For all her many, many strengths, nuance often escaped her.
He gathered his words carefully, examining each one for secondary meanings and unintended connotations and anything that could be misinterpreted.
“Candy, I’m so sorry. For your sister. For you. I think I understand what you’re telling me, and I wish to heaven you weren’t hurting like you are.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers again, this time deliberately. “But sweetheart, I’m not certain I agree with you.”
With a jerk, she pulled her face away from his and scowled at him blearily, her pale face blotchy and damp. “My life and my grief arenota matter for disagreement, Griff. I’m allowed to have my own feelings, regardless of your opinion.”
“Of course you are.”
The lure in sight, she waited a few seconds. Then she bit, as he’d anticipated. “But?”
How to say it without making it sound like judgment?
“You’re drawn to dichotomies,” he finally told her. “All or nothing. Right or wrong. Oxford comma enthusiasts or monsters.”
She choked on a breath, coughing a little. “Don’t make me laugh, Conover.”
“Now you’ve sorted yourself, your communication style, into what you consider the just category. All wrong, nothing right.” With his thumbs, he stroked the giving flesh of her upper arms, warm even through her blouse and cardigan. “But Candy, we both know nothing’s that clean or obvious. Even you know it. It’s why you acknowledge the stupidity of the split infinitive rule but teach it anyway. It’s why you have your students read ‘Ozymandias,’ even though Shelley was a total dick. It’s why you agree that Frankenstein may be one of two monsters in that story. Possibly more, if some of the other characters don’t use the Oxford comma.”
At that, her lips actually twitched upward at the corners. “Dammit, Griff. I told you not to do that.”
He allowed himself to brush his lips against her temple, his victor’s spoils.
“When it comes to your sister, I suspect you’re being much too hard on yourself. But even if you could have done better, Candy, you tried. You did. As best you could, knowing what you knew then.” His brows drew together, and he met her gaze directly. “Is there any conceivable way your sister didn’t know you loved her? That she didn’t carry that knowledge in the marrow of her bones?”
If Candy cared about anyone, anything, she informed the world at top volume. In her own way. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t or shouldn’t use the direct words, but there was no mistaking her fierce brand of affection and protection.
Her loved ones would carry that devotion in each beat of their hearts, every breath they took. A benediction from a woman who somehow thought she offered too little, too faintly.
Candy’s eyes flicked away from his, and he knew that gesture of avoidance, that mulish set of her chin, by now.
She knew he was right. She didn’t want to admit it.
“I suppose…” With a sigh, she gave in. “I don’t see any way she could have missed it.”
He hated to remind her, but Candy sometimes needed important points spelled out to her. “That last conversation, did your sister say she loved you?”
Her eyes filled again. “No.”
That obviously hurt too, and he ached for it. “But she did love you.”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered without hesitation. “Always.”
And there it was. “Just like you knew, she knew. Shehadto know. That a threat to kick her ass meantI love you. That arranging a cleaning service meantI love you. That your phone call every week meantI love you. That your so-called harping meantI love you.”
That particular subtext wouldn’t be hard to decipher, especially not for a beloved sister.
“I want to believe that.” Her lips quivered, puffy from crying. “I do.”
“Get up off your knees, Candy.” Just as she and her sister had shared a common language, she and Griff did too. Poetry. “Wild Geese,” one of her favorites. “You don’t have to be good. Besides, you alreadyaregood. You may not be perfect, but you’re battling on the side of the angels more often than not.”
She sputtered out a laugh. “No rational person would ever call me an angel.”
Oh, he liked being able to contradict her.
“Yelena does. She smiles every time she says it.” When Rose had told him that, he’d smiled too. “When her world was falling apart, you kept a few pieces of it safe for her, even though you two aren’t close.”
Leaning back, she pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare. “How do you evenknowall this? I’ve never seen you say more than hello to Yelena.”
