Love in the Vineyard (The Tavonesi Series Book 7) (37 page)

She eyed the car. A uniformed driver sat in the front of the limo.

Private investigators didn’t ride around in limos.

The rear windows were tinted, and she couldn’t see in. She gave a quick prayer of thanks that Tyler had gone to a movie with Brandon. Monica would drop him off after dinner. If Eddie was waiting in the limo, if he had ignored her plea for more time, maybe he’d tire of waiting and leave.

Her hands shook as she tried to unlock her door, and she dropped her keys into the pot of hydrangeas she’d bought to spruce up the drab porch. She bent down to retrieve them.

“Miss Raley?”

Natasha turned to see an elderly woman making her way up the walk. She had a spry step, but she had to be nearing eighty, maybe older. Elderly ladies weren’t PIs. Although if they were, they’d fool just about everyone. Maybe she was a friend of Mary’s.

“Hello,” Natasha said.

“
Are
you Natasha Raley?”

The woman’s serious tone and hyperfocused gaze set Natasha’s nerves on edge.

“Yes. And you are…?”

“Forgive me. I’ve been in the car too long. Sitting always muddles my brain. I’m Delia Marbury.”

Natasha glanced at the tiny gloved hand Delia held out. Definitely a friend of Mary’s. Probably an Inspire donor. Certainly not the threat her quivering stomach wanted her to believe.

Delia shook Natasha’s fingers gently. Then she tilted her head toward the door. “May I come in? I’m not accustomed to discussing business on the sidewalk.”

Natasha doubted that one cell of the older woman’s brain had ever been muddled. She looked all business, and something in her manner made Natasha feel like apologizing—a sure sign of trouble ahead. Maybe her body was smarter than her mind, although lately both had been off-base.

Natasha offered Delia the one good chair in the small living space. Delia removed her gloves and tucked them into her quilted designer bag and then smoothed her matching designer skirt.
Chanel
. Natasha recognized the brand from leafing through magazines that well-meaning donors had dropped off at Inspire. She resisted picking up the afghan that had fallen to the floor and instead sat in the folding chair facing Delia.

Delia glanced around the apartment. “This is a very homey place you have here.”

The word
homey
coming from an upper-crust doyenne usually meant shabby. But Delia seemed sincere.

“I like it,” Natasha said, trying to be as noncommittal as possible.

“I’m not one to mince words, so you’ll have to forgive me. But I have news for you. News that might startle you. I know it did me.”

Natasha wanted to scream. She’d had enough startling news in the past month for a lifetime. “I think you’ll find it hard to startle me, Mrs. Marbury.”

“Just Delia, please. May I call you Natasha?”

Natasha nodded. The woman had a flair for the dramatic. Either that or the news she had was truly horrible and she was trying to put Natasha at ease.

“Mrs. Marbury—Delia—could you just tell me what it is you want from me? I’ve had a very tough couple of weeks.”

Why she was admitting such personal news to a perfect stranger, now
that
was startling. Maybe she was losing it.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this and adding to your stress. But I was afraid you’d run like your mother did. You see, dear, I am your son’s great-grandmother.”

Her words had barely registered before Natasha’s mind kicked in to high-end fight mode.

“Eddie said all his relatives were dead.”

Delia squinted at Natasha. “Who is Eddie?”

“You’re not related to Eddie?”

“Who’s Eddie?” Delia repeated.

“Tyler’s father.”

“Oh, I see. I am a Marbury, dear. I’m
your
father’s mother.” Delia smiled. “Tyler. I like that name. Very well chosen.”

All sorts of scenarios rolled through Natasha’s mind in a flash. Maybe the woman was an investigator. But if the courts had sent her, why would she tell such an absurd lie?

“I don’t believe anyone knows who my father is,” Natasha said.

“He was
my
son.” Her gaze softened. “I know this is a lot to take in so suddenly.”

“Your son.” Natasha parroted the words and the connection fired. “You’re my
grandmother?
”

“
If
you’ll have me. You and your boy—Tyler—are the only family I have left. I didn’t want to risk losing you. But I am sorry if I’ve caused you a shock.”

Tyler had a great-grandmother.
She
had a grandmother.

