her, and for just a second, Posey could see what it might be like to have Gretchen as a friend, to have a cousin who truly was as close as a sister.

“S
O
E
LISE
,” P
OSEY
said a few days after learning about Dante and Gretchen. “Say you had a very, um… A fling with a guy. Slept with him a few times, it didn’t work out. No hearts broken, not a big deal. Then a friend of yours started seeing him, but she didn’t know that you and he had been together. Should you tell her?”

Both Ask Amy and Dr. Joy had said no…well, they’d said no in similar cases that Posey had found on the web. Posey was hoping for further validation.

“You should
totally
tell her!” Elise said.

“Really? Because I was thinking— I mean, this person was thinking that if the fling really didn’t matter and would only hurt the person to know about it, then telling would just be mean.”

“But seriously?” Elise said. “I mean, say I’d slept with Liam? Like, wouldn’t that matter to you?”

Posey paused. “Did you sleep with Liam?”

Elise laughed. “No? Of course not! I haven’t even, like, met him. Anyway, you should tell. Want to get lunch? I’m starving.”

“Sure. Where you calling?”

“China City?”

“Okay. I’ll have two egg rolls, some sesame noodles and the General Tsao’s chicken. Fried rice, too. Pork, okay?” Maybe she
should
tell Gretchen. One thing was for certain: it was very strange, being friends with Gretchen. Suddenly, clothes didn’t litter every surface, and the kitchen was cleaned up. Not only that, Gret was being…sweet.

“Hey, I made you and Liam some goodies,” she’d said that very morning. “You know, in case it’s your night.” She smiled—nicely. “You two serious?”

Posey grimaced. “Um…I’m not quite sure. I think so.”

“You make a great couple. Okay, gotta run. Sauerbraten tonight. Takes some prep, let me tell you. Hey, what do you think? The food’s better these days, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely,” Posey said. Then again, she wasn’t exactly renowned for her palate.

“You know, I found a can of sauerkraut from 1996,” Gretchen said, laughing. “I said, ‘Mutti, are you trying to kill us?’”

For once, Gretchen’s co-opting of her parents didn’t feel like theft. It felt…natural. Gret’s parents were dead, she really did love Max and Stacia…let her call them Mutti and Papa. No harm done.

On Sunday, when Guten Tag wouldn’t open until five, Posey drove to her parents’ house for lunch. Gretchen was going to drop her bombshell, and she’d asked Posey to be there as an ally.

Her parents lived in a classic American neighborhood, the kind that had been great at Halloween, when Posey would end up with an entire pillowcase of candy (most of which Stacia would purge, looking for razor blades or rat poison). The addition still made her wince a little—not because it was ugly, but because her parents’ fooling around had caused the fire that destroyed the bedroom, and what kid wanted to think about that? Putting such thoughts aside, she ran up the steps to the front door.

Henry and Jon were already there, and Gretchen was in the kitchen, wrapped in one of Stacia’s aprons.

“It smells fantastic in here,” Posey said.

“I thought we’d have something a little different today,” Gretchen said, setting a giant bowl on the table, and though Stacia scowled suspiciously at each piece of ziti, the rest of them fell upon the food like a Biblical horde of locusts. Twenty minutes after they’d sat down, most of the food was gone, though Posey had managed to nab the last of the pasta, to Henry’s chagrin.

“My God, Gret, I had no idea you could cook like that,” Jon said, sinking back into his chair.

Max leaned back and loosened his belt. “I don’t generally like Italian food,” he said, “but that was delicious.”

“Wonderful, darling,” Stacia said. “Almost as good as the spaetzle you made last week. And the Wiener schnitzel! Amazing.”

“So, what’s new, Gretchen?” Posey asked. May as well get things moving here.

“Well,” Gret said, flashing her a grateful smile, “I have some news. Some happy news.”

“Are you pregnant?” Stacia asked, getting a snort from Jonathan.

“No, no, not pregnant.”

“Sweet!” Henry said, phone in hand. “Someone got his foot caught in a lawn mower. Four toes severed! I have to run. Sorry!” Posey’s brother bolted from the table, face alight with joy.

“Henry is not normal,” Posey said.

“Hush,” Stacia chided. “Your brother’s a genius. Those hands? So gifted.”

Posey shot Jon a look.
It’s true,
he mouthed, winking.

“Anyway, Gret, as you were saying,” Posey said.

“Right.” Gretchen took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve been seeing someone, and while I wasn’t sure we were going to have a lot in common, it turns out we do. And we’re moving in together.”

