Echoes (28 page)

Lance's prayer last night had lulled her back to sleep, but it had not provided the release she'd hoped for. The dream had been so real, and Matt's was one of the voices she'd resisted. Was it fair to raise his hopes? Yet the thought of letting him go brought another unexpected pang.

She lifted her head when he parked outside the villa. They'd spent the entire day together, and like Matt, she didn't want it to end. "Are you tired?"

"No."

"Do you want to come in?"

"And what?"

She flushed. "I don't know. Talk?"

His eyes went over her. "You know what I'd really like? And it's not what you're thinking."

"What?"

"I'd like to watch you dance."

"Alone?"

He nodded. "Without me in the way."

He was asking more than he realized. Dancing had been the hardest thing she'd given up for Eric. She had told herself when Carly wasn't so little, so needy, there would be time. But time hadn't been the issue. She couldn't divide her passion, and he'd seemed worth the sacrifice. Only when they were gone, when she'd tried to get back to the level she'd been, had she recognized how much she'd lost in those four years—not merely strength and agility, but the will and the hunger to get it back.

Matt wouldn't know. He had nothing to compare with what she did now, no trained eye to gauge before and after. She took her keys from her purse as he came around to let her out. The new key opened the new lock on the old doors Lance had unearthed and Rese had sanded down and refinished. The doors opened into the center of the studio. She went to the CD rack at one end and thumbed through until she found the one she wanted.

He raised his brows. "Shrek?"

She set the system to play the tenth track and moved to the center of the floor. She could think of nothing that better portrayed her life than the troubled strains of what had been, and what was now. As the music filled the room, she started to move, bending and arching, reaching and pleading. She knew what she had lost, but danced now in appreciation for what she'd kept, giving him, and God, the best she had—her own broken hallelujah.

When she stopped, Matt's eyes had pooled. He reached out a hand, and she went to him. He closed her into his arms. "You are . . . so beautiful . . . it hurts."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY- FIVE

R
ese had never seen Brad in a suit, and since he'd worn jeans to his wedding, she guessed she never would. With flowers in her gray-streaked black hair, Joni paced the ladies' room down the hall from the court in a broomstick skirt and camisole top.

"It's a mistake. We're making a mistake. We'll kill each other."

"It's not a mistake." Rese pushed open the door for Joni to exit.

Out in the hall, Brad seemed strangely calm. He'd always had confidence in the decisions he made. No matter how hard he'd dug in his heels before, once he'd made up his mind, everything was good. But when Joni saw him standing there, she turned back around, pale as a ghost in spite of her over-tanned skin.

Rese blocked her retreat. "The judge is waiting."

"I can't."

"You were willing to marry someone else on a bridge."

"Because Brad . . ."

"Exactly." Rese crossed her arms, hardly believing she was playing this role with someone other than Star. Joni was older, more experienced, and probably wondered where Brad's business partner got off talking to her that way. But Brad had asked her to witness the vows, and she couldn't do that if his fiancèe wouldn't speak them.

Joni drew a shaky breath and faced Brad. "So. We doing this?"

Brad took her hand. "You change your mind now, I'll kill you."

Joni shot her a glare. "I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

Rese followed them into the courtroom and up the aisle as Lance came up beside her. He leaned close and whispered, "Think they'll go through with it?"

"Of course."

"Sure?"

"They want to be married."

His hand closed around hers. "Well, so do I."

Her heart jumped. "We'll talk about that later."

"We'll seriously talk about it."

She directed her focus to the judge, who took his place before them. His wide bald head, framed by two bulbous ears, reflected the ceiling lights. Several chins connected his face to his tight black robe. Only his voice was thin as he addressed Brad and Joni.

Lance whispered, "Don't you want to be Mrs. Michelli?"

"Yes, Lance, I do." But she knew what he expected. He had friends all over the world, and he'd assured her his mother would die if every living relative wasn't invited. Then there was the issue of Rico standing up for him, with Star being her maid of honor. None of it was as simple as Lance tried to make it.

