Until There Was You (31 page)

Stacia nodded. “The social worker who handled the adoption told us that even though we didn’t have to keep your name, the birth mother hoped we’d think about it.” She stared at the table, lost in memories. “And we were so grateful to her for giving us her baby, that we did. We didn’t really love it, to be honest. When Henry called you Posey, it just seemed to fit better, and I have to tell you, I was relieved. Cordelia. It’s not even German.”

“Was there something about my name in the letter?” Posey asked. A sudden weight pressed on her heart, as if she knew what was about to come.

Stacia took her hand. “She said her favorite play was
King Lear.
By William Shakespeare.”

“I know,” Posey said. “I read it in college.”

“Well,” Stacia said, her voice now a whisper. “She said she picked it because Cordelia’s the daughter the king sends away.”

Posey swallowed and pressed her lips together.

“But,” Stacia said, her eyes filled with tears, “she’s also the daughter he misses for the rest of his life.”

Cordelia. Not a great-aunt who was blind in one eye. Not the naive girl murdered by her evil sisters.

Cordelia, the precious, beloved daughter.

What a gift to have such a name.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Stacia said, her eyes streaming. “Please, honey. Please forgive me. I should’ve told you the other day. I should’ve told you when the letter came, and I didn’t, and I’m so sorry. Please tell me you still love me.”

Posey gave her head a little shake. How could Stacia have not told her this? How could… And yet, Stacia had fed her and bathed her and soothed her and read to her. She’d baked goodies every day; she had never missed a teacher conference or track meet. She’d walked her to school, driven to Boston to find clothes that fit, told her she was beautiful, smart, funny, gifted. She thought Posey was the best turnip that had ever been.

“Oh, Mom,” Posey said, slipping out of her chair and kneeling next to her mother. She put her head in the soft, familiar lap, felt Stacia’s hand on her hair. “Of course I love you. I loved you since before I could say your name. Nothing—and no one—could ever change that.” She smiled and looked up into her mother’s face. “Let’s not even talk about those dumplings you make.”

C
ORDELIA
. T
HE BEST NAME EVER
.

The only time she’d ever loved her name before was when Liam said it. Now, though…now everything was quite different. Cordelia Wilhelmina Osterhagen. Sounded rather regal.

Stacia had stuffed her with some cold sausage and cheese, as well as a couple of boiled potatoes, but as Posey headed for the baseball field, she felt light. She may not have gotten The Meadows, she may never weigh more than a hundred and seven pounds or really need to wear a bra. Her house might in fact be past redemption, and her hair would never behave. She seemed incapable of attracting a man who saw her as a potential wife, and her truck’s muffler needed fixing.

But her mother loved her.
Both
her mothers. And Max, and Henry, and Jon and Brianna and maybe even Gretchen and a whole host of other people.

She was blessed. It wasn’t a word she thought often, but today, nothing else would do.

Cordelia. What a great name.

“Hey, guys,” she said, as she got to the dugout.

“Hey, Posey,” Bruce answered, stretching out his arms.

“Today’s your day,” Jerry said.

“Well, you’re a minister, so you have to be optimistic,” Posey said, punching him fondly on the shoulder.

“Get ready for some heat,” the good reverend returned. “Lift thine eyes and watch as I smite mine enemies with my mighty curveball.”

“You go, Rev,” said Kate. She thumped Posey on the back, causing Posey to stagger forward. “You done sulking?” she asked in a lower voice.

“Yes,” Posey answered.

Jon gave her a hug. “How are you, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Looking forward to my niece,” she said.

“And the heartbreak?” His eyes were full of sympathy.

“I’m really okay,” she answered firmly.

Stubby’s Hardware began trickling into their dugout, and Posey felt Liam before she actually saw him. Her skin tingled, and heat rushed to her face. Yep. There he was, dark and beautiful, his face somber. He looked over at her, and their eyes locked, and even across the baseball diamond, she could feel that tug, that warm, almost uncomfortable pulling. Then he gave a nod and turned away. Kylie Duchamps, who had recently joined Stubby’s team, stumbled (probably faked it, Posey thought), and sure enough, Liam reached out and grabbed her elbow. Kylie gave her patented hair toss and whinnied with laughter.

