She was still weepy that Christmas morning. The mood lifted, however, when she opened a small, velvet box and saw the dark green jade earrings nestled inside. She turned to her mother. “Mom, these are⁠—”

  Honey interrupted her with a shake of her head. She pointed at Booker. “Your Dad got those. I had nothing to do with them.”

  A happy ember flared inside Willow and melted the frost that had entered her heart with Drake’s phone call the night before. Her Dad had actually picked out a gift for her, and it wasn’t a baseball glove, mountain biking shorts, or other gender-neutral thing. He’d bought her jewelry.

  Traditionally, Booker picked out Ash’s presents, and Honey bought Willow’s. There was nothing wrong with that system. Her mother’s gifts were almost always exactly right, just what Willow would have gotten for herself. It was, however, another brick in the wall that divided father and daughter.

  “You look great,” Jonathan said, but he wasn’t looking at her when he said it. He was looking at his watch. “We should go down.”

  Willow tossed a last glance at the mirror and stood. “I’m tired of these earrings.”

  “You should’ve bought new ones.”

  “I have some at my parents’ that would be great with this dress.”

  “We’ll get them when we bring the wine by.” His words stabbed a sensitive spot. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t yet told her parents she was married.

  Willow heard the crackle of the fire before she reached the bottom of the stairs. The great room was only dimly lit by scattered table lamps, but the hearth blazed and a candlelit table had been pulled close to the fire. Unlike the day of the funeral, it seemed everything had been done to make the huge space feel intimate.

  Gerry was seated in an easy chair at the end of the room. The glow from the fire blushed her cheeks and danced on her hair, making it appear more copper than silver.

  “Come have a glass of that wonderful wine you brought me,” she said when they entered.

  A black-suited server who Willow hadn’t noticed moved silently from a corner of the room and began pouring drinks. He was so like the mimes she’d seen in Paris on her one and only trip to Europe, she half expected the glasses to be invisible and the wine imaginary. He held out a very real glass of ruby liquid to Willow. She shook her head. “Sparkling water, please.”

  “Oh, give her a small glass, Anthony.” Gerry waved a hand at him. “I drank wine almost every night when I was pregnant with Chloe and Jonathan. It didn’t do them any harm.”

  He poured half a glass and handed that to Willow. She took it, but didn’t intend to drink it. Gerry may be able to order the staff around, but Willow was less easily intimidated.

  Jonathan and Willow settled onto the couch across from Gerry. From this distance, Willow could see that Gerry’s rosy cheeks had come from a jar. Her skin was sallow and puckered with dehydration; her eyes had a yellow cast. She didn’t look well.

  “You don’t have to drink it all,” she said as Willow set her wineglass on the coffee table. “But I want to toast my first grandchild when the others get here.”

  “Others?” Jonathan’s eyebrows rose as he took a sip from his own glass.

  “Well, Dun and Chloe, of course. And wherever Chloe goes, Mat is sure to follow these days. I also took the liberty of inviting Cob, Marianne, and Ophelia. This is a family occasion.”

  “Can we tell them we’re married before we break the baby news?” There was humor in Jonathan’s voice.

  “Tell them in any order you want.” Gerry reached for a plate of crackers on a table next to her, took one, and nibbled. Willow thought of all the mornings she’d done exactly the same thing before getting out of bed.

  Not today, though. She hadn’t had morning sickness for at least four or five days, she realized with a start. It was funny how a thing absorbed your attention for so long, then, when it disappeared, you didn’t even notice.

  A murmur in another part of the house grew, and soon the distinct voices of Mat, Ophelia, Cob, and Marianne could be heard. A moment later they entered the room on a wave of scent. Aftershave and expensive perfume mingled as they walked toward the firelight.

  “My poor dear,” Marianne said, swooping down to peck Gerry on the cheek. “Mat was just telling us how sick you were.”

  “There’s nothing worse than a stomach bug, except maybe seasickness.” Cob plucked a wine glass from Anthony’s hand.

  Mat stood four or five feet away and surveyed Gerry, arms crossed over his chest. “You look better.”