Brad and Joni faced each other. After so many turbulent years, they were recommitting their lives in spite of everything that had gone wrong. Brad put the ring on Joni's finger and spoke his vows with a hoarse confidence that made Rese proud. Joni's voice was hardly audible as she slid the other ring onto Brad's thick, callused finger.

Rese hoped with everything in her that Joni meant it as wholeheartedly as Brad. Then they kissed, and a sweetness came over her. They'd put back together what they'd torn apart. It was the phase of restoration she loved best, replacing tenderly repaired or remade parts to their former positions, bringing completion and wholeness to the project.

Lance's breath warmed her ear. "You need time to get a dress made and all that?"

"Actually . . ." Her throat squeezed. "I thought I'd wear my mother's."

He turned and searched her face. "You have it?"

She nodded. "Dad saved a few important things."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

She shrugged. "There's the judge."

"And put Momma in the grave? She's already a wreck over Sofie."

She hadn't been serious. As glad as she was for Brad and Joni, a courthouse and judge were not the way she and Lance would make their covenant. Of that, she was sure.

"One month." His dark eyes glittered dangerously.

She huffed. "Okay, Lance. One month." And then she laughed. So what if he invited the whole world? She was marrying Lance Michelli, and nothing would ever be simple again.

Brad and Joni had a flight to catch so the hugs were brief, but even so, when they drove away, Lance said, "How many packs a day do you think she smokes?"

"Why?"

"I'm just wondering."

From anyone else she'd accept that. "Is she sick, Lance?"

He shrugged. "It was just a feeling."

"Is there something you can do?"

"There's always something we can do."

"I mean to make it right."

"That isn't up to me." He took her hand. "Besides, we don't know anything for sure."

"Does God show you things that aren't true?"

"No. But not everything I think is God."

————

Witnessing Brad and Joni's wedding had affected him more than he'd expected. He honestly didn't know if he could have taken it if Rese hadn't agreed to set a date. She didn't know what it took every day to be close to her and not act on each and every impulse.

They had re-created in the Sonoma villa what the Michellis had in Belmont. A family of individuals, working and sharing lives. But he wanted to be one with her, to share his bed, his body, his being. Hugging Joni, he'd realized once again how fragile life was, and how their days were numbered. He didn't want to squander even one.

Michelle had come by the house to pick up the car seat they no longer needed for Diego. Maybe to make it official, or simply because he couldn't hold it in, he told her, "One month from tonight, I'm making this woman my wife."

"Well, hallelujah." She squeezed them both. "And if that's the case, I have news for you. Maybe I should wait until it's a done deal, but this might prove useful beforehand."

"Let me guess." He quirked a smile up one side. "Toilet-paper flowers."

She took his teasing with good grace. "You'd be surprised how grateful people are for that particular item."

"Not surprised at all, some of the places I've been."

"Lance, let her talk." Rese nudged him.

"As you know, your neighbor Evvy was a pillar in our small church and a dear friend to all."

Lance nodded. That birdlike woman had possessed an intense zeal for God and a meddlesome nature that equaled any he'd suffered. He'd adored her.

"Well." Michelle beamed. "Evvy left you her house as a wedding gift."

He and Rese turned simultaneously to the big blue house next door. It had been vacant since Evvy died, and he'd wondered why no one had put it up for sale or taken possession.

"But"—a pucker pinched Rese's brow—"what made her think we would get married?"

"Oh, she had a way of knowing things." Michelle smiled.

"Yeah," Lance agreed. "She told me I was in love when I still thought Rese the orneriest female I'd ever met." When Evvy went on to glory, things had been anything but rosy between Rese and him.

"You were the ornery one. You're still ornery."

"The truth is, she put it under the care of the church with the one stipulation—if you two got married it would revert to its original ownership. She said the property had belonged to your family, Lance, and shouldn't have been divided. She intended that you put it to good use."

Of that, he was sure. Evvy was never faint of heart—he'd taken her on his Harley, and she'd loved every minute. Nor had she hesitated to decide what was best for everyone. Or to scold them into it.

