Until There Was You

Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN



“HE CALLED ME POSEY.”

“Well, that is your name, right? I mean, I haven’t been calling you the wrong name your whole life, have I?” Kate asked, shifting in her La-Z-Boy. “God, these hemorrhoids are killing me.”

“Sorry to hear it. Officially, my name’s Cordelia.”

“Right, right. I always forget that.”

They were sitting in Kate’s living room, Sunday night—five days and four nights after The Dumping. Posey had barely left the house since, but Kate had come over this afternoon and put her gym-teacher muscles to use, practically carrying her to the car. Back to Kate’s house, where crappy wine and excellent ice cream were administered. Posey took a bite of Ben & Jerry’s Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, then offered some to her dog, who licked the spoon agreeably.

“How much longer should I give you on the pity party?” Kate asked. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself, mind you.”

“I don’t know. A year? A decade?” Shilo sighed and put his head on her lap. The dog had been a trouper these past few days…the cats, not so much.

Someday, these feelings of rejection (there was no other word for it)…they’d be gone. This phase, this…ache would slowly lift off her heart. It was just that lying in bed this morning at 2:47, surely the loneliest moment God ever invented, she couldn’t help the tears that leaked out of her eyes and slid into her ears. Shilo had taken it upon himself to lick them, so at least she had that.

Back in high school, she’d loved Liam from afar, and he broke her heart. First love, young love, crush—it was called crush for a reason, wasn’t it, because it certainly had crushed her—whatever name you gave it, it had hurt.

But this time, she’d loved him up close. This time, she’d seen what could have been, had felt in little flashes and small moments what it was like to be loved by Liam Murphy. Just a little bit, and even the loss of that possibility, those sweetly tender, unguarded moments, hurt so much that it was stunning. And at 2:47 a.m., with a 140-pound dog and thirty-seven pounds of cat wedged against her, tears slipping out of her eyes, she cursed herself for not believing what Liam had told her from the start.

So she’d been dumped. Liam Murphy had dumped her, as he’d dumped so many women and girls over the years. And he’d called her Posey. Back in high school, it seemed that calling her Cordelia was a way to mock her…sort of like you can call yourself whatever you want, but you still have that bulky, endless name. But then…recently…the way he said her name, like it was so special and lovely, and Cordelia sounded less like the poor naive slob killed by her sisters in King Lear and much more like a Victoria’s Secret model, inspiring slathering lust in every male within a thousand-mile radius.

“Don’t you think so?” Posey asked, taking another bite of Super Fudge Chunk. “Didn’t it sound like foreplay when he said it?”

“No more wine for you,” Kate said. “And look. You can always adopt. Look at James and me and how happy we are. The foot rubs that kid gives? Amazing. James! Give Posey a foot rub!”

“No thanks, James,” Posey called, turning her head. Ew. That ice cream–wine combo might not have been the best idea after all. “About James, Kate… Maybe a little less mother-boy time, don’t you think?” Posey offered another spoonful of ice cream to her dog. One lick of the giant tongue, and the ice cream was gone.

“Oh, save it. I already know. Signed him up for some mentoring thing. Big Brothers or the Boys and Girls Club or whatever. Guess who he got?”

“Whom? Whom did he get, Teacher. Please.”

“I teach gym. We’re not famous for grammar.” Kate drained her wine. “He got that guy. Used to play for the Red Sox. You know the one.”

“No, Kate, I don’t know.”

“The cute one with the sloping forehead. Looks like a hot Neanderthal? Matt Damon?”

“Do you mean Johnny Damon?”

“I don’t know. Hockey’s my sport. Anyway, James has a role model with a penis. I hope everyone’s happy now.” She shifted again. “I happen to think James is the best person on the face of the earth. I might be doing a great job.”

Posey softened. “You are, Kate. He is. He’s great.”

Kate smiled. “Okay, let’s talk this thing to death and then bury it. Liam the Sex God dumped you. You didn’t see it coming, should have, are now miserable. What’s next?”

“I have no idea. Back to the grind, I guess.”

For the past couple of days, Posey had been living the cliché of pathetic female, and it was getting old. She’d skipped work—first time ever. Screened phone calls. Didn’t turn on the computer and futz around on Facebook. She had, however, ordered three hundred and eleven dollars’ worth of skin care from the Home Shopping Network.