  “Is she still contagious?” Ophelia eyed her aunt with narrowed eyes.

  Gerry pulled the silk scarf she wore more tightly around her shoulders. “I’m fine. Don’t kiss me if you’re worried about becoming diseased.”

  Ophelia threw herself onto the couch next to Willow. “I won’t. I hate throwing up.”

  “I’ve never had a patient who enjoyed it.” Mat availed himself of a glass of wine and leaned a hip against the dining table.

  Cob struck a pose by the fire, hands behind his back, stance wide, as if expecting a storm at sea. “Now that the weather is warming up, I’m thinking about taking the Trade Winds out for a sail. Catalina maybe. What do you say, Jonathan? Want to be my first mate?”

  Ophelia leaned toward Willow and lowered her voice. “This should be good. Jonathan hates sailing.” She reclined again and lifted her wine glass to her lips to hide a smile. It wasn’t a very nice smile. Before Jonathan came up with an excuse, Chloe drifted into the room.

  She wore sheer, white palazzo pants topped with a tailored white shirt tied at the waist. Her outfit was elegant and casual at once. Willow, who had been feeling chic in her new dress, suddenly felt dowdy.

  “Are you sure you should be up and about, Mom?” Chloe said.

  Mat pushed away from the table and draped a possessive arm around his fiancée. “I think she’s fine, Chloe.”

  “Would you all stop?” Gerry raised her voice, but it didn’t have the authoritative ring it usually carried. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Where is Dun? I have a toast to make.”

  “I’m here. I’m here.” Ms. Dunfrey bustled in through a side door. “I hope you didn’t hold anything up for me.”

  “We did, but it’s fine,” Gerry said. “I want to make a toast before dinner. But Jonathan has an announcement first.”

  Jonathan took Willow’s hand. “Willow and I were married last weekend.”

  “Lovely,” Marianne said.

  Cob hoisted his glass. “Good job.”

  Mat squeezed Chloe’s shoulders and grinned. “They beat us to the punch, love.”

  The others were silent for so long it became awkward. Were they upset? Did they think Willow wasn’t good enough for the Lauder family? Her gaze traveled from face to face. Chloe’s was a study in neutrality. Ms. Dunfrey looked pinched. Ophelia’s mouth was turned down at the corners. What was going on here?

  Ms. Dunfrey broke the tension. She cleared her throat, lifted her glass, and said, “Congratulations,” in voice that was just a little too hearty.

  “Congratulations.” The rest echoed.

  Willow’s cheeks burned. Her family might not be rich; they might not globe trot to find objets d’art to decorate their homes with; they might buy Haide violins instead of Antoniazzi’s; but they were good people.

  Her mother had pulled herself out of an impoverished childhood with her own two hands and a skillet. Her brother served his country. Her father was a bona fide hero. She’d always been proud of that last fact despite the pain the event had caused her over the years. And, maybe most importantly, they weren’t snobs.

  “I have another toast to make.” Gerry’s voice was calm and even. She shot a glance at Chloe, then fixed Willow with a strong gaze. “My lovely new daughter-in-law is carrying my first grandchild. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Jonathan squeezed Willow’s hand before lifting his glass and saying, “I only wish Dad could be here.”

  Everyone toasted, and the smiles seemed genuine this time. Willow’s anger disappeared like the morning fog. She had overreacted, possibly due to her own guilt. With all the changes in her life, she hadn’t spent enough time with her family the past few months. Tomorrow she was going home to visit, no matter what surprises life with the Lauders threw into her path.

  Gerry placed a hand on the arm of her chair and pushed herself up. “Time for dinner.” She stood on shaky legs for a long second, took two steps, tottered, and collapsed to the floor.

  6.2.6

  Jonathan and Chloe were at Gerry’s side in moment. Their mother pawed at the scarf that had shifted up around her neck, and gasped. “Air.”

  Chloe tugged at it while the others spoke on top of each other.

  “This was too much⁠—”

  “Too soon⁠—”

  “She should be in bed.”