It was okay, Posey thought. That empty spot in her heart would fill in. She’d get over Liam Murphy. She would.

“Batter up!” the umpire called.

A typical game, a beautiful spring afternoon. Posey glanced at the stands—there were her parents, and Stacia gave her an almost shy wave, though it had been fifteen minutes since they parted. They sat with Shirley Schmottlach, who waved merrily (she often brought a flask of peppermint schnapps to these games), and Brianna and James, whose heads were almost touching as they looked at something on James’s phone. Nicole Murphy was there as well, sitting next to Henry, who was reading, as usual.

“Hi, Posey!” the girl called. Nice, that Liam’s daughter came to see her dad play. She seemed like such a good kid. Then again, with her parents, how could it be any different?

Posey waved to her cheering section. She didn’t look at Liam. Not a lot, anyway. It was a little difficult to avoid, since she was the catcher. “Hey,” he said as he came up to the plate in the top of the first.

“Hi, Liam.” Her voice was pleasant. Hopefully, her face mask hid the blush that was burning its way up from her chest.

The first pitch came, Liam swung. Fly ball…Jon only had to open his glove to catch it. In the two games they’d played against Stubby’s, Posey had yet to see Liam pop up—his batting average was even higher than Bruce Schmottlach’s. But he was already trotting back to the dugout before Jon had even tossed the ball back to Jerry.

Liam lined out to first base out in the third inning, grounded out in the fifth, and popped out again in the eighth. First-pitch swings, all, and Posey knew it was his way of getting out of her vicinity as fast as possible.

Posey herself struck out in the second, the fifth and the seventh. Those batting lessons from Liam, while arousing, hadn’t done squat. Still, each time she went down swinging.

“You’ll get there, sweetheart,” Max said, lowering his large video camera.

“Any decade now,” Brianna called, getting a grin from James.

“Nice swing, Posey,” Nicole added. Yep. Great kid.

“Thanks, guys!” she said. There weren’t a lot of other parents here, that was for sure, and Posey grinned as she walked back to the dugout. Not many people with a .000 batting average had a fan club, but she did.

Still, her heart ached every time she caught a glimpse of Liam. She tried to ignore it.

By the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was 14-1, Stubby’s. Liam was the only one on his team who hadn’t scored. The reverend’s curveball wasn’t quite the mighty sword he’d envisioned, whereas José Rivera was pitching for Stubby’s and looking about as good as Mariano, his famous third cousin. Kate had belted a solo homer in the second, but that was Guten Tag’s only run of the night. But José was tiring, and Jon had singled and Bruce walked. Two outs, and Posey was up.

As she walked to the batter’s box, she saw Kylie packing up her gear. Indeed, most of Stubby’s assumed the game was about to end, chattering and shuffling and checking their phones. Only Liam still sat on the bench, arms folded over his chest. He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth pulled up just a little. Then his gaze dropped to the ground.

“Come on, Posey!” called Nicole.

“You can do it, sweetheart!” said her mother.

“Swing away, Merrill!” yelled Jon and Kate.

Posey settled into her stance. Bat up, knees bent, back foot planted, just as Liam had shown her, same as she’d been doing for the past four years. The handsome yet evil Derek Jeter had what—three thousand hits? More? Surely she could get just one. She took a practice swing, tapped her cleats, and got ready, staring at José, who gave her the full power of his third-cousin stare, then brought his glove up to his face. The wind-up. The pitch.

She swung, and something went wrong, because her arms reverberated and the bat was heavier than normal, there was a loud
thwack,
and a roar, and Stubby’s entire team turned away from her.

To watch the ball fly over the outfield fence.

Her mouth hung open, the bat dangling from her buzzing hands.

“Posey, run!” Jon shouted as he came down the third-base line.

And so she did, trotting in a daze to first base…and then second, where Emily Rudeker slapped her butt, and then to third, and her team was cheering and jumping up and down as she came home.

