Chapter 21 #2
And just as Anne’s face began to warm with self-consciousness, she noticed Kaisley’s focused expression. With brimming blue eyes, the baby was staring intently at the earring, as though, for at least a few moments, it was the world to her.
This child knew something about need. That might be all Anne’s granddaughter understood, as a matter of fact: how to need. Warmth, a full belly, someone to hold her, something to grab onto and touch.
Kaisley’s hiccups were fewer now, her tears gone. She palmed at Anne’s cheek, near the earring, and didn’t need language to talk. I want. I want.
She wasn’t grabbing this time, and so Anne, looking down at her, said quietly, “All right, little one. You need to hold that for a minute? Is that what you need? Well. That’s all right, then. I can share.”
* * *
By quarter to two, Sadie still hadn’t arrived, even though her flight had landed at LAX almost three hours earlier.
Everyone else—James and Arthur, Dan and the boys, Claire, Hal and Talisha—had made it on time, or close.
Claire had even shown up just ten minutes late, which for her was arriving early.
“Sadie texted us when she left the airport,” Talisha told Anne in response to the very calm and not at all anxious question Anne had asked. “Apparently, there’s some really important errand she had to stop and take care of first. She’ll be here soon, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Anne said automatically, and promptly spilled several drops of her cranberry-lime Italian soda on the living room rug. At least it was clear.
She wasn’t worried, not really. Just on edge. But annoyance played at the edges of Anne’s jitters, too. Why hadn’t Sadie shown up when she was supposed to? What errand could be more important than their reunion?
“Sadie’s late, huh?” Claire joined Anne and Talisha, signature cocktail in hand. It was Anne’s personal creation—a raspberry-lemon spritzer named Tart From Scratch—and after she’d mixed the ingredients, she’d promptly stationed herself far away from temptation. “Hey, nice flower crown, Mom.”
“Today of all days.” Anne reflexively touched the flower crown, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice and doing a poor job of it. “You’d think she’d be on time.”
“Mom,” Claire said gently. “I’m sure there’s a good reason she’s delayed.”
“Okay, but—”
“Hear me out. What if you just tried assuming the best about Sadie’s intentions instead of assuming the worst? If you’re going to be in a—” Claire glanced quickly at Talisha.
“Hal told me,” Talisha informed Anne. “Not much, just that something, ah, romantic happened between you. He told me you and Sadie said you were okay with me knowing. I hope he got that right?”
“He did,” Anne reassured her.
Talisha visibly relaxed. “Well, I think it’s great, by the way. For both of you. You’re good for her.”
Anne heard what Talisha didn’t say, that now, with Sadie and Anne together in a way they’d never been before, Hal might not worry about his mother as much. “We’re good for each other,” she corrected.
“See? You know that Sadie’s good for you,” Claire interjected. “And I’m sure she’ll be here any second. So maybe you could focus on all of that instead. Trust me, it’ll make you a lot happier than if you fixate on her being late.”
Reflexively, Anne bristled. Who was Claire to tell her how to be in a relationship?
Your daughter. Your daughter who’s clearly learned a few things over the years from the bad example you set. Maybe you should listen to her, at least this once.
Claire did have a point. It didn’t feel wonderful to jump right to annoyance where Sadie was concerned, especially when Anne didn’t have all the information.
And it wasn’t fair, was it, to automatically assume the delay was due to Sadie not prioritizing their reunion?
Sadie loved her. Sadie was counting the seconds.
Fault-finding with a magnifying glass wasn’t how Anne wanted to love.
“All right,” she said slowly as Claire’s eyes widened in surprise at this uncharacteristic concession. “I’ll try to be more generous.”
“It isn’t easy, though, is it?” Talisha gave Anne a small smile, one that held more than a little understanding. “Especially when all your careful planning goes to hell.”
The more Anne talked with Talisha, the more she liked her. “Exactly. It’s—”
Behind Talisha, the front door opened.
In a second, the sound of James and Arthur’s laughter in the kitchen disappeared, the pans Brooke was banging against the stove fell quiet, and the boys’ shrieks from the deck vanished.
