Now You See Her Page 0,47

know how you do it.”

Marcy shrugged, wondering when her power to comfort her own children had deserted her. Not that her son had ever required much comforting. A spectacularly easy baby who’d matured into an independent, easygoing young adult, Darren was his sister’s opposite in almost every respect. Marcy had always wondered if Darren’s temperament was innate or if he’d somehow sensed his mother could handle only so much. She searched her memory for the last time her son had come to her with a problem. Had he ever? And had she been too preoccupied with Devon to notice?

“You should come over to our house,” Shannon was saying, “give Mrs. O’Connor a lesson.”

“From what little you’ve told me about Mrs. O’Connor,” Marcy said as thoughts of Darren retreated to the far corner of her brain, “I don’t think that would go over very well.” She watched a young man in the corner of the patio throw his head back and laugh out loud. How nice to be able to laugh with such unrestrained abandon, she thought, suddenly picturing the young man she’d seen laughing earlier with Shannon. There must be a way to inject him into the conversation, a way to bring him up without arousing undue suspicion.

Shannon demurred, looking uneasily from side to side, as if checking for spies in their midst. “She’s not so bad really. She tries really hard with Caitlin.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“I think she just thought it would be easier.”

Marcy nodded. We all do, she thought, watching Liam approach with their teas.

“I see somebody has the gift,” he remarked, putting their ceramic teapot in the middle of the table, followed by a pair of sturdy, all-white cups and saucers.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Shannon asked.

“And beautiful to boot,” Liam said with a smile. “Can I get you anything else? Some biscuits perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Shannon said.

“I’d love something sweet,” Marcy said at the same time.

Liam winked. “Sweets for the sweet.”

Shannon leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think he likes you,” she said as he left the table.

Marcy felt her cheeks grow pink.

“You’re blushing,” Shannon exclaimed with a laugh.

Marcy corrected her. “It’s a hot flash.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when … nothing.” She didn’t have the patience to explain the joys of menopause to the curious young woman. “You’re right. I’m blushing.”

“Glad to see I’m not the only one. I blush all the time. I hate it.”

“It’s very charming on you.”

Shannon’s face turned almost fuchsia. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely. And I’m sure that the young man you were talking to earlier would agree with me.” What the hell—it was as good an opening as she was likely to get.

A look of confusion caused Shannon’s blush to spread toward her ears. She cocked her head to one side like a curious cocker spaniel.

Was it possible she’d imagined the whole episode? Marcy wondered. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen things that weren’t there. At least according to Peter and Judith.

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course,” Shannon said. “You mean Jackson.”

“Jackson?”

Shannon lifted the teapot from the table. “Shall I pour us a cup?”

“Thank you.”

“Smells delicious. I love a good cup of tea, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. Interesting name … Jackson,” Marcy remarked.

“Calls himself Jax. With an X.” Shannon giggled. “He says it’s the way they do things in America.”

Marcy felt her pulse quicken. “He’s American?”

“No. Just watches a lot of American telly.” She took a sip of her tea. “Mmmn. This is delicious. Have some.”

Marcy immediately lifted her cup to her lips, feeling the hot and soothing tea as it filled her mouth and trickled down her throat. “Do you get a lot of American television shows over here?”

“Some. Mrs. O’Connor isn’t a fan. She says American television is too violent and a return to violence is the last thing Ireland needs.”

“Mrs. O’Connor is a woman of strong opinions.”

“Yes, she is that. Nice, though,” Shannon added quickly, stealing another glance around.

“So is this Jackson someone special?” Marcy asked after a pause. A smile accompanied the slight shrug of her shoulders, as if to suggest the question was innocent and of little consequence.

Shannon almost choked on her tea. “Oh, no. No. I barely know him.”

“More like a friend of a friend, is he?” Marcy pressed, straining to keep her voice light.

Shannon looked a little confused, her green eyes narrowing, almost disappearing, and then suddenly widening again. “Oh, look. Here come your biscuits.”

“Brought you a few extra,” Liam said, laying the plate of sugar-dusted cookies on the table, the back of his hand brushing up against