A home run. Her first hit, ever, was a three-run homer.

She was slapped and pounded and generally roughed up as her teammates whooped and hollered. In the stands, her fan club, as well as Nicole, were on their feet, Stacia crying, Henry grinning and accepting high fives (not that he’d been actually watching, Posey guessed), her father jumping up and down, the camera still in his hand. She grinned up at them, realized she was laughing. Amid the cheers of her teammates, she walked—floated, really—back to the dugout and sat down, dazed and utterly thrilled.

“Well, well, well,” Kate said, clobbering her on the back. “I expect to see that on
SportsCenter
tonight. That was one amazing hit, pal.”

Looking across the diamond, she saw Liam. He hadn’t changed position, but his eyes were on her, and there it was again, that locked-in feeling. Then he started clapping, quietly, and smiled. That was it, but warmth flooded Posey’s chest as if he’d just presented her with a dozen red roses.

She tipped her baseball cap and smiled back.

The next batter grounded out, and the game was over, Stubby’s 14, Guten Tag 4. Even so, the moral victory was clear, and Stubby’s agreed to buy the first round.

When Posey had been congratulated yet again, when her parents had hugged her and Max had taken several dozen pictures, when most of the people had trickled off, Posey saw Liam and Nicole walking off the field, heading in the direction of their apartment.

“I’ll see you guys at Rosebud’s,” she told her gang, then broke into a run and caught up with Liam.

“Hey, Posey, that was an amazing hit!” Nicole exclaimed, scooping her hair off her neck in a gesture Posey remembered Emma doing.

“Thanks, Nicole,” Posey said. She glanced at Liam, whose eyes were on his daughter.

“Your dad said it was, like, your first hit ever,” Nicole said.

“Sad but true. Hey, do you mind if I have a quick word with your father?”

“Sure! Dad, I’ll catch you at home.” She gave Posey a wave and walked away, all lithe grace and beauty.

Posey watched her go. Abruptly, her heart began slamming against her chest.

“That was a great hit,” Liam said, his eyes glancing off her.

“Whatever,” Posey blurted. Suddenly, looking at Liam was hard. A car passed, and down the street, a mother pushed a pink-clad baby in a stroller, a Golden Retriever walking like a guard at their side.

She took a shaky breath and looked into those green, clear eyes. “Okay, look. I understand you have a daughter, Liam, and she’ll always come first, and it shouldn’t be any other way.” She bit her lip and shoved her hands in her pockets. “When you broke up with me, I said I didn’t need much. But I do. I love you, Liam. I loved you when I was a kid, and I love you now.”

“Posey—”

“No!” she blurted. “It’s Cordelia. You always called me Cordelia.”

“Okay. Cordelia, I just don’t think—”

Posey’s hands flew up to stop his words. “I’d wait as long as you needed, as long as Nicole needed. But I know you feel something for me, and I love you, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. I want to be with you. I want you to pick me. I know Emma will always be your first love, and that’s fine. But don’t just…don’t just let me go.”

He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the sidewalk. Posey swallowed. Her hands were shaking. “You won’t be sorry, Liam. I’m worth it.”

“I know that,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I do. But I’m not…capable of… Damn it, I have no idea how to say this. But you have this version of me in your head…and it’s just not true.”

“Yes, it is!” He flinched at the force of her words. But once she’d said them, a feeling of calm settled around her. Her heart slowed, her hands stopped shaking, and she reached out and put her hand over his heart, feeling the steady thump. “Liam,” she said softly, “I bet I know you better than anybody. And I love you. There’s no one—no one—I’d rather be with.”

He looked at the ground, and she knew it was over. “I’m sorry, Posey. I really am.”

With that, he walked away, and Posey stood there until he turned the corner and disappeared.

“W
ELL
,
IT WAS THE
whole do-or-die thing,” Jonathan pronounced, taking up the blow-dryer. “You said it all, gave it your all, went all out. No regrets. Sounds like you were amazing. Hold still.”