All noise in the house seemed to shrink rapidly into silence, or maybe that was Anne’s tapering attention blotting out everything that no longer mattered.
Because her person, finally, was home.
Sadie stepped through the front door, closing it behind her.
Wigless, her honey-brown hair fell loose, spilling over her shoulders.
She wore a persimmon-colored structured vest Anne recognized from Veronica Beard’s prior spring collection; the vest’s armholes had three-quarter sleeves sewed on, an addition Sadie had clearly made at some point.
Her pants were wide and full, the same cream color as the sleeves.
Sadie’s face was tight with what looked like apprehension. And in her left hand, she clutched a glorious, bursting bouquet of flowers.
Anne had already started toward Sadie before her brain realized her body was in motion, taking slow, unhurried steps in the only direction she ever wanted to go.
“Hello,” Sadie said softly as Anne approached. Was it Anne’s imagination, or was she trembling? “I know those earrings.”
“You do.” Anne touched the right one reflexively.
Sadie’s gaze traveled to Anne’s fingers. “They look beautiful on you. I’m glad something of mine could be with you, even if I wasn’t.”
The rush of being understood without having to translate herself—Anne would never get over it.
“I know I’m late,” Sadie continued, “and I truly can’t stress enough how sorry I am about it, on today of all days, but Purple Poppy was running behind on their preorders when I got there, and—oh, gosh, I’m starting to babble, aren’t I?
I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.” She held out the bouquet. “This is for you.”
Somehow, Anne managed to tear her gaze away from those big brown eyes to look at Sadie’s offering. The bouquet was the color of the sky above the mountains just before the sun rose: Soft peach roses and blush begonias were offset by eucalyptus, echeveria succulents, and red hypericum berries.
She took the bouquet very carefully, raising it to her nose. The rose and eucalyptus scents, sweet and sharp and surprisingly well matched, danced together as she sniffed.
“I gave them a list of the flowers you love most.” Sadie sounded almost shy, as though she wasn’t sure how her gift would be received.
“I know the peach roses are your absolute favorite, obviously, and even though you’ve never said anything about succulents, I’ve seen how you care for the ones you keep by the kitchen sink window.
The berries are there because you always point them out when we walk the Topanga Lookout Trail.
And a long time ago, you said that you had a recurring dream about the begonias in the front yard of your childhood house. ”
Amazement filled Anne to the brim. I always pay attention, Sadie had told her once, and what she’d meant was I always pay attention to you.
“They’re just perfect,” Anne whispered. “Thank you. But peach roses aren’t my favorite flower.”
“They’re not? I could’ve sworn that—”
Sadie’s sentence trailed off as Anne reached up and stroked her soft cheek.
“You are,” Anne said simply. Who was this romantic? Where had she surfaced from?
The stain of red that spread almost instantly on Sadie’s cheeks was the same shade as the bouquet’s berries. “Me?” she squeaked. “You mean—you’re saying—oh! No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”
Anne grinned at her, pulling back her hand, and in Sadie’s answering smile she saw the reflection of her own thrilled face.
“You’re my favorite everything,” she said, a phrase she would’ve disdained a month ago.
“Name anything, and you’re my favorite version of it.
My favorite rainstorm. My favorite song. My favorite freshly-cleaned sheets.”
Sadie’s cheeks were still red. “I want to kiss you so much,” she whispered and then cast a glance behind Anne, presumably at the rest of their families. “But James and Claire are looking at us.”
“Later,” Anne said, her voice low, “promise.” When she turned around, Claire’s smile was hidden by a slow sip from her glass, the skin around her eyes crinkling.
And, yes, James was watching them from the kitchen while Arthur, just a few feet away, was chatting merrily with Brooke and Hal.
The bottle of sriracha in his hands was poised in mid garnish over a deviled egg, unmoving, as he met her gaze.
Anne recognized that look, no matter how hard he might be trying to hide it. James knew. Hell, maybe he’d known since Monday afternoon.
Well, that was fine. Why shouldn’t everyone know? Anne and Sadie were moving forward.
She slid her free arm through Sadie’s, feeling her heat, her light, her strength. The next forty years were about to begin.