But life was waiting. Her dad had called, wondering how she was doing. No word from her mother, though Max had made sure to say “your mother and I miss you” and all that. But seeing them was just too tiring to think about right now. The whole birth-mother thing… Nothing had really changed, except that her parents had kept a secret from her, and she knew slightly more than she once did about her biological mother and father. Still, it gave a throb every now and then, now that she had names and a few slivers of information. But it would fade. As for Gretchen’s issues with Dante…who really cared? Posey had had enough of her cousin. The boys were getting ready for little Betty, and she didn’t want to be Debbie Downer in light of all their happiness.

So she’d been cleaning, which was rather uncharacteristic. Not that the church was a sty or anything, but it was cluttered with stuff she thought she might want someday—a gilt Victorian mirror, a bank of post-office boxes, the statue of the elephant. She moved what she could onto the truck, called Mac for help—at least he would never ask her about her love life—and brought some stuff to Irreplaceable. The rest—the angel with the broken arms, the shabby little lead-paned window, the sundial with no dial—she took to the dump, and even though it was hard, she left it there.

Not everything was worth holding on to.

“Posey, the right guy will come along,” Kate said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Now, do you want James to give us pedicures? James! Come here, hon!”

The boy appeared in the doorway. “Mom, no. No pedicures. I’m establishing boundaries.” He smiled at Posey. “Hi, Pose.”

“Hi, James,” she said. “You’re a good kid.”

“So I hear. I was eavesdropping.”

“An underrated life skill.”

“Tell Brianna I said hi,” he said.

“Will do.”

Eventually, Kate pointed out that the Bruins game started in twenty minutes and called Henry to fetch his sister. A few minutes later, he pulled up in his immaculate Volvo and honked the horn. “Thanks for the sympathy,” Posey said, hugging her friend.

“You’re welcome. Buck up, okay?”

“Does the dog have to get in, too?” Henry asked as she and Shilo went out to the car.

“Yes. Any other questions?”

“I guess not,” Henry said, wincing as Shilo squeezed in the backseat, leaving a trail of drool on the headrest.

Posey closed her eyes. Kate was right—enough was enough.

“Heard you broke up with what’s his name,” Henry said, pulling away from the curb.

Posey opened one eye and looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I heard about the other stuff, too. The birth-mother stuff.”

This warranted the opening of both eyes. “Did you?”

Henry nodded, his perfect features as hard to read as ever. “How are you handling all that?”

“Did Jon tell you to talk to me, Henry?”

He cracked a small smile. “Actually, no. Look, I know you two are close, and that’s great. But I’m your big brother. You can, um…well, whatever little sisters are supposed to do. Talk to me or whatever.” He pulled into her driveway, turned off the engine and looked at her. “I just… I don’t know, Posey. I don’t know what I have to offer, aside from a free knee replacement.” He cleared his throat and reset the odometer. “But you know…you’re my sister. I love you. I’m proud of you. The guy who dumped you is an idiot, and you deserve better. If you need anything…you know.” He glanced at her. “Okay?”

“Henry.”

“What?”

“I love you, too.”

“I know. Now shoo.”

She kissed his cheek and went inside her strangely tidy house, made a sandwich and gave half to Shilo. Went upstairs to finish the model, which she’d brought home to paint. Played “Brother Love’s Salvation Show” on her iPod over and over. When the bell went off at nine, she managed to ignore it pretty well.





“BOSS! HI! YOU LOOK…great? Right? Good to have you back!” Elise gave her a peachy-scented hug, and when she pulled back, her eyes were teary. “Sorry,” she whispered, fumbling for a tissue. “I thought he was, like, super nice.”

“Thanks, hon,” Posey said, touched at her reaction.

Elise blew her nose. “So I took your advice. Registered on Match.com last night.” At that moment, Mac opened the front door. “’Morning, Mac!” Elise sang, not looking at him. Her voice wobbled.

Mac nodded and headed for the back room. Elise looked down.

Posey’s heart twisted. What would it be like, to fall in love with someone who was pathologically shy? Who could barely look at you, let alone speak to you?

“Mac, stop,” Posey said.

He obeyed, turning to see what she wanted.

The phone rang. “Irreplaceable Artifacts, good morning!” Elise chirruped into the receiver. Posey took the phone from her and hung it up.

