I stepped out onto the carpeted hallway runner, my slippers silent as I made my way to the nursery, the scent of roses growing stronger. I stopped abruptly outside the room, the hallway night-light illuminating a six-inch gap between frame and door. I gave the door a gentle shove and it groaned its disapproval, the sound amplified like a brass band in the quiet house.
A waft of rose-scented air greeted me as I stood on the threshold. I tiptoed over to JJ’s crib to check on him, and drew back when I saw that his blanket was carefully tucked around him, his whisk poking above the edge. I imagined the handle firmly clutched in his pudgy yet surprisingly strong little hand. Someone had covered him recently. JJ’s record for keeping his blanket on him was pushing five minutes and he’d been put to bed a good six hours before.
“Louisa?” I whispered.
“Not quite,” came a masculine voice from a corner of the room.
My heart thudded. Not because I was scared, but because it was Jack. I turned toward the corner where Jack sat rocking a bundled Sarah on his shoulder.
“Louisa’s here,” I said softly.
“I know. I heard Sarah babbling to someone while I was standing out in the hallway. And the temperature in here is about five degrees colder than the rest of the house.” I felt his eyes on me. “Are you worried?”
I shook my head. Maybe it was the dark room lit only by a night-light and the lack of sleep that made me blurt out something that sounded remarkably like the new Mellie. “No,” I said, “because you’re here. Since I’ve met you, I’ve never doubted that we can face anything as long as we work through it together.” I almost added Until now.
He held my gaze, but if he’d been about to say anything, the moment was lost when Sarah lifted her head, then twisted to reach for me. “Mama.”
Jack relinquished his hold and I gathered our daughter in her blanket and sat down with her in the adjacent rocker. All was silent except for the gentle creaks of the rocking chairs and Sarah’s rhythmic thumb sucking.
Jack broke the silence. “It’s a good thing I already packed up my office and moved it to the apartment—less to get out of the way for the film crew.”
“Why would they go into your office? The contract stipulates containing the filming to the foyer, parlor, dining room, and garden.”
“All true. But I wouldn’t put it past Marc or Harvey to get nosy. Speaking of which, how far are you on packing up the silver? I don’t want anyone to think they can take souvenirs.”
I rubbed my chin gently against Sarah’s baby-fine hair. “It took longer than I thought because I decided it would be a good time to polish it all. And re-sort and label the velvet drawers. It makes a lot more sense to store them horizontally than vertically, I found.” I couldn’t keep the pride from my voice. “Sophie and Chad are coming tomorrow and will take most of the really valuable stuff to store at their house.”
“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I’d like to take most of the original paintings from the walls, but Harvey wants them left there—for ‘authenticity.’?” Jack snorted softly. “As if there’s anything authentic in Marc’s book to begin with. But Sterling Zerbe hired a company to take an inventory just in case anything’s lost or damaged.”
I nodded, glad to know that our lawyer, Mr. Zerbe, was in charge and ahead of the game. “I just hope we can keep disturbances to a minimum so they’re out of here sooner rather than later. Although dead people aren’t really good at listening or keeping to a schedule. I made a spreadsheet that lists the filming schedule with nonworking hours highlighted. It’s on the bulletin board in the kitchen so any restless spirits hanging around can see it.”
I felt his gaze on me. “You didn’t really . . .”
I laughed to cover my embarrassment. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” I made a mental note to remove the spreadsheet from the bulletin board first thing.
He coughed quietly, but it sounded more like a strangled laugh. “Your dad said he can stop by tomorrow and start disguising the cistern and removing the yellow caution tape. I suggested the two of you draw straws. The loser has to let Sophie know that the excavation has to wait until the filming is done.”
I groaned. I’d been on the receiving end of Sophie’s vengeful side more often than I wanted to admit. I was still getting letters from PETA since Sophie sent them photos of my dogs dressed up at Christmas. “Or maybe I can ask Meghan. I need to call her anyway and ask her if she knows anything about the Frozen Charlotte.”
We continued to rock in silence, unwilling to leave and unaware of the passing of the hour until I heard the muted chime of the grandfather clock downstairs. Sarah went slack in my arms, meaning she was in a deep sleep and it was the optimum time for returning her to her crib. Knowing I couldn’t delay any longer, I stood, and Jack stood, too, taking the sleeping baby from my arms. His arms were longer than mine, so he had a greater chance of not waking her when placing her back in her crib.
I looked over at JJ, whose blanket had been kicked off and who lay in his usual starfish position on his back, his arms and legs splayed, his whisk clutched in his right hand like a lightsaber in Luke Skywalker’s. As Jack gently lowered Sarah into her crib, I covered JJ again with his blanket, even managing to rearrange a few of his stuffed animals before Jack straightened.
We stood at the foot of the cribs watching our sleeping children, the scent of roses still strong. “I miss this,” I said.
“Me, too.”
For some reason, his words stung. Maybe because I’d held out too much hope that once he realized how much he’d lost, that would be enough to bring him back.
I swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”
He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “I already have. But that was the easy part.”
“The easy part?”
Jack nodded. “Your intent wasn’t to harm, so forgiving you was never the problem.”
“It wasn’t?”