Oddly enough, Posey had been feeling…well, not horrible. It was hardest at night in the church with the animals doing their best to let her know she was loved, Shilo’s cementlike head on her belly, the cats purring at her side. But she had tried. Said everything in her heart, and if it wasn’t enough, then it just wasn’t. She was lucky on every other front in her life, and this echo, this empty cavern in her heart…it would fill in. She knew that. She did.

Posey winced as Jon applied a medieval-tong type of instrument. “Is that burning smell anything I should be worried about?”

“You’re fine. You’ll be OMG cute, trust me. Henry, doesn’t she look cute?” Henry grunted. “Betty’s going to adore you, Posey,” Jon continued. “Ten more days till we’re fathers! Ten days, Henry!”

“Ten days!” Henry chorused back, finally looking up with a smile.

“He’s in a good mood today. Some bozo with a table saw lost a thumb yesterday, and guess who reattached it? Happy times, right, darling?”

“So happy,” Henry said. “You look pretty, sis. Jon will be the luckiest boy at the prom.”

A knock came at the door. “Come in!” Jon shouted, then lowered his voice. “That’s my other appointment. Um…it’s Nicole Murphy. They couldn’t fit her in at Curl Up and Dye, but luckily, she has the best home-ec teacher in the world. My curse. I do everything so well.” He fingered a lock of her hair and hit it with some spray. “I hope you don’t mind, Posey.”

“No, no. Of course not.” She looked up as Liam’s daughter came into the kitchen. “Hey, Nicole!”

“Oh, hi, Posey! Are you Mr. White’s date?”

“She’s in love with me and begged me to take her,” Jon said, pulling a face. “Very awkward, but what can I do? She’s family.”

“So, you’re going with Tanner?” Posey asked.

The girl’s face lit up. “Yeah. My dad finally relented.”

She was so lovely, it was as if the room glowed. For a second, Posey felt such a wave of grief for Emma—who would never see this moment, who had been so good to Posey, who had died so horribly young—that tears came to her eyes. “You’re even prettier than your mom,” she said, her voice a little husky.

“Thanks, Posey.” The girl’s face softened.

“There we are, darling, you’re done,” Jon said, and Posey got out of the chair, the unfamiliar fumes of hair spray giving her a little rush.

“So, Nicole, how’s Mister Jonathan doing your hair?” she asked.

“An upsweep?” Nicole said. Jon squinted at her, then nodded.

“Old-school Hollywood, none of this tangled-ponytail business, don’t you think, precious?” Jon began brushing her hair, asking Nicole about her dress, the flowers Tanner would bring her. Henry poured Jon some sparkling water and handed it to him, then sat on the counter, watching the beautification.

“You seem good these days, big bro,” Posey said.

“Can’t wait to be a daddy,” he said.

“Can’t wait to be an aunt.” She squeezed his arm, happy to see him exhibiting normal human emotions.

“Did you have fun at your prom, Posey?” Nicole asked.

Though the question was completely normal, Posey froze. “Oh…well. Sort of.”

“She did not,” Jonathan retorted. “Some horrible boy made fun of her, ruined the whole night. Her date dumped her, and she had to walk home in the rain. It was so
Carrie
. Minus the killings and fire and blood. But just as bad in its own way.”

“Oh, my gosh!” Nicole exclaimed. “You poor thing!”

“It wasn’t
that
bad,” Posey said, her face burning.

“If you have any problem at all tonight, Nicole, my dear, you tell me, and I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“You’re so nice, Mr. White. I really appreciate you doing my hair.”

“You’re very welcome. Tilt, please.”

Nicole tilted. “Why would a boy make fun of you? What a jerk! What did he say?”

The fact that Nicole’s father was the subject of the conversation was making Posey’s stomach knot. “Um…I don’t really remember. You know. It was a long time ago. Kids. Teenagers. Whatever.”

“He called her a bag of bones,” Jon said. “So mean! You’re petite, that’s all, sweetheart. Nicole, wait till you see Posey’s dress. So cute! I picked it out, of course.”

“I can’t wait,” Nicole said, smiling sweetly.

“So, who was that jerk, anyway, Posey?” Jon asked. “Henry, you beat him up, right? Does he still live in town?”