Delia gestured a bejeweled hand toward the kitchen. “Do you think we could have a cup of tea, dear? I flew in from Boston just this afternoon, and I could use a cup of tea.”

“Tea. Yes, of course.” Natasha leaped up and started for the kitchen. And then turned back to Delia.

“Maybe you could start at the beginning, Delia.”

“Oh, I don’t know the beginning, dear. All I can tell you is that while going through some things of my son’s…” Tears began to swim in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You don’t need my tears, I’m sure.” She wiped an escaping tear from her cheek. “There’s much to tell. Tea will help. It always does.”

Natasha concentrated hard as she ran water into the kettle and turned on the burner. She kept an eye on Delia while she measured tea leaves into the chipped teapot. Any moment the woman might disappear in a burst of dust.

Delia rose stiffly from the chair and joined her, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter.

“I was clearing out boxes in my house, boxes that had belonged to my William. Old ladies have a tendency to do such things, you know. He died in a race. A crash. They couldn’t get him out. He was a dear boy, but always reckless. Too reckless.”

The teakettle whistled, and Natasha poured the water into the teapot. Any moment she would wake up and find herself in her bed and all of this—Delia, the teapot, all of it—just a strange dream.

“I found a letter,” Delia continued. “From your mother to William. Your mother wrote that she was leaving New York, that she didn’t want his money or his help. There were also two letters from William addressed to Elizabeth Raley. Both had come back as undeliverable.”

She unsnapped the clasp of the black purse she’d set on the counter and fished envelopes from it.

“I have the letters. I opened them, of course. That’s how the investigator I hired found you. Your mother may have run, but she never changed her name.”

She handed Natasha the letters.

“I apologize for William. He wasn’t ready for a family. As you’ll see from these letters, he gave your mother money for an abortion—an abortion I’m mighty glad she didn’t go through with. You look like your father, my dear.”

Natasha laid the letters on the counter and sank down onto the other kitchen stool.

“I can’t read these. Not right now,” she said. No amount of meditating or exercises would calm her racing heart. What did the woman really want? After the shock of Eddie, she should’ve been ready for anything to happen. But she hadn’t been ready for this. To her surprise, a strange joy fluttered in her chest. She had a
family
. Well, a family of one.

“I understand, dear. I was shocked too when I first discovered them. And I was terribly sorry to hear what my investigator found out about your mother. And what you went through after her death. All so unnecessary. I would’ve gladly taken you in. I never had a daughter. William was an only child, like me.”

Natasha put her head in her hands, used her palms to block out the light.

Unnecessary
. Four foster homes, each worse than the one before it—to call such a terrible childhood
unnecessary
floored her.

“Do you think we could have that tea?” Delia said in a soft voice.

“God! I’m so sorry. I just… Oh, it’s going to be way too strong.”

“Right now tea of any sort will taste like an elixir,” Delia said.

Natasha poured the tea.

“No milk, please. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“So is Tyler,” Natasha said. “I have almond milk.”

“Must be genetic,” Delia said with a smile. “Almond milk will be fine.”

The only evidence that Delia—her
grandmother!
—was nervous was the tremble in her hand as she lifted the mug to her lips.

“It’s perfect,” Delia purred with a smile. “There’s so much to catch up on. A whole lifetime. But I’d also understand if you wanted me to go right after I finish my tea. To give you some time to take this all in.”

“No, please don’t go. Tell me about my father.”

And with that simple request, Natasha realized that she owed it to Tyler for him to know about his father too. She wished Eddie had waited to show up when Tyler was an adult, when Tyler could choose what sort of relationship he wanted to have, if any. But that choice was out of her hands. And she couldn’t deny them a relationship they both deserved. She could only do everything she could to make sure that Eddie didn’t hurt him. But she owed Tyler the truth.

Delia put her mug down and pulled a group of photos from her purse.

“As I said, you look like him. This is William when he was about ten.”

Natasha looked into a face so strikingly similar to Tyler’s that it spooked her.

“And this was taken around the time he met your mother.”

Though Natasha had always thought she looked like her mother, she saw that she also bore a strong resemblance to her father. To William Marbury. He was devastatingly handsome. It was no wonder that her mother had fallen in love.