She looked at them, her faithful employees. Her friends. “Mac. Elise likes you. She has for the past two years. Have you somehow missed this?”

Mac’s cheeks flamed. “I…noticed.”

“So?” Posey demanded. “Do you like her? She’s beautiful, she’s cheerful, she’s got a huge heart. Any interest?”

Elise’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide. For once, she didn’t say a word.

“She’s pretty young,” Mac said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Right. How old are you, Elise? Twenty-eight?”

Elise nodded.

“And you’re forty-two, Mac?”

He nodded.

“Elise, you like older men, I’m guessing?”

“Well,” she whispered, blushing furiously, “I totally like this one.”

“Would you like to go out with a younger woman, Mac? A beautiful, sweet younger woman who’s been crazy about you since the first week she started here?”

His eyes went from Posey to Elise, then back again. “Um…okay.”

“Seriously?” Elise breathed. “Oh, my gosh! Right? That’s great! How about tonight?”

Mac swallowed audibly. “Sure,” he said. He looked back at Posey. “Can I get to work now?”

“Yes. Please do,” she said, smiling. Mac’s blush extended all the way up to his bald head. He looked at Elise—it took some effort, but he did it—and said, very quietly, “See you later, then,” and fled.

Posey held up a finger to Elise and trotted back to the shop. Mac was leaning against the wall, his shirt blotchy with sweat. “You okay?”

He nodded.

“You really want to go out with her?”

Another nod.

“Are you having a heart attack?”

He cut her a glance. “I think so.”

Posey grinned. “I think it’s love,” she said, and Mac shook his head, but a little smile crossed his face.

Assured that he wasn’t about to drop dead, Posey went back to the counter.

“You’re totally the best boss, like…ever?” Elise said, throwing her arms around Posey. “I thought I was gonna have to come in here naked and handcuff him to me!”

“Now, see, that would’ve worked, too,” Posey said, smiling. “Now, go easy on him. Be gentle. He needs time.”

“Time. Roger that.” Elise beamed, and Posey’s heart lifted at her friend’s happiness.

“Okay, I have to run out to the candy factory and talk to the owner about what he wants to keep. And then I have an errand. I probably won’t be back today.” With that, she chose two aging wicker chairs whose cushions didn’t smell too moldy and hefted them in the back of her truck, whistled for Shilo and went off.





WHEN VIVIAN ANSWERED her door a few hours later, her wrinkled old mouth fell open. “Posey! What are you doing here?”

“Hi to you, too,” Posey answered, shifting the box in her hands.

“But…but I thought you…” Viv closed her mouth. “I thought our business had concluded,” she said, enunciating carefully.

“Well, we’re still friends, right?” Posey asked. “And it’s Monday. Our day for lunch?”

Vivian blinked. “Aren’t you angry that I went with Down East?”

Posey hesitated. “Well, not angry. Disappointed. But it’s your property, as you said. Can I come in? This is heavy. It’s a present, by the way.”

Viv held the door wider, and Posey came in, the familiar musty smell of lavender and old lady greeting her. She put the box on the table, and, knowing Viv’s old hands weren’t strong enough, took out the gift.

Vivian stared at it for a long minute. Then her faded blue eyes filled with tears. “Posey…”

It was the model, of course. The Meadows in miniature and Posey’s best effort to date. She’d even found an elm tree to put in the side yard.

Vivian bent down to look more closely. “This was my bedroom when I was a girl,” she said softly. “I used to look out this window first thing every morning. There was the noisiest family of wrens in that tree.” The old lady’s mouth quivered, and she straightened abruptly. “Do you think the Vultures might…save it?”

Posey looked at Vivian, once a great beauty, once somewhat feared and revered in this town, once a beloved wife. A woman who’d never had a child and whose few relatives visited her only to ensure they were kept in the will, who would rip apart what was most precious to her. “They might, Viv,” she lied. “They just might.”

Vivian looked at the model again. “They won’t,” she said. “But they’re family, and you forgive them, even if they are the human equivalent of hyenas. Because that’s what you do, Posey. Forgive.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I know so. And I’m older and far wiser than you.” Her voice was sharp and familiar once more. “Thank you for this. It’s quite accurate.”

“Would you like to go out for lunch?” Posey asked.

Vivian looked at her, her eyes returning to the present. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yup. Care to be seen with me in public?”

