“I don’t know, I’m not…” She let her voice trail off. She wasn’t used to being steamrolled and didn’t know how to respond.
At some point, Eric had quietly gotten up from the arm of the couch and was now bending over the baby carrier on the floor beside the recliner. Devon watched him hunker down, balanced on the balls of his feet, the fabric of his jeans stretching taut over the flexed muscles of his thighs.
He seems so much younger like this, she thought. With that gaunt face and those aged eyes of his turned away from her, nut-brown hair curling long on the back of his neck, broad shoulders angular and rawboned even beneath the drape of his sweatshirt.
Something twisted inside her chest, and she uttered a faint, unconscious sound of protest.
“Hey, you know what? It’s Winter Solstice,” she heard Mike announce.
Lucy gave a gasp. “That’s right, December twenty-first!” She turned to her husband, eyes alight, and she was smiling again as if that moment of emotional intensity with Eric and Devon had never happened. “Oh, that calls for a celebration.”
“Break out the champagne,” Mike said, grinning back at her.
“Sorry,” said Lucy, “no champagne. Guess cocoa will have to do.” She found their mugs, poured a dollop of cocoa into each from the carafe and handed one to her husband. Grinning at each other, with the air of observing an old ritual, they clinked the mugs together, and then Lucy turned to Devon and Eric with a sweeping gesture that included them both. “Come on, you two-join us in a toast to the shortest day of the year!”
Devon threw Eric a mystified look. His eyes met hers above the pinkish gold head bobbing on his shoulder, but without their warm, brandy glow they seemed remote and faintly mocking. Awkwardly, she lifted her mug toward her hosts, and as they did, drank down her last swallow of lukewarm cocoa.
“Well-chore time,” said Lucy briskly when that was done. She was already halfway to the door. “Coming, Mike?”
“Right behind you.” He paused in the doorway to lift his mug in a farewell wave. “Carry on, kids,” he said with a wink, and then they were gone. Devon could already hear the clank of buckets coming from the utility room down the hall.
In the now-silent parlor, Eric watched Devon turn to him with a look of bemusement, and braced himself for her soft, disparaging laugh. Funny, he thought, a moment ago he’d been embarrassed by his parents’ behavior; why now did he find himself preparing to defend it?
“What was that all about?” she asked in a hushed undertone.
“What was what about?” Without thinking, he had pressed his lips to the top of the little one’s-no, Emily’s-velvety-soft head and was breathing in the sweet, baby smell of her. He felt himself already growing calmer, quieter inside.
“I don’t think I’ve ever toasted the shortest day of the year before,” Devon said, regarding the mug in her hands with an expression on her face that barely avoided mockery. “I don’t know, I guess it never seemed like cause for celebration to me. Is there some significance there that I’ve missed?”
“The cause for celebration,” Eric gently explained, joggling the baby in his arms and slowly pacing, “is that, from now on, the days get longer. If you’re a farmer, in a place where you actually have winter, that means something, yeah.”
“Oh,” said Devon. She set the mug on the coffee table, not looking at him. He heard her take a breath, and it seemed to him her shoulders had a slump to them now, as if she felt defeated, a condition he imagined she wasn’t much accustomed to. “Living in L.A., I guess I never really noticed.”
Living in L.A., I guess you wouldn’t, he thought. Whisperings of sympathy stirred through him, but he couldn’t think what to say to her to let her know how he felt-or even whether he should. Better, maybe, that they should stay enemies.
Holding his breath, he flipped the second lightswitch on the plate beside the door, then murmured, “Hallelujah…” as the tree erupted in tiny multicolored lights.
After gazing at them for a moment, he said without turning, “You don’t have a clue what we’re all about, here, do you?”
“No,” said Devon humbly, “but I’m trying.”
He gave a surprised laugh. He didn’t know what sort of response he’d expected from her, but he knew for sure it wasn’t humility. He paced back toward her, gently joggling the baby, inhaling again her uniquely soothing smells. “Any chance of you taking my mother up on her invitation?
She gave a light, ironic laugh. “It sounded as though she doesn’t mean to give me a choice.”