  Mat’s voice rose above the noise. “Would you all be quiet.” He and Jonathan helped Gerry from the floor into her easy chair. “Someone get me a glass of water.”

  Anthony, who must have anticipated the request, was at his elbow in a second. Mat nodded at a side table. Anthony set it down and moved away, while Mat placed two fingers against Gerry’s wrist. A minute later he said, “Your pulse is slow. I’ll get my bag and take your blood pressure.”

  Gerry waved a hand in the air, as if erasing his words. “No, Mat. I was dizzy for a moment, but it passed.”

  “You don’t want a relapse, do you?”

  “I don’t, and I won’t have one. Now, stop fussing.”

  “In my professional⁠—”

  She interrupted him. “Jonathan?”

  Jonathan’s head jerked toward her. “Yes.”

  “Will you help me to the table?”

  “Really, Mom⁠—”

  Her voice lowered almost a full octave. “Help me to the table.”

  Jonathan avoided Mat’s glare as he lifted his mother from the chair and supported her the few yards and dropped her onto a chair.

  “There now. Everyone, take your places.” She sounded breathless but determined.

  Willow hung back, not sure which place was hers. She took the chair that was left after the others had taken theirs. This positioned her between Jonathan and Ophelia and directly across from Marianne. Anthony set plates of fish, rice, and asparagus in front of each of them.

  The scents of white wine and nutmeg rose on the steam, and her stomach rumbled. Lunch seemed a long time ago. She lifted her fork, looked around the table and noticed no one else was eating. She set the utensil down again. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Gerry.

  Her mother-in-law’s face was pale and damp despite the powder she’d patted on. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing appeared shallow and rapid.

  “Mom?” Chloe said.

  Gerry’s eyelids fluttered open. She picked up her fork, smiled regally and poked into her fish. The rest followed suit. Conversation was stilted for several long minutes. Only the occasional phrase flew between the pings of glassware and the clicks of cutlery.

  Mealtimes in Willow’s family were punctuated with loud bursts of laughter and even louder conversation. Thanks to Honey’s cooking, their home had always been a hangout for Ash’s ravenous friends during his teen years. And Willow’s friends loved her mother’s warm acceptance as much as they’d loved her warm chocolate chip cookies.

  This was the kind of home Willow wanted for The Peach when he or she was school aged. She couldn’t imagine that happening if they still lived at Sunset House. Would neighbor kids be driven in by limo? Would their drivers wait out front while they played?

  A coffee klatch of capped chauffeurs appeared in her mind. They leaned against black vehicles, sipping Starbucks and comparing their charges’ schedules. “Aiden is doing soccer and tennis this year. Really, I have no time for myself.”

  “Charlotte has gotten the lead in the school play. She has rehearsal every day after classes. If I hear Tomorrow one more time... ”

  “This is a strange world, isn’t it, Willow?” Ophelia spoke and the daydream disappeared. Ophelia did seem to have an uncanny way of knowing what people were thinking.

  Willow shifted a bit of fish to the inside of her cheek and said, “I, ah...”

  “Have you been home to see your parents since you two tied the knot?” Ophelia continued.

  Willow swallowed. “We’re going tomorrow.”

  Ophelia’s head bobbed up and down several times as if agreeing with Willow’s answer. “That’s good. It’s important to stay close to the people who love you.”

  The statement was both odd and obvious, and Willow wasn’t sure how to respond. Jonathan came to her rescue. “Funny thing. Honey—Willow’s mother—loves Red Ravish.” He raised his glass to emphasize his point. “The wine played a role in her escape earlier this year.”

  Cob’s fork stopped in midair. “Escape?”

  “You know the story, I’m sure. It was in the papers.”

  Willow squirmed in her seat. She didn’t want to talk or think about what had happened this past February. It had been terrifying and, although she’d played a part, it was her mother’s story, not hers.

  “I read about it. The less said the better,” Marianne said.

  Willow shot a grateful glance across the table. Marianne returned a small, sympathetic smile. Until that moment, Willow had hardly noticed the woman. She was short, plump, and while not unattractive, not exactly attractive either. In this family of larger-than-life individuals, she’d faded into the background. Willow would make an effort to get to know her in the future.

