so long, I had kept this to myself. For so long, we had. Now, finally, came relief.
* * *
I had no idea how long we stayed there. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that my mother waited, that Liam would be growing impatient, and that I had to think up some way to get Grace to a meeting with Ben. But when the tears finally slowed, I had neither the strength nor the desire to leave Edward’s arms. I was totally spent.
So we sat on the floor, me nested in the bend of his legs, saying nothing, just … being. I cleared my mind of negative thought, just settled into the here and now. Lily was before us, but it wasn’t as painful as it had once been.
In time, my mind wandered. One of my first, cohesive, non-Lily thoughts, was of clay. I felt a strong compulsion to feel, touch, shape. I needed to escape into it. I needed to create.
But that had to wait. When we finally separated, it was to neaten up the Lily-things in Nana’s box, close the lid, and slide the box back under the bed. We didn’t speak, but there was no anger in the silence between us. Rather, I felt an unexpected calm where Lily was concerned. And where Edward was concerned? Shared tears had cemented a bond.
Over the last days, I had sensed that things would never go back to how they were before he had come. For the first time, now, I realized that I didn’t want them to. I did love him. I did want him in my life.
I also did fear that when the next crisis arose, whether having to do with my mother, with Grace, or with something completely different, we might botch it again.
That raised the stakes.
23
As Edward and I talked it through, I realized that getting Grace to the meeting with Ben Zwick might be the easy part. Her last appointment on Sunday was a fifty-minute massage that ended shortly before four. In advance, Edward would leave a handwritten note at the Spa asking her to drop by his office when it was done. “Drop by” was casual, and something handwritten was less of a threat. Even then, our plan assumed that I would be talking with her beforehand, because Grace would likely assume he was planning to fire her. I could assure her he was not. I could even tell her that he had invited me to his office at four, too, which wasn’t the whole truth, but would work.
So no, I wasn’t worried about getting her there. Keeping her there once she saw Ben Zwick might be something else. She could be impulsive. And headstrong? Totally. I would have worried more—might have agonized that she would see my part in this as a betrayal—might have done something rash, like beg her to tell me about her past then and there, or make my case beforehand that she should hear Zwick out, or even enlist Jay to help—if I hadn’t been preoccupied with Margaret.
Back at the Inn Friday night, I didn’t sleep well, and not because of texting with Edward, though that went on for a while. After cementing a plan for Grace, we talked about ourselves—where each of us was physically and what we were doing, where each of us wanted to be and to do. Our tears had been cleansing. I felt closer to him than ever. I wanted him in my bed right now, and yes, I wanted sex.
But my mother was in the very next room—my mother, with whom my reconciliation was fragile and new. Lying awake in the dark, where things were always ten times worse, every possible glitch crossed my mind. For starters, I realized that Grace wasn’t the only one who would be working this weekend; I had to work, too, and while Ronan Dineen might be willing to sub again, he wouldn’t do it both days. And what about next week? I couldn’t leave Margaret alone for hours on end. I could be with her between appointments, but how would she feel about my running in and out? Or about waking up in a strange place and realizing that she didn’t know anything about it, or even about me? And how would she feel physically? There was the chance that when she woke up in the morning, her hip might be worse because of the drive, that we would have to rush to see the