Henry was looking steadily at Posey, and a horrid realization sliced through her. Henry
knew
. He’d memorized all the bones in the human body by the age of four. His IQ was 164, and he had a near-perfect memory. There was no way that he didn’t realize that the jerk in question was the father of the girl sitting in his kitchen…and the guy Posey was in love with. He’d probably known all along.

“I don’t remember,” he said, putting his arm around her. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t beat anyone up, though.”

“Well, I would have,” Jon muttered.

“Oh, man, look at the time,” Posey said. “I better get going. Nicole, see you later. You already look gorgeous.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Jon said. “Bye! Nicole, dear, tilt your head the other way, now. Hold still, we’re not done yet.”

S
HE WAS BEAUTIFUL
. Liam’s daughter was perfectly beautiful, and it was killing him.

“What do you think, Daddy?” She twirled around, her long blue dress swishing around her.

“You look twenty-five.”

“Seriously? Thanks!”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

She grinned in the mirror anyway, then applied some lip gloss. The ache in Liam’s heart tightened. Emma should’ve seen this. She would’ve loved this moment. She would’ve known what to say; she would’ve been excited for Nicole, not filled with dread. She would’ve laughed at Liam’s anxieties and made him feel better, because even if they hadn’t been the best couple on their own, they’d always been good parents to this beautiful, magical creature in front of him.

“Hang on a sec,” he said and went into his bedroom. In the back of the closet was a safe. Liam twisted the combination and opened the heavy door. The safe contained the usual items—the deed to this apartment, his garage, the life-insurance policy, a couple grand in cash—no son of a criminal ever really felt safe without cash.

And there in the back was a black velvet box. Liam opened it and took out the strand of Emma’s pearls.

For a moment, the memory of her was so intense that he could smell her perfume, feel the soft skin of her neck, see the pearls glowing against her throat. He could almost hear her laugh.

The pearls were cool in his hand. For a second, he pressed them against his lips and let himself remember just how much he’d loved his wife. Once, the strongest truth in his life was that Emma Tate had chosen him. Those days…those had been burnished with gold, and even if the light slowly faded over the years, those days had happened nonetheless.

Liam cleared his throat and went back into his daughter’s bedroom. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Your mom wore these on our prom night.”

Nicole’s mouth opened. “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears.

“She’d be so proud of you,” he said unevenly, fastening the pearls around her neck. “She thought you were the best thing that ever happened.”

His daughter wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.

“Nic,” Liam whispered into her hair, “I’m sorry for being such a jerk this past year. I just love you so much. When I look at you, I think of the little girl I held in the hospital. You were so pink and perfect, I couldn’t believe I got to keep you. And you loved me so much…I don’t want to lose that. I know you’re growing up, and I’m so proud of you and the person you’re becoming…but I’m so…scared that you won’t need me anymore.”

“Daddy! That would never happen!” She pulled back to look at him. “Oh, wow, you’re going totally sentimental on me.”

“I just want to protect you. I never want you to get hurt or be heartbroken.” He swallowed. “I don’t want you to make mistakes and fall for the wrong guy. I’d jump in front of a bus to keep that from happening. All I want for you is to be safe and happy.”

“Are you crying, Dad? Are those, like, tears in your eyes?”

He gave her a mock scowl. “Give me a break, Nicole. My baby’s growing up. It’s hard.”

She hugged him once more, the smell of her hair so precious it made his heart ache. She pulled back a little, then wiped her eyes with a tissue, careful not to smear her mascara. “Dad,” she said firmly. “I
am
safe and happy. And like, chances are my heart
will
get broken someday, and I’ll screw up plenty, right? But if that happens…” She turned to face him. “I know where to come.”

He looked at the floor and nodded. Why were little girls allowed to grow up? And get smart?

“Daddy? You’re doing a good job, you know. You’re a really good father.”

This would be one of those golden moments. He’d keep this moment with him till the last day of his life. “Thanks.” It was the only word he could get out.

She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, then turned back to worship her reflection. “You’re such a softy. Mom always said I should marry a guy like you.”