  “You can’t do that, you know,” Cob said. “You can’t throw out a tantalizing morsel and not expect the fish to bite. I want to hear the story.”

  Marianne placed a warning hand on his arm. “You can read about it on the internet when we get home.”

  Willow chewed another bite of fish slowly, hoping Cob would stop staring at her with that eager look in his eyes. He didn’t. She took a sip of water, then said, “My parents found a corpse while they were hiking in Black Star Canyon this past January.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “They ended up being dragged into⁠—”

  A barking cough from the end of the table interrupted her. Gerry’s face had turned a dangerous shade of magenta.

  Chloe was on her feet. “I think she’s choking.”

  Mat’s chair toppled to the floor, and he ran to her side. “Someone, call an ambulance.” Ms. Dunfrey bolted from the room.

  The next several minutes were a blur of activity. Mat walked outside, speaking on his cell phone. The twins led Gerry to the couch. Marianne wrung her hands, and Cob repeated encouraging phrases like, “It’ll pass,” and “Hang in there, old girl,” and “Help will be here soon.”

  Only Willow and Ophelia hung back. Willow assumed Ophelia felt as she did, that the best thing they could do was to stay out of the way. But when Ophelia reached for the wine bottle in the center of the table and poured herself a healthy splash, Willow changed her opinion. It seemed callous to sit and drink Gerry’s wine while the woman lay suffering on the couch only feet away. For such a perceptive person, Ophelia wasn’t very sensitive. Willow pushed away from the table, distancing herself. Perhaps the crazy cousin jabs were deserved.

  Retching echoed from the couch. Chloe ran to the table, reached over Ophelia and grabbed an empty wine bucket. Ophelia’s nose wrinkled. She hid it inside her glass.

  Willow spun away, strode to the fireplace, and stood next to Marianne. She may not be helping, but at least she wasn’t eating and drinking and making merry like Ophelia. A moment later, Ms. Dunfrey returned to the room. “An ambulance is on its way.”

  Help was coming.

  That thought brought both relief and an ache. Willow wished her father was on that emergency vehicle. He may have often been angry and distant when she was growing up, but she wanted him now. Booker made her feel safe.

  Most children ran to their mothers when they were hurt or afraid. Not Willow. She loved her mother. Honey was the most comforting and nurturing person she knew, but in her childish brain, her father had been a superhero. The faraway scream of a siren met her ear again, and another wave of reassurance and longing washed over her.

  As the sound grew, so did the sting of vomit in the air. Willow’s stomach roiled, and she covered her nose with her hand. The morning sickness may have passed, but she was as sensitive to smells as ever.

  She shouldn’t be here. What if she threw up and added to the chaos? What if Gerry’s sickness was contagious? She had to think of the baby. “I’ll let the paramedics know where to go.” She mumbled the words and fled the great room.

  The hallway was dark and quiet after the commotion by the fire. Willow leaned against the wall, pressed her hot cheek against the cool plaster and took several deep breaths. When her nausea passed, she made her way outside through the double doors. A moment later, a blue and white ambulance screamed up the drive and slid to a stop in front of the house.

  Two uniformed paramedics, a man and a woman, leaped from the vehicle. Willow waved them forward. “Here.” She led them into the hallway and pointed to the open great room door. They rushed past her. Her work done, she walked outside and sat on the edge of the front stoop where she’d be out of the way.

  Booker always said it was the non-professionals, the onlookers, who caused the most problems at accident scenes. He should know. He was almost killed by a one.

  Willow had been eight when it happened. She’d been excited because Daddy’s shift ended at 8:00—a propitious number. He would be home by nine on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, a house fire started by an old clothes dryer was called in at 7:46. The truck rushed to the home. When they arrived, they saw smoke spewing from the half-sized windows close to the foundation of the building. The family had no idea how long the fire had been smoldering in the basement.

  A mother and two young boys, one of them holding onto the collar of a golden retriever, stood on the front lawn with tear-stained faces. Willow had heard and recited the details of the story so many times they formed a movie in her mind.