Season of Secrets. Marta PerryЧитать онлайн книгу.
Weak winter sunshine through the stained-glass window on the landing cast oblongs of rose and green on the beige stair carpet. The graceful, winding staircase seemed to float upward.
The space was different, but the same. Even without Annabel’s familiar furnishings, it echoed with her presence, as if at any moment she would sail through the double doors from the front parlor, silvery blond hair floating around her face, arms outstretched in welcome.
A shudder went through Dinah, and she took an involuntary step back.
“I know.”
She turned. Marc stood in the doorway to the room that had once been his study. He’d exchanged the jacket and tie he’d worn the previous day for jeans and a casual ivory sweater. His eyes met hers gravely.
“I know,” he said again. “I feel it, too. It’s as if she’s going to come through the door at any moment.”
“Yes.” She took a shaky breath, oddly reassured that his memories were doing the same thing to him. “I thought it would seem different to me, but it doesn’t.”
He moved toward her. “I thought I’d already done all my grieving.” His voice roughened. “Then I found the grief was waiting here for me.”
She nodded slowly. For the moment, the barriers between them didn’t exist. Her throat was tight, but she forced the words out.
“I haven’t been in here in ten years. I couldn’t.” Her voice shook a little. “Or maybe I was just a coward.”
Marc grasped her shoulder in a brief, comforting touch and then took his hand away quickly, as if she might object.
“You’re not a coward, Dinah. It’s a natural reaction.”
Ironic, that she’d just done what she’d told Aunt Kate not to do. Still, the confession of her weakness seemed to have eased the tension between them.
“What about Court? Is he having trouble with being here?”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t seem affected at all. It’s unnerving, somehow.”
It would be. She had a foolish urge to comfort Marc. “He was only three, after all. He slept through everything. He doesn’t have the memories we do.”
“No.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “I’m grateful for that.”
“Maybe that makes it right that you kept him away from us.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that traced the words.
His jaw tightened. “I thought it was best for him.”
“Obviously.” Unexpected anger welled up in her. Both Marc and Aunt Kate had done what they thought was best, regardless of the consequences. “Are you sorry for the pain that caused us? Or do you just not care?”
Marc looked as startled as if a piece of furniture had suddenly railed at him. His dark eyes narrowed, and she braced for an attack.
Footsteps clattered down the stairs. They both jerked around toward the stairwell.
“Hey, Dad, can I go—”
The boy stopped at the sight of her, assessing her with a frank, open gaze. She did the same. Tall for thirteen—he had his father’s height, but he hadn’t broadened into it yet. He had Marc’s dark eyes and hair, too, and for a moment she thought there was nothing of Annabel about him.
Then he trotted down the rest of the steps and came toward her, holding out his hand. “I know who you are.” He smiled, and it was Annabel’s smile, reaching out to clutch her heart.
“I know who you are, too.” Her voice had gotten husky, but she couldn’t help that. “Welcome home, Court.”
Marc still couldn’t get over how quickly Dinah had bonded with his son. He finished dusting the desk he and Court had carried from the attic to his study and put his laptop on it. That’s where Dinah and Court were now, happily rummaging through the attic’s contents to see what should be brought down for their use over the next few weeks.
At some point, he’d have to take a turn going through the attic. The thought of what that would entail made him cringe. He hadn’t sorted a thing before he left Charleston. Now the reminders of his life with Annabel waited for him.
And, as Dinah had pointed out, he should make the house look furnished if he intended it to show well to prospective buyers. That hadn’t occurred to him, and he could see already that Dinah would be invaluable to him. And to Court, apparently.
Court surely couldn’t remember her. He’d only been three that summer. Still, Dinah had spent a lot of time with him. Maybe, at some level, Court sensed that they already had a relationship.
He opened his briefcase and stacked files next to the computer. The vacation time he’d taken to come here had been well earned, but it was impossible to walk away completely from ongoing cases. He’d have to spend part of each day in touch with the office if he expected to make this work.
His mind kept drifting back to that summer, unrolling images he hadn’t looked at in years. Annabel hadn’t felt well much of the time, and she’d been only too happy to turn Court over to Dinah. Face it, Annabel had been annoyed at being pregnant again, and each symptom had been a fresh excuse to snap at him about it.
He should have been more sympathetic, and he knew that painfully well now. He’d been absorbed in prosecuting a big case and relieved to escape the tension in the house by the need to work late most evenings.
What he hadn’t expected was how devoted Dinah became to Court, and how well she’d cared for him. Maybe she’d loved him so much because she’d always been alone, the only child being raised by an elderly aunt, shipped off to boarding school much of the time.
That was one thing he’d been determined not to do with Court. The boy had lost his mother, but his father had been a consistent presence in his life. He’d thought that was enough for Court, until the past few months.
“Are you stacking those files, or shredding them?” Dinah’s voice startled him.
He glanced down at the files he’d unconsciously twisted in his hands. He put them down, smoothing the manila covers.
“I was thinking about something other than what I was doing. Where’s Court?” He turned away from the desk, the sight of Dinah bringing an involuntary smile to his lips. “You have cobwebs in your hair.”
She brushed at the mass of dark curls. “He found the boxes of Christmas ornaments, and he’s busy going through them. Your attic needs some attention.”
“That’s just what I was thinking.” He crossed to her, reaching out to pull the last wisp of cobweb from her hair. Her curls flowed through his fingers, silky and clinging. “I can’t close on a sale until I clear the attic.”
“I guess it has to be done.” The shadow in her eyes said she knew how difficult that would be.
“Maybe you could help sort things out.” There was probably every reason for her to say no to that. “There might be some things of Annabel’s that you would like to keep as a remembrance. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that sooner.” He’d been too preoccupied with his own grief to pay sufficient heed to anyone else’s.
She made a gesture that he interpreted as pushing that idea away with both hands. “I don’t need anything to help me remember Annabel.”
Once he’d been amused at how Dinah idolized his wife. Now he found himself wondering how healthy that had been.
“You might help me choose some things to keep for Court, then,” he said smoothly. Court was probably a safe way to approach her. She’d been crazy about him when he was small, and he’d certainly returned the favor. “I remember him running down the hall full tilt, shouting ‘Dinah, Dinah, Dinah.’”
A smile that was probably involuntary curved her lips.