Stacia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, expression joyful. “Is it Liam?”

Gretchen glanced at Posey. “No. It’s…it was surprising to us both, but…well, it’s Dante Bellini.”

“Holy sh—oot!” Jon blurted. “Wow! That’s brave.”

Max said nothing. Stacia’s face was thunderous. “For a second there, I thought you said Dante Bellini,” she said rigidly.

“I did,” Gretchen’s voice was small.

“I think it’s romantic,” Posey offered. “Kind of a Montague-Capulet vibe.” No one said anything. “Romeo and Juliet?”

“Well, it’s not,” Stacia said. “Gretchen Katarina Heidelberg! Your parents would be—”

“Stop, Mom,” Posey interjected. “Look. Dante owns a restaurant, a lot of people like it, he has made some…uninformed comments about Guten Tag, but he’s hardly a criminal. Gretchen wouldn’t be dating him if he was, right, Gret?”

“Right,” she said. “Um, Auntie, Uncle Max, he’s very nice, really. And I—”

“I cannot believe I just ate Italian food!” Stacia trumpeted. “I feel unclean.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Max said, patting his wife’s hand. “Grettie’s an adult, sweetheart. And Posey’s right. Mr. Bellini there might be a bit stuck-up, but Gretchen likes him. Which means we have to.”

Stacia shook her head. “I don’t know if I can,” she said, a Wagnerian note of disaster creeping into her voice. “He’s been so unkind.”

“Right, Mom,” Posey said. “But you know how you were telling me how sweet Gretchen is? How she sees the best in people? Well, maybe she makes Dante want to be a better man.” Jon made a gagging sound, and Posey kicked him under the table.

Stacia gave a little shrug.

“And didn’t Opa disapprove of Dad?” Posey said.

Stacia shot Max a glance. “Well…a little bit.”

“Maybe if you just gave Dante a chance,” Gretchen suggested.

“Well, I’m certainly not closed-minded,” Stacia said, and Posey had to bite her lip. “I suppose if you like him, sweetheart, then he can’t be too horrible. No matter how it seems.”

“Thanks, Mutti,” Gretchen said. She caught Posey’s eye.
Thank you,
she mouthed.

L
ATER THAT AFTERNOON
, Posey lay on the bed in the guest room, watching as Gretchen packed her stuff. The big suitcases were out—Posey’s church would be hers once again. And the cats could reclaim their afternoon napping spot.

“No offense,” Gretchen said, “but I cannot wait to get out of here.”

Posey rolled her eyes. She always loved how people stuck in the words
no offense
right before they insulted you.

“I mean, seriously, this place is just not me. Maybe when you’re done with the renovations, sure. Oh, Posey, you should swing past Dante’s house! I’ll give you the tour. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

Posey swallowed. “Maybe sometime.”

“You want this bracelet?” Gretchen asked, tossing a sparkly blue thing on the bed next to Posey. “It never looked good on me.”

“Um…sure. Thanks,” Posey said. She couldn’t imagine wearing it, but it was a nice gesture.

Gretchen zipped up the suitcase. “I think that’s it,” she said briskly. She went to the bureau and handed Posey an envelope. “Here. Half of what I owe you.”

“Hope you didn’t win this at the craps table,” Posey said.

“Not funny,” Gretchen said, checking her teeth in the mirror. “No, that’s from my pay.”

Posey cocked an eyebrow. “You’re paid pretty well.”

“Well, I
am
a celebrity chef, Posey,” she said. “My name alone has brought in a ton of new business.”

Ah, Gretchen. She may have softened a little in the past couple of weeks, but she was still Gretchen. She looked at Posey in the mirror, then turned around and sat down on the bed. “Posey,” she said slowly, “there’s something I think I should tell you. It might upset you. But after living here, and especially after the past couple of weeks when we’ve gotten closer, I feel like I should say something.”

“What? I have no sense of fashion? I already know that.”

Gretchen didn’t laugh. “This is serious.”

The sun was bright outside, and the sound of wind chimes could be heard over the springtime birdsong…a sharp contrast to the somber look on Gret’s face. Posey sat up. “What’s the matter?”

Gretchen took a deep breath. “Posey, you never tried to find your birth parents, right?”

“Right.”

“Why not?”

Posey took a deep breath. “Well, Max and Stacia are my parents. I mean, I wondered about my biological parents, sure. I’m glad they gave me up. But even if I wanted to find them, it was a closed adoption. I can’t contact my birth mother, she can’t contact me.”