Michelle clasped her hands. "Now that you've set a date, I thought knowing might help you plan."

An idea struck him. "If we took down the hedge between the properties, Rese, we could have the reception here—and house some out-of-town guests."

"It's empty," Michelle told them. "Evvy donated all her belongings to the sharing fund, so you'll have to furnish it."

He shrugged. "Blankets on the floor of her attic and ours'll do for the kids."

"All six thousand of them." Rese planted her hands on her hips. "But the Bailey House on Nob Hill pulled out all the iron beds. If they haven't sold them already, I can probably work a deal for the lot and run it through the company. If we don't keep them all here after the wedding, they'll work for any number of projects."

He could tell her mind was turning. She couldn't wait to get inside and see what could be done with the old place. As soon as Michelle left, he raised his brows. "Want to have a look?"

"What do you think?"

"I think your fingers are tingling."

She tugged him next door. "Are you finding this as hard to believe as I am?"

"Nah." He picked up the hide-a-key rock along the walk and unlocked the door. "Evvy loved me."

Rese huffed. "Who doesn't?"

He followed her inside. "Rese."

"What?"

"We should think about this in long terms. What we might be meant to do here."

"Before I start tearing out walls?"

He smiled. "Something like that."

Turning a slow circle, she drew a deep breath. "One thing I've learned with you, Lance, is that renovation isn't an end; it's a means."

————

Carly climbed onto the cold, smooth counter in the dark. She had a flashlight stuffed into the pocket of her pajamas, but enough city light filtered through the window to manage without it. Holding her breath, she reached into the super-tall cabinet. Dad had looked so strange earlier, when she'd walked in on him, that she'd expected to find the box gone, but her fingers touched something. She stood up and took the black and gray box from the back of the top shelf.

She was so dead if he caught her up there, but his snores carried down the hall. She didn't think he'd fake snoring. He hated hearing that he did it at all. If one of the women who came over mentioned it, he never saw her again.

She climbed off the counter and tiptoed back to her room, pausing to listen before slipping inside. Gripping the knob, she eased the door shut with the faintest click. She only closed it at night, but even then it was always open in the morning, since Daddy checked in on her. Maybe more than once.

Please don't let him look now!
Her heart thumped. But nothing happened.

She slipped the lid off the box and shined the flashlight. The box was filled with photos. She lifted the top one and studied the woman. She didn't remember her . . . but could it be . . . ?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she set the photo on her bed and picked up the next. Same woman; same street. She was talking to someone there, tucking the hair back behind her ear. The picture was fuzzy, like Carly's brain. Why couldn't she remember?

She looked at the next and the next, dug into the box and checked the ones farther down. Her hands shook. They were all the same person. It had to be Sofie. She reached into the bottom and pulled out the very last picture. An ache filled her throat. The woman looked much younger, holding a baby with such a look of love it brought the tears before Carly could stop them.

She swiped them away so she could see. Was she the baby? Was that how Sofie had looked when she'd held her? The flashlight flickered. She looked toward the door, listened hard. Dad had stopped snoring. She couldn't put the box back if he might be awake. Trembling, she slid the picture back into the bottom and picked up the others on the bed.

But the two from the middle—she couldn't remember where they'd been. She should have held their places. Panic rose in her chest. Her stomach hurt. She looked on the backs, but there were no names or dates that she could see by the fading flashlight.

She put them on top and closed the box. In the morning she'd find where they went . . . somehow. And get the box back . . . somehow. She slipped it under her bed and crawled into the covers. Her foot bumped something. The flashlight.

She sat up and dragged it under the blanket just as the floor creaked in the hallway. Had she closed the door when she went to bed? He'd know if she hadn't. He'd know she'd been up. She pressed her face into her pillow, closed her eyes.

The door clicked and swung open. Dim light from the hallway leaked in. She sensed the shadow that came and stood over her.
Please let him think I'm asleep! Wait. Better to move. He'd think
he disturbed her
. She made a sleepy noise and shifted her face on the pillow, not opening her eyes or she'd have to talk.