Page 24

G inny managed to keep her composure until she got outside. She was halfway to the back yard when she stopped and leaned against the exterior of the house for support. The late morning sun in a near cloudless sky warmed the painted siding. Her ankle felt okay, but the world around her pulsed.

Through the slightly open kitchen window to her left came the happy murmur of Nico and his mother’s long-awaited reunion.

She couldn’t make out the words and didn’t want to.

This was his moment. She could easily imagine how much it meant to him, and she was thrilled their plan had worked.

He was getting to talk to his mother again as her son.

Her mind replayed how Nico had been unable to speak when his mother had first recognized him, how one fluid movement had brought him to her side, how he’d bent to one knee and reached for her hand, how his eyes had fastened on his mother as if she were the most valuable of lost treasures.

It had been so emotionally raw, so intimate—something she never would have expected from a man like Nico.

She was happy for him…so why did it feel like her insides were dissolving in an acid bath, never to be reconstituted again.

Why was she so upset?

When her eyes filled with tears, finally, she understood.

Nico had been gifted the chance to be with his mother again, but that could never happen for Ginny.

Not her mother and not her father. What she wouldn’t give to sit across the table from her parents, see their sweet smiles, listen to them make each other laugh, serve them tea and cookies from a vintage tray.

But no house remodel could work that miracle.

All she would ever have were gradually fading memories.

She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky.

For the next few minutes while the sun blazed the insides of her eyelids a screaming red, she let herself sink into the pain, greet it straight on, and say its name: grief.

It was good to know what it was. Grief was something she dealt with daily—she often lit the little candle under her parents’ wedding photo in her bedroom—but seeing how Nico adored his mother had awoken those feelings with an intensity that made a familiar emotion momentarily unrecognizable.

“To Mom and Dad,” she said to the tear-blurred horizon once she re-opened her eyes. It was the phrase she usually said in unison with her sisters at Sunday brunch, but she also said it when she was alone. Attached to it was the strength she drew from her siblings, the strength to keep going.

She looked down at the mulch at her feet.

The daisies and hostas she’d planted there (while keeping Annie from turning them into pressed flowers) seemed content in their new home.

That was the same day she and Nico had the cookout under the stars.

He’d gotten down onto his knees then, too, chasing escaped veggie dogs.

But that had been so different than this time.

Her mind recalled again how he’d bent to one knee before his mother in the kitchen.

Ugh! Why couldn’t she stop instant-replaying that?

She pushed herself off the siding and moved toward the back yard.

Quick steps brought her to the oak tree.

A trio of dogs dozed beneath it with upturned tummies, like seals on a sun-washed rock.

They each acknowledged her approach in the most energy-efficient way possible—the wiggle of a paw, the opening and closing of a single eye, the limp flop of a tail.

Her ankle was much better but wasn’t fond of the soft, uneven ground.

She sat down with her back against the tree.

Ginny rarely stood still and even more rarely sat still.

Her lengthy house to-do list called to her, including outside tasks, but she preferred not to tempt fate with her ankle.

A few days ago, she’d downloaded the movie “ Up ” onto her phone, just out of curiosity.

Why not watch it now? At least it would take her mind off things.

The first few minutes had her crying all over again, but once the Boy Scout showed up, Ginny found herself laughing. Why had it taken her so long to watch this movie? It was adorable. As a bonus, the old man’s place did look a lot like her house.

About an hour later, her phoned pinged with a text from Nico. Join us for lunch?

If you want me to, she replied .

As if those words had been his signal, Nico appeared at the back door. Stacked and balanced in his left arm were three bowls of dog food. The dogs heaved to their feet and wagged their tails expectantly. “Sit,” he said to them, which, surprisingly, they did.

Ginny began the careful maneuvers required to stand up without overstressing her weak ankle, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

Suddenly, Nico’s free hand was in front of her. “Can I help?”

She slipped her fingers into his, and he gave just the right amount of boost and solidity for her to stand safely.

Once upright, he held her hand longer than seemed necessary.

Probably he sensed she was a little off balance still, both physically and emotionally.