He acknowledged that with a smile. “She doesn’t look it, but Mom can be a real steamroller.” He paused to settle himself on the arm of the couch within arm’s reach of her, and instantly felt the tension in her mount, as if he’d crossed some invisible line. “She does have a point, though,” he said after a moment, looking at her along one shoulder. “Nothing’s going to be done about anything until after the holidays.”
She shifted her gaze to the tree. “That’s not the only consideration. There are my parents. They are expecting me, you know.”
“So, go-be with them.”
“Without you and Emily?” Her eyes lashed back at him with stinging green fire. “Not a chance, Lanagan.”
He shrugged. After a moment she made an exasperated sound and abruptly rose and walked away from him, rubbing at her arms. “Is it true? Has it really been ten years since you last saw your mother?” She paused for a sharp, mirthless laugh. “It seems to me you and my sister had something in common.”
Anger surged through him, and he forced himself to answer calmly. “Ten years since I was here for Christmas. I’ve seen my parents a few times in the meantime-other occasions, other events. Family crises… Not the least of which,” he added wryly, “was having my uncle elected president of the United States.” He paused. “But yeah…for Christmas, it’s been a while.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not my fault.” She’d halted in front of the tree and was staring at it, and the lights splashed her face with a wash of luminous color, like stained glass. The photographer in Eric caught his breath in awe; his fingers itched to be holding a camera. “Look-your issues with your parents have nothing to do with me or Emily. It’s not fair of you-or your mother-to use that to coerce me.”
“Nobody’s coercing you.” He managed to keep his voice quiet, but his body refused to obey the same command. He left his perch on the arm of the couch and paced a few restless steps, while his fingers gently rubbed the baby’s back in calming circles. Calming himself, not her. “Hey, can you blame her for wanting to have me-and her first and only grandchild-with her for Christmas?”
She whirled on him, primed with the contradiction, “Emily’s not-” then froze when she saw how close to her he was.
“Mom doesn’t know that,” Eric shot back before she could continue. “And even if she did, do you think it would make any difference? If I say the kid’s mine, that’s all that matters.”
Her mouth opened, and he knew she meant to lash back at him. For some reason, though, the harsh words didn’t come. Instead, she glared at him, breathing hard, and he glared back while his heart banged around in his chest like one of those crazy balls that keep gaining energy with every bounce.
It occurred to him that Emily had begun to squirm and fuss, picking up on the tension around her, he thought, and by the looks of things, was about to launch into a full-blown temper fit. And because he childishly wanted to blame someone else for that, he threw Devon a look of dark accusation as he went to collect a disposable diaper, the plastic jar of baby wipes and a fresh bottle of formula and retreated to the couch. Accusation, spoken and unspoken, hung in the room like fog.
By that time the baby was in full voice, which could be spectacular when a person wasn’t used to it; he was surprised Devon hadn’t gone running for cover at the first squall. Instead, she stood with her back to the tree and watched him with a tense, stoic look on her face while he got the diaper changed-something the kid didn’t enjoy at the best of times. Then he had to get her calmed down enough to accept the bottle, and all the while his insides were swirling with emotions he didn’t know what to do with and wasn’t even sure he could name.
He thought about what his dad had said about maternal feelings being so powerful. Obviously there were some powerful emotions involved in being a father, too. He’d known, for example, the first time they’d placed the little baby girl in his arms, that from then on there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect her. He wished he knew how to explain that to Devon.
The thing was, the feelings that kept coming over him whenever he was around Devon, the emotions churning around in him right now, for instance, sure as hell weren’t maternal. He was pretty sure they didn’t have much to do with being protective, either.
“Eric?” The voice was harsh in the peace that came abruptly, as the baby’s mouth closed at last around the nipple and the room filled up with the hungry sounds she made when she ate.
He glared at Devon, primed and battle-ready, but something about the look on her face made him wary, and kept him silent. There was something wistful, almost bleak about the way she watched him, he thought. For the first time in a long time she reminded him of Susan.
What is she thinking? Is she…could she possibly be remembering?
His heart gave a bump of excitement and hope, and he softened his glare and waited.
“What did Susan intend to do with Emily?”
It was a long way from what he’d hoped for. “Do?” Frowning, he shifted on the couch, getting himself and Emily more comfortably settled. “What do you mean?”
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