Gretchen looked at her steadily. “Posey…she actually did.”

Posey blinked. “What?” She shook her head. “No, she didn’t.”

“She sent you a letter.”

“No! She didn’t. What are you talking about, Gretchen?”

Gret took a deep breath. “Okay, this might make me look like a sneak, but…well…” She shook her head briskly. “It was when I was living with you guys senior year. A few weeks before we graduated, Aunt Stacia got a letter. From an attorney. She was really upset, and I thought…I thought it might’ve been about the accident or something.”

All that pasta from lunch suddenly felt like cement in Posey’s stomach. “My mom wouldn’t keep something like that from me.”

Gretchen looked at the floor. “I waited till everyone was out, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought it was about my mom and dad. So I snuck into their room and found the letter. It was in the drawer with all her girdles. So…I read it. Well, I read part of it. As soon as I realized what it was about, I put it back. And I swear, I never looked at it again.”

“What did it say?” Posey asked. Her voice sounded high and strange, and her heart was clattering in her chest.

Gretchen squeezed her hand. “Well, your birth mom was in college when she got pregnant. There was some stuff about her and your father. And some family medical history.”

“Anything bad?”

Gretchen shook her head. “I don’t remember the specifics, but no. Normal stuff.”

Posey closed her mouth and forced herself to swallow. “Anything else?”

Gretchen was quiet for a minute. “I only read a few lines. Maybe I should’ve told you a long time ago, but if Max and Stacia didn’t want you to see it…I don’t know. It wasn’t really my business. But I just thought you should know.”

L
IAM WAS A LITTLE
torn. Nicole had canceled her afternoon with the Tates, claiming too much homework, and while he didn’t mind the fact that he wouldn’t have to see his in-laws today, he’d been planning on seeing Cordelia while Nic was out. He could cancel—Cordelia wouldn’t mind—but since Nicole was indeed in her room surrounded by books, maybe he’d go anyway. Nic was always telling him to get a life, after all. And it wasn’t like they were doing anything together right now.

And he did want to see Cordelia.

He hadn’t expected her to be so…fun. Or sweet. She was unpredictable; one minute she’d be cheerfully insulting him, the next, looking at him with those big soft eyes. She baked cookies the other day, which was just so not her that he could tell it was a big deal.

“How are they?” she’d asked.

He chewed assessingly. “Not the worst I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes narrowed, and before Liam saw her move, she’d snatched the cookie from his hand and tossed it in the trash. “No more for you, ingrate.”

Liam looked at his now-empty hand. “Really?” He grinned. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am. You want another cookie, you have to come through me.”

They’d ended up doing it on the kitchen table.

And that was another thing. Liam hadn’t expected the sex to be so, well…mind-blowing. Here he was, a good month into seeing someone—granted, no strings attached—and was feeling a little bit like a randy teenager, walking around with a goofy smile on his face.

The only problem was that he suspected Cordelia might be getting a little…attached.

He walked down the hall and knocked on his daughter’s door. “Nic, how much longer are you gonna be?”

“Dad, this paper is killing me! Can you, like, stop interrupting?” She glared at him from her desk. Audrey Hepburn posters had replaced Edward the Vampire, he was happy to see, and the clock from Sweetie Sue’s glowed above her bed.

“Well, I just wondered if you wanted to do something later.”

“No. This will take the rest of the day. I may as well just chain myself here and, like, work until I pass out, and you can just throw some raw meat in here. This teacher is insane! She thinks we have nothing better to do than study!”

An excellent teacher, clearly. “Okay, well, I thought I might run out for a couple hours,” he said.

“Do it. Leave me alone, or I’m going to fail everything.”

“You okay here by yourself?”

“Dad!” The three syllables of doom, followed by a huffy sigh. “I’m not six years old, you know.”

“Just asking. If you wanted me to stay, I would.”

“I don’t.” She must’ve realized she sounded like a twit, because she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. It’s just this is a hard class.”

He smiled. “But you’re smart. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled, then looked up at him hopefully. “So, Daddy, any thoughts on the prom?”

“Plenty. You’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen years old, Dad.”

“You’re fifteen years and eleven months old,” he corrected.

“Grandma and Grandpa don’t think I’m too young,” she countered. “They said they’d buy my dress, too.”

“Not helping your case,” he said.