Whatever his reason, she kept her eyes fixed on their hands—well, his hand, really.

Like the rest of him, it looked as if carved from marble by a European master.

Strong veins wrapped over stretched tendons, making visible the machinery of his body.

Most concerningly, it felt like something—an energy or a mood—was transferring directly from his fingers to hers. She quickly pulled her hand away before the transfer of whatever it was had completed. “Sorry. My hands are cold from being outside.”

“No worries,” he said, smiling and pushing his own hand into his pocket. “Mine are extra warm from working over the stove.”

The dogs decided they had displayed quite enough patience, thank you very much, and began mobbing Nico for their food.

“All right, all right.” He stepped a few paces away, then bent and gave them each their lunches, patting their backs as he did so.

Ginny caught herself admiring his physicality again. It had been sweet of him to think of the dogs, but how was it possible for someone to deliver dog food sexily?

“Got a fourth bowl for me?” she asked.

He walked back to her. “I was thinking you might prefer your bowl filled with farfalle.”

The sun was directly behind his head, and she had to squint against it to look up at him. “Farfalle? What do you take me for, a fancy lady?”

He laughed, and it seemed to break whatever tension had developed between them. “It’s just Italian for those little bow tie shaped noodles. But, no, I don't generally associate you with fancy. I seem to recall your lunch the day we met involved peanut butter?”

“It didn’t just involve peanut butter. There was also a spoon.”

“I’ve never tried farfalle with peanut butter sauce, but there’s always a first for everything.”

“Somehow, I doubt your mother will agree.” She walked toward the house, and Nico joined her.

“She can be quite the character,” he said. “Sorry about that little game she played on us.”

“That was hilarious. Are you the cucumber, or am I?” The moment the words left her lips, Ginny realized their unintended inuendo.

Her face blushed as hard as it had when Nico’s mother had nearly succeeded in getting them to kiss.

He held open the back door for her, and she brushed past him as quickly possible, seeking the dimmer light in the hallway.

“It’s best not to dwell on anything she says or does when she’s in that particular mood,” Nico said. “She once got a priest to wear heels and a satin slip for an entire sermon under the pretense that he couldn’t preach about wifely duties unless he’d experienced some of them.”

Ginny headed toward the kitchen. “He might not have needed much persuading.”

Nico laughed. “The black pumps did bring out his calves.”

“How’s your mother holding up, energy-wise? This is a big outing for her.”

“It is, and I can tell she’s flagging. She said after lunch she’d need a nap.”

Ginny rounded the doorway to the kitchen, but it was empty. “Did you leave her in the kitchen?”

Instantly, Nico was at her side. “She was just here.” He dashed toward the front door, his voice registering panic. “You don’t think she went out front, do you?”

He started to go outside, but Ginny rested her hand on his shoulder. “Listen.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Ginny watched Nico’s worry-lined brow relax as he registered the sound of light snoring coming from somewhere in the house. They walked back toward the bedrooms and, sure enough, his mother was snuggled under Ginny’s quilt in her old bedroom.

Ginny and Nico stood side-by-side in the doorway like parents gazing in on their sleeping child.

“Sorry,” Nico whispered.

Ginny lowered her voice too. “I don’t mind. But should we wake her for lunch?”

He shook his head. “Let’s not. This has been a big morning for her, and she ate a lot of lemon bars.”

They ate lunch in the kitchen, keeping their voices low and making small talk about the dogs and things in the news. When Ginny had finished off the last bite of the most delicious pasta she had ever eaten, she said, “I guess your mother was pretty tired.”

“I guess so. There’s no particular time I’m supposed to have her back. Do you mind if we let her sleep a bit longer?”

“Fine with me,” Ginny said, but her insides were squirming.

What were they supposed to do together till his mother woke up?

The day before they’d been busy prepping for his mother’s visit.

Now, it was just them and a quiet house.

An idea came to her. “I was…uh…watching that movie, Up , when I was outside.

I'm only about halfway through though. Want to finish watching it with me?”

He agreed and they moved to the living room.