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There were soy dogs and burgers, the potato salad of Roarke’s fantasy, cold pasta, big chunks of fruit swimming in some sweetened juice, fat slices of tomatoes, the slaw, and deviled eggs. Bowls, platters, trays of those and more were shuffled around. The beer was cold and the margaritas kept coming.
She found herself in a conversation with one of Mira’s sons about baseball, and to her frozen shock had a small, blond child climb up her leg and into her lap.
“Want some,” he burbled at her and grinned with his ketchup-smeared mouth.
“What?” She looked around in mild panic. “What does he want some of?”
“Whatever you’ve got.” Mira patted the boy’s head as she passed by to take the baby from her daughter-in-law and cuddle it.
“Okay, here.” Eve offered her plate with the hope the boy would take it and go back about his business. But he just dipped his fat little fingers into her fruit salad and came out with a slice of peach.
“Like it.” He took a bite, then generously offered her the rest.
“No, you go ahead.”
“Off you go, Bryce.” Gillian hefted him off Eve’s lap and instantly became her new best friend. “See what Granddad’s got for you.”
Then she plopped down beside Eve, arched her eyebrows at her brother. “Go away,” she told him. “Girl talk.”
He ambled away, good-naturedly. Amiability, Eve thought, appeared to be a common trait for the men in this family. “You’re feeling overwhelmed and just a little out of place,” Gillian began.
Eve picked up what was left of her burger, bit in. “Is that an observation or the result of a psychic scan?”
“A little of both. And a little of being the daughter of two observant and sensitive people. Large family gatherings can be odd for those who don’t have one of their own. Your Roarke adjusts more seamlessly.” She glanced around to where he sat with Dennis and Bryce. “He’s more a social animal than you, and part of it’s from the work he does, part’s just his nature.”
Gillian took a forkful of pasta salad. “There are a couple of things I feel compelled to say to you. I hope you won’t be offended. I don’t mind offending people, but I prefer to do it deliberately, and this wouldn’t be deliberate.”
“I don’t bruise easy.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” She switched her food for her margarita. “Well, first, I have to say that your husband is, without question, the most magnificent piece of work I’ve ever seen in real life.”
“I’m not offended by that, as long as you remember the mine part.”
“I don’t poach, and if I did—and there was anything left of me after you’d got done, he wouldn’t even notice. Added to that, I’m very much in love with my husband. We’ve been together a decade now. We were young, and it concerned my parents. But it was right for us.” She nibbled on a slice of carrot. “We have a good and satisfying life, three beautiful children. I’d like to have another.”
“Another what?”
Gillian laughed, turned back. “Another child. I’m hoping to be blessed with one more. But I’ve wandered from my purpose, and I doubt this group will give me much more time alone with you. I’ve been jealous of you.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed, flicked back in the direction where Roarke sat, then back when Gillian let out a low, almost purring laugh. “No, not because of him, though one could hardly be blamed there. Jealous of you and my mother.”
“You lost me.”
“She loves you,” Gillian said, and watched something like embarrassment pass over Eve’s face. “She respects you, worries about you, admires you, thinks of you. All the things she does for and about me. And this relationship, well, annoyed me on some primal level.”
“It’s not at all the same,” Eve started to say, and Gillian shook her head.
“It’s very much the same. I’m the daughter of her body, her heart and spirit. You’re not of her body, but you are, without question, of her heart and her spirit. I was of two minds when she told me you were invited today.”
She licked salt from the rim of her glass as she studied Eve. “The first was purely selfish—why is she coming? You’re my mother. The other was rampant curiosity. At last, I’ll get a good look at her.”
“I’m not in competition with you for Mira’s . . .”
“Affections?” Gillian finished with a little smile. “No, you’re not. And it was my flaw, my self-absorption that caused those unattractive and destructive feelings in me. She’s the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. Wise, compassionate, strong, smart, giving. I didn’t always appreciate it, you don’t when it’s yours. But as I’ve gotten older, had children of my own, I’ve come to treasure everything about her.”
Her gaze swept the patio, then stopped, held on her own daughter. “I hope, one day, Lana will feel that way about me. In any case, I felt you were stealing little bits of my mother from me. I was prepared to dislike you on sight—an attitude that is in direct opposition to what I believe, to what I am, but there you are.” She lifted her glass in a little toast, sipped. “I just couldn’t pull it off.”
Gillian picked up the pitcher of margaritas, poured more in each of their glasses. “You came here today for her. Probably with a little persuasion from your gorgeous husband, but primarily you’re here for her. She matters to you, on a personal level. And I noticed the way you look at my father, with a kind of charmed affection. It tells me you’re a good judge of character, and I know from my mother—who’s one as well—that you’re a good cop, a good woman. It makes it easier for me to share her with you.”