Her face fell. “Fine. You’re the boss.” She turned back to her computer. “I’ll just slave away at this and, like, never have any fun, ever, because my father won’t let me be normal and have a boyfriend, not that Tanner even
is
my boyfriend, because he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

The threats must be working. Liam’s opinion of Tanner went up a thousand points. Nicole sat back down at her desk and started tapping away on the razor-thin laptop the Tates had just bought her. She really was a good kid, and she did work hard.

“What’s the paper on?” he asked.

“The themes of patriarchal suppression in
The Crucible.
Ironic, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. His child was now officially smarter than he was, and he didn’t like it. “Not funny.”

“Oh, it was funny, Dad. Get out of here. I have to call Tanner and tell him you’re gone so he can, like, bring over the drugs and the gang members.”

“Even less funny. No visitors. I’m telling Mrs. Antonelli you’re alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Thought I might take my bike out.”

Nicole nodded, unaware of the monumental impact of this statement. “Wear your helmet,” she said, turning back to the screen.

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m so sure.” She made huffing noise, then turned back to her computer. “I love you, Dad,” she added.

There it was, that shocking wave of love. She was the best kid in the world. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, and she was doing her work, toughing it out. She’d been through hell, watching her mom die, and yet here she was, pulling in decent grades, playing lacrosse, on the debate team (her calling, he thought). And even though she was mad at him, she still told her father she loved him.

“You can go to the prom,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, then her shriek split the air. “What?” She leaped up. “Daddy! Are you kidding? Don’t answer that! Oh, Dad, thank you!” She threw her arms around him and kissed his face repeatedly.

“There will be a million rules and regulations,” he said, laughing. “Maybe a tracking device.”

“I don’t care! Oh, Daddy, you’re the greatest!”

“Tanner and I will be having a long, long talk,” he added.

“Of course you will,” she said, disentangling herself from him. “Daddy, thank you.”

“Okay. You’re welcome.” There was a lump in his throat. “I’ll call you in a little while, okay? And I’m buying your dress. Not Grandma and Grandpa.”

Liam’s mood was mixed as he walked toward the garage. On the one hand, it had felt great to give Nicole what she wanted. On the other, he was letting her go to a prom with a teenage boy, which felt more dangerous than if he’d fed her a lump of glowing uranium.

But if Emma had been alive, she probably wouldn’t have objected to Nicole going to the prom. Emma had been queen of high school, after all. They’d gone to their prom, of course—Emma had been in a silky ivory dress with a low back, her skin so smooth under his hand as they danced. The rest of his prom memories were foggy, but he knew he’d had fun. Especially
after
the prom…the exact type of fun he didn’t want his child to have.

Time for a subject change. A pretty big deal lay immediately ahead of him. The motorcycle.

He unlocked the garage and stepped inside, the smell of oil and metal as familiar as the smell of Nicole’s hair. There was the Triumph, the same make and model as the one he’d wrecked.

The last time he’d ridden a motorcycle, he’d almost ended up dead. A concussion and bruising so bad he’d hurt for a month. But if he didn’t get on a bike now, he probably never would. It was a beautiful spring day, he had a…friend waiting for him. He grabbed an extra helmet and strapped it on the back.

He wheeled the bike outside, locked the garage once more, and straddled the bike. So far, so good. Helmet on, check. He took a deep breath; the choking panic was still at bay—for now. But his heart was thumping, and his knees buzzed with adrenaline. He turned the key, and the engine purred to life.

And then, just like that, Liam flexed his wrist, and he was gliding down the street, free. No fear, no wave of dread, just him doing what he’d been doing for more than twenty years. It was like meeting an old friend after a long, long time apart. Strange, how easy it was, like he’d never stopped, never crashed.

Cordelia was lugging something to her truck when he pulled up. She shielded her eyes and walked over to him, frowning. Her face was a little pale. “Hey, Liam. I…I kind of forgot we had plans.” Then she tipped her head and smiled, and it was like someone turned a light on inside her. “Are you on a motorcycle, Liam Declan Murphy?”

“Seems like it,” he said, grinning. “In the mood for a ride?”

“Sure,” she said. She ran into the house, then emerged again, shrugging into the leather jacket he’d let her keep.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Just dandy.” She pulled on the helmet, then slid on behind him and said nothing more, just wrapped her arms around his waist, and off they went. He drove on the back roads, the full-blown beauty of spring around them, the trees so green it seemed that they were underwater. They passed tumbled stone walls and lawns full of flowering trees, a pond so blue it almost hurt his eyes. The air was soft and sweet, the sun warm, the purr of the Triumph low and tight.