Vivian’s lips twitched. “I suppose. Where are we going?”

Posey smiled. “I thought we’d have a picnic.”





DRIVING HOME that night, Posey found she was whistling. When Vivian had seen the model, that had been pretty great. But when she’d seen The Meadows…well. That had been even better.

Both of them had a good cry, sitting in the wicker chairs Posey’d brought, breathing in the scent of the peonies and lilacs. It had been wonderful hearing Vivian’s stories about parties and games of hide-and-seek, snowstorms and holidays, the maid who’d fallen for the cook, how Vivian’s husband had proposed under the chestnut tree.

“I’m glad you brought me, Posey,” Vivian had said as they trundled slowly down the long drive of The Meadows. Her voice softened, and she swallowed. “But I don’t want to come back again, dear.”

“Me, neither,” Posey said, taking her hand. “This was goodbye for us both.” Vivian squeezed her hand, and if both women were teary-eyed, they pretended otherwise and chatted about the weather for the rest of the drive.

“See you next week,” Posey said as Vivian unlocked her door.

“Try to dress like a woman,” Viv said, and with that, she went inside, leaving Posey laughing in the hallway.

But it was hard to keep thoughts of Liam from seeping in. The way his hands felt on her skin. His low, smooth voice, the way her name rolled in his mouth like he was tasting it. The way he kissed her, as if she was the first woman he’d ever kissed, that slow appreciation, building into something deeper and more intense—

“Okay! Shilo! What do we want for dinner?” Maybe she’d pop a Stouffer’s French bread pizza in the oven, since her deal with Jon didn’t start till after she’d chaperoned the prom. Great. Another thing to look forward to.

As she pulled into her driveway, she saw Gretchen sitting on the back steps, long legs crossed, a good three-quarters of her breasts heaping out of her neckline as if for inspection. Shilo galloped over, and before Gretchen could move out of the way, gave her a slobbery kiss.

“Ew! Disgusting!” Gretchen said, scrambling up.

“Well, you’re just sitting there like a big piece of raw meat,” Posey said. “So. Here to set fire to my house, Gret? Since you like ruining things and all?”

Gretchen gave her a contemptuous look. “Dante and I are back together,” she said.

“Oh, let me break out the champagne, by all means.”

“Well, I thought you should know,” Gretchen sniffed. “Since it affects you.”

“No, it doesn’t, Gretchen. Dante and I had a two-second fling. In hindsight, I think he’s a superficial, shallow ass. Which makes him perfect for you, by the way.”

Gretchen crossed her arms, which made her boobage surge even more.

“Could you cover those up?” Posey couldn’t help asking. “They scare me.” Her stomach growled, so she walked past her cousin and went inside. Alas, Gretchen followed.

“Look. I’m sorry I ruined your precious little birthday dinner, okay? It was…bad timing. But you know what?” Her voice took on that familiar edge—the one she only used with Posey. “I couldn’t take it anymore. There you are, always having everything. Your parents fawning all over you, your brother telling you you’re going to be an aunt, and the godmother, too, of course, God forbid anyone else gets any recognition in this family.”

“Oh, please. You’re the prodigy, the television star, the Barefoot Fraulein, remember?” Posey yanked open the freezer, tore open a box and shoved the pizza in the oven.

“You need to turn it on first,” Gretchen said, condescension dripping.

“Thanks for the tip. It’s so great having a professional chef around.”

“Fine. I won’t say another word. Cook away.”

Posey slapped on the oven. “As for poor, ignored Gretchen, give me a break. Look around my parents’ house. There are more pictures of you than me. It’s not my fault you threw your career in the toilet, Gret.”

Suddenly Gretchen’s eyes flooded with tears. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Posey,” she said. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an only child. Or an orphan. All our lives, my parents compared us, right? I know that! I know I was the golden girl, and you were the ugly duckling.”

“Wow. We’re really bonding now.”

Gretchen wiped her eyes. “No, Posey. I’m serious. No one ever expected anything from you.”

“Can you please leave?”

Gretchen waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t mean it like that. But Posey, come on. You…you could flush a toilet and your parents would be on the phone, telling everyone how wonderful you were. Whatever you did, no matter what it was, they acted like you’d just walked on the moon. What do you think my parents would’ve said if I told them I wanted to be a junkyard owner?”