“Your mother was an amazing dancer. I saw her on stage once in New York. Of course at the time, I didn’t know that she and William were involved.” She sighed. “I only wish he’d been ready to settle down.”

Delia flashed the last photo from the stack. William leaned against a brightly colored racing car, the sort Natasha had only ever seen on TV.

“This is the last photo ever taken of him. You can have it if you’d like.”

Natasha traced the face on the faded photo. She’d gained and lost a father in less than an hour. It was hard to wrap her mind around the reality. Around any of what Delia was revealing.

“But enough about me,” Delia said. “Tell me about you.”

Natasha poured them both a second mug of tea and related the events of her and Tyler’s life. She even told Delia about the repeating dream. And about her foolish bet. She didn’t tell about her history with Eddie. That would wait until she knew better what to say. But she did tell her about Adrian.

“You love this boy,” Delia said, gesturing with her tea mug.

“Tyler?”

“Of course Tyler. He’s lucky to have you for a mother. But I was talking about this man, Adrian. You love him. I see it in your eyes. You’re inches from the altar.”

“Not even close. He’s from a different world, Delia.”

“In what world would a man not fall in love with you?”

“A very wealthy world. I’m afraid that though he liked me—and I truly believe he did—I’m an employee. A worker. He’s a privileged heir. Our worlds would never mesh.”

“He doesn’t sound like the sort of man who would let such a minor detail get in his way.”

“It’s not just that. If you saw the women around him, you’d understand. They’re sophisticated, well traveled. Beautiful.”

“I see
you
. Likely he does as well.”

“The women he knows don’t have problems reading a simple sentence and getting numbers right.”

“Details, my dear. If I’d let such things influence me, I’d never have ended up with my George. We had fifty-two good years before the good Lord took him.” She set her mug on the counter and straightened. A light came into her eyes.

“Dear, if you hadn’t made that bet, if you hadn’t kept your mother’s last name and ended up on the welfare rolls, we would never have found you.” She grinned and her eyes twinkled with glee. “Maybe seventeen
is
your lucky number after all—otherwise you surely wouldn’t have met this Adrian, and we wouldn’t be sitting here having tea. Oh, how I do love happy endings.”

“Adrian and I aren’t going to have the happy ending you’re wishing for. I saw yesterday how he looked at me. I really let myself see, maybe for the first time. There are a hundred differences that make us incompatible.”

“A hundred is a lot, my dear. I do believe you’re exaggerating.”

“I can’t be a
project
, like some sort of twisted version of
My Fair Lady
. If Adrian had wanted to take a step toward me as a man moves toward a woman, he could have. He didn’t. In fact, yesterday he was very, very careful not to. And who could blame him, considering the mess I’ve made of my life?”

Then she did tell Delia about Eddie. And about Enrique.

Delia’s eyes sparked fire. “
You
are not responsible for this Enrique’s actions. He took advantage of you—can’t you see that? No one could blame you for such a thing. And I don’t care if Eddie
is
Tyler’s father. I have attorneys, lots of them. Unless he has truly reformed, he’s not getting within a country mile of my grandson.”

Natasha fought back tears as she wrapped her arms around Delia and sank into the scent of lavender and the comfort of her arms. “Welcome to Team Tyler.”

Delia patted her back. “Don’t you worry, dear. I’ll deal with the law and Eddie. You deal with Adrian. Genuine love comes from knowledge, not from a sense of duty or guilt. Does he know you love him?”

Delia’s blunt question broke through the brief sense of peace that being held had brought to Natasha.

“Maybe.”

Delia pulled away and put her palms on Natasha’s shoulders.

“For goodness’ sake, Natasha.
Maybe
is not good enough.”

A cellphone sounded from Delia’s purse.

“That’s my driver. He can wait a few more minutes.” Delia slid off the stool and planted her feet firmly on the floor. “I have business in the city all day tomorrow and a meeting in the evening. Perhaps we can have dinner the day after tomorrow? I’d like to meet Tyler. Unless you think it’s too soon.”

“He’ll be thrilled to know he has a great-grandmother. He’s always wished we had a family. Lately he’s been asking questions about his father too.”