After about half an hour, Liam pulled over by an old cemetery. He turned off the bike and took off his helmet. Cordelia did the same, running a hand through her short hair, looking away.

“What do you think?” he asked, grinning at the world in general. “You love motorcycles now?”

“Yep,” she said, and her voice was a little funny. Still a little pale, too.

Oh, boy. He took a deep breath. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No! No,” she said. “Um…I’m not pregnant. No. I just got some news, that’s all.” And then her face got kind of scrunchy, and she looked away and swallowed.

“Come over here,” he said, leading her to the edge of the cemetery. Whatever it was, he felt an abrupt sense of protection—almost like the urge to beat up whoever had made her cry. Because, yes, there were tears in her eyes, and he felt it like a punch in the lung.

There was a granite bench under a tree; the leaves were so bright green they glowed. The breeze rustled overhead, and a blue jay streaked in front of them.

She wiped her eyes and pressed her lips together.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

She took a shaky breath. “My birth mother wrote to me.”

Was that good? Bad? “That’s big news,” he said.

She nodded, two more tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yeah.” She sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. “It’s just…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, same way Nicole’s did when she was teary. “It’s old news, too.” She swallowed. “I guess my birth mother sent me a letter when I was in high school, but my parents never told me. Gretchen did. Today. She read the letter back then. I’m definitely the last to know here…?.” She bit her lip again. “And I’m kind of stunned, I guess.” Her voice broke. “I never thought she wanted to meet me, and all this time, maybe she did.”

Not knowing what else to do, Liam put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, her goofy hair soft against his jaw.

Then she wriggled out of his grasp and walked off a ways, into the cemetery. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m not the weepy type most of the time.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

He followed her, figuring she’d want to talk—women usually did. She didn’t say a word, however, and Liam wasn’t quite sure what to do, other than wish for that useful manual. “So, do you think you’ll try to find her? Your birth mother?” he asked eventually.

She glanced at him. “I don’t know. I don’t know if her information is still current, or—heck, I haven’t even seen the letter. My mom might have thrown it away.” She stopped in front of a small marble headstone, its words erased by time. “I just feel so bad—she must think I blew her off, you know? If she sent that, what, fifteen years ago?”

“Do you want to meet her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She knelt down and brushed off some lichen. “Every once in a while, I run into someone who’s scrawny and has hair like mine, and I wonder, is that my relative? It’d be nice to see where I came from.”

“Sure,” he said. Of course, maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe her birth family was a mess, like his was. Maybe her mom had been a drug addict, and her father was in prison. You never knew.

“When I was a kid,” Cordelia said, “people would constantly ask my parents if I was adopted. They’d never ask about Henry, because it’s pretty obvious, but it seemed like someone was always asking about me.”

“Well, people are idiots.”

She shrugged. “I understood. I mean, I’m white, but I don’t look anything like Max and Stacia, God knows. They’re these big, strapping farmhand people, and I look like Anne Frank. It never bothered Henry—he’s not bothered by much. But it always bothered me.”

“Audrey Hepburn, I was thinking,” he said.

“What?”

“Not Anne Frank. Audrey.”

She paused, gave him a feeble grin. Still, it was something. “You get a sticker for that. Even if it’s wildly untrue.” She sighed. “It’s just…see, when Henry was about five, my mom got pregnant. But they lost the baby, and it was a girl.”

When Emma had been pregnant, she’d had a little bleeding. Turned out to be no cause for alarm, but that night in the E.R. was one of the worst in Liam’s life. Funny how precious something became when you thought you’d lose it. He could only imagine how wrecked the Osterhagens had been.

“So you felt like that’s why they adopted you?” Liam asked.

She gave a small shrug, her eyes still on the grave. “That
is
why they adopted me. And I’m glad they did…I just always felt a little bit like the consolation prize. And then there was Gretchen, constantly reminding them of the baby they lost, since she looks so much like my mom.”

“Come on. Your folks are crazy about you.”

Another ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Yep. That’s true, too. But the other thought is still there.” She moved on down the row of graves. “So now…you know, learning that my birth mother reached out…I don’t know. There are all kinds of adoptions. The birth mother can stay in touch, all sorts of visitation arrangements. But mine didn’t want that, and I totally understood. I pictured all these scenarios over the years…she was really young, or a drug addict, or maybe she was…raped. But now I find out that maybe she did want to see me…” Her voice broke again.

Cautiously, because she looked like a loaded spring, Liam went up behind her and slipped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

“Don’t be nice to me,” she whispered, though she didn’t move away. “I might cry if you are.”