“It’s not a junkyard.”

“Whatever. What if I wanted to be a doctor or a pilot or a park ranger! I had to be a chef, Posey. My parents owned a restaurant, and I was going to follow in those footsteps. They drilled that into my head from birth on. A German chef, no matter the fact that I love Italian food. Or French. Or Thai!” She flopped into a chair.

“Still not feeling sorry for you, Gret. Your parents loved you, and come on. They died when you were seventeen. You could’ve become a mortician and they wouldn’t have known.”

“The thing is, Posey, I had a role in the family. You and Henry…you could be whatever you wanted. The truth is, I’ve been jealous of you my whole life. You had freedom, you have a brother and you’ve always known exactly who you are.”

Posey’s head jerked back in surprise, but Gretchen kept talking.

“Me…I’ve been programmed since birth to be the Barefoot Fraulein, and that all came down in flames.” Gretchen’s face scrunched. “And your parents didn’t die! I don’t have anyone.”

“My parents love you like a daughter, Gretchen.”

Gretchen snorted. “No, they don’t, Posey. You’re their little girl. I’m just the niece.”

“Are you serious? They’re so proud of you.”

Gretchen wiped her eyes and gave Posey a pitying look. “Right. Only because they have no idea what’s happened to me. I have a gambling problem. My career’s dead, no network would touch me with a ten-foot pole, Guten Tag is the best I can do. My parents would be so ashamed.” She began sobbing in earnest, covering her hands with her face.

“Oh, Gret.” Posey went over and, after only a nanosecond of hesitation, hugged her. “I don’t think they’d be ashamed, not at all. You made some mistakes, that’s all.”

“I had to live with my cousin,” Gretchen continued, and Posey rolled her eyes and released her.

“I didn’t realize I was quite so repulsive, Gret,” she said. “So sorry you had to suffer.”

Gretchen sighed and wiped her eyes with her fingers. Then she opened the fridge—ever entitled—and took out a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “Want one?” she asked.

“Sure,” Posey answered, sitting at the table. Shilo flopped at her feet with a groan and offered his belly, which she rubbed with her foot.

“So, here’s the thing,” Gretchen said quietly, handing Posey a glass of wine. “When I finally found something that was good and exciting and fresh… I mean, I can’t tell you how it felt, the first time Dante kissed me, Posey. Like the whole world was new. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I do.” At Gretchen’s dark look, she added, “Not with Dante, though. I never— We never had a real connection.”

“When I found out you were with him first, Posey, I just…lost it. I just felt like… I don’t know. The runner-up. Again.” She paused. “I’m sorry I outed you to Max and Stacia.”

“On my birthday,” Posey added.

Gret sighed. “Yeah. Bad timing.” She took another sip of wine. “It’s just been hard,” Gretchen whispered, tears falling once more. “My life came crashing down around me, and coming back here, seeing you so…adored, your parents, the boys, that chubby kid—”

“Brianna.”

“Whatever. You’re lucky, Posey. You love your job, everyone likes you, and you have that god in your bed at night.” She blew her nose.

“Actually, we broke up,” Posey said.

Gretchen’s face brightened. “Really?”

“Don’t look happy, you pain in the ass.”

Gret grimaced. “Sorry. I am, Posey. He seemed like he really liked you.”

“Well, not enough, I guess.”

Gretchen’s perfect nose wrinkled. “Your supper’s burning,” she said.

Sure enough, smoke was coming out of the oven. “Crap,” Posey muttered, looking in. Dang, she’d forgotten to take off the plastic wrap.

Gretchen grinned. “You said you didn’t want help,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll whip something up.”

A half-hour later, Posey was eating the best omelet of her life—herbs and some exotic cheese left over from Gret’s month here—laughing as her cousin told a story of her own cooking disasters on the air. “No wonder that stupid show didn’t get any ratings,” Gretchen said thoughtfully. “I just don’t think America really wants to know how to deep-fry pork rinds.”

“More for us,” Posey said. “Even if they do take ten years off your life per serving.”

Gretchen smiled. Then she gave Posey a long look. “Think we can be friends? Even if you are a weird little junkyard dog who dresses like a man?”

Posey smiled. “You bet, Gret. Even if you are a pretentious diva obsessed with her own boobs.”

They clinked glasses and sealed the deal.