His head snapped up. “What was that?” he asked.

Nicole slipped an earring into place. “She said to make sure I picked someone who’d take care of me the way you took care of her.” She smiled at him in the mirror, oblivious to the fact that her words had just about knocked him down.

Emma had told their daughter to marry a guy like
him?
“When—when did she say that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes when you were going out on a date, and I’d watch her put on makeup, and I’d say how I couldn’t wait to get married, and she’d say, ‘Make sure you pick someone like Daddy.’” Nicole smiled at him and put in her other earring.

Liam, suddenly aware that his mouth was open, closed it. “Oh, so guess what? I saw Posey, right? At Mr. White’s house. He was doing her hair, too, because she’s, like, a chaperone. And listen to this. When she went to her prom, some creep told her she looked like a bag of bones, and she got totally dumped and had to walk home! In the rain. How’s that for nice, huh? I’d totally slap that guy. I’d give him a knee to the crotch, that’s what I’d do.”

Bag of bones? That phrase sounded…familiar. Those words…they meant something to him.

His daughter was looking at him in the mirror, waiting for a response. “Knee to the crotch. That’s my girl.”

“Do you like her, Dad? I got a vibe between the two of you the other night. After the game?”

Liam inhaled sharply. “Uh…yes. I do.”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Well…no.” He swallowed. Now or never. “Nicole, I thought you wanted it to be just the two of us. Remember?”

She frowned. “Oh, that! When you asked if I wanted to live with Grandma and Grandpa? Dad, come on. I was totally PMSing that day. You can have a girlfriend. As long as she’s cool and doesn’t go all Cruella De Vil on me. And don’t even think about popping out triplets before I leave for college, okay, because I am so not the diaper-changing type.”

Once again, Liam found his mouth was hanging open. “Oh.”

She patted his hand. “Get a life, Dad. Do more than sit around and worry about me, okay? Posey’s nice. Anyway, don’t you love my hair? I wish I could do this myself. Mr. White is so awesome. I wish he could be my teacher for every subject. They’re adopting a baby. Isn’t that cool?”

The doorbell rang.

“Oh, my gosh! That’s Tanner! Daddy! Go get the door! Go, go! Tell him I’m not ready.” With that, she shoved him out of the room.

Mom always said I should marry a guy like you.

But those weren’t the only words ringing in his brain.

Bag of bones.

Memory was dawning, the thick fog lifting over what was not a proud moment.

Nothing but a bag of bones.

But first things first. He had fatherly things to do. He opened the door, and there was Tanner Talcott, wearing a tuxedo, corsage box in hand.

Liam had been working at the garage before coming home this evening. He was dressed like the thug he’d once been—black motorcycle jacket, black leather boots, faded jeans, Orange County Motors T-shirt. Hadn’t shaved today, or yesterday, now that he thought about it. He was a good three inches taller than young Tanner, and probably forty pounds heavier. He stepped a little closer to his daughter’s date. Tanner took a half step back. Good.

“Ground rules, Tanner,” he growled. Tanner paled. More good. “No alcohol. No smoking. No drugs. No looking at other girls. You can dance with my daughter. Your hands will avoid the danger zones, which are here, here and here.” Liam gestured to his chest, groin and ass. “You can kiss her. Once. At 10:59 p.m. tonight, when you’ll be standing here once again. I will be on the other side of this door, waiting for her. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Tanner whispered.

“I was your age once, too,” Liam said.

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

“I know what you think about.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can think it. You can’t do it.”

“Okay.”

“I have many sharp tools in my garage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re clear, then?”

“Very, sir.”

“Good!” Liam smiled, then grabbed the boy by the shoulder and dragged him in. “Nicole! Your date’s here.”

F
ORTY-FIVE MINUTES
later, when the pictures had been taken and Nicole had kissed her dad and Tanner had shaken his hand and Liam had managed to let his child go, he got on his bike and headed across the bridge into Maine. When he pulled up in front of the Tate residence, he gunned his motor before shutting it off. Let them know he was loaded for bear, in other words.