Jimmy nodded. “But . . .” He made a “next step” gesture with his hands. “It bothered Trey, knowing you were Caddy’s sister?”
“No,” she exclaimed. “He was blown away when he realized Caddy and I were sisters, but I wouldn’t say it bothered him, precisely.”
“So . . . why aren’t you guys seeing each other, then?”
“Because it bothers me,” she stated baldly.
“It bugs you that Caddy and Trey were friends?”
“Yes. No. I mean . . . You don’t understand,” she blurted out in frustration. She glanced up uneasily from twiddling her pen. Sure enough, Jimmy appeared bewildered. “Don’t you get it? Mom’s been worried that I’ve been hashing out my grief over Caddy by wearing her clothes, acting all bold. She never said it, but I assume she’d include doing something as daring as seducing Trey Riordan in that category, if she knew about it. It seems like you think something similar. You said it the other day at brunch,” she reminded him. “Now, come to find out, Trey probably was attracted to me because I was acting and dressing like someone whom he respected and was attracted to for years. In other words, he was probably attracted to me because there were similarities between Caddy and me, and he recognized that unconsciously. He probably even recognized some of her clothes on me,” she mumbled, sinking in her chair, mortified at the idea.
“Whoa, wait a second,” Jimmy said, holding up his hands. “I never said you were acting like Caddy.”
“Yes, you did. Well, you sort of implied it.”
“I said the opposite, point-blank,” he defended. “I said you weren’t pretending to be Caddy. That’s not what I think your new look is about.”
“You told me you thought me wearing her clothes, and this thing I started with Trey . . . all of it, was only happening because Caddy had passed.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I also said that you wore the new look really well, but that I thought you weren’t owning it.”
“You said that I was playacting!”
“No,” he said, his dark eyes flashing. “I said that when Caddy suggested you take a bite out of life and live passionately, she meant that you should live your passion. Not hers.”
She flinched back.
“Right,” Eleanor said after a moment, her throat tight. “And you and Mom both think I’m just trying to step into Caddy’s shoes—literally—in order to do it. That’s why Trey fell for me.”
“No,” Jimmy bellowed. He threw up his hands, clearly fed up with her. Feeling deflated and overwhelmed, she sagged back into her chair.
“Look, I don’t know the exact reasons Riordan is attracted to you,” Jimmy continued in a calmer tone. She rarely saw him so serious. Despite her agitation, she found herself hanging on his every word. “I think that Caddy knew you had your own passion, and that for whatever reason, you were keeping it buried. Under wraps
. I think she was telling you to liberate it. Live it, because life is too short. And maybe you found your passion and set it free by wearing her clothes once in a while, and by taking risks you normally wouldn’t have when you moved into her place. But that doesn’t make what you were doing, or how you felt, playacting. I think . . .”
“What?” Eleanor whispered, utterly focused on him now.
“I think it was your passion all along, Eleanor. I think that’s what Riordan was seeing. I think that’s what he’s fallen for. Maybe Caddy gave you the opportunity to borrow her luxurious lifestyle, and her wardrobe and her confidence, a rare chance to find your own passion.” Jimmy shrugged. “But don’t you think the time has come for you to take full ownership of it now?”
TWENTY-THREE
That night when she got home from work, there was a huge, sophisticated flower arrangement consisting of white lilies, freshly cut ranunculus and larkspur sitting on the doorman’s station.
“Someone is trying to tell someone that he likes her,” Harry told her when Eleanor commented on how striking the arrangement was.
“I’ll say,” she agreed, pulling her gaze off the flowers. “Any packages, Harry?”
“Just those,” Harry said, nodding at the flowers.
She blinked in disbelief. “These are for me?”
“Yeah. Along with this.”
Harry stood and opened a closet door behind his doorman’s station. She gaped at him in amazement when he walked toward her carrying an equally lovely, colorful, fresh-cut bouquet of wildflowers. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest. Flustered, she accepted it. Her fingers fumbled with the attached envelope. She withdrew a card. It read:
The florist asked which type of arrangement suited you best. I said I wanted to send both of these. She asked if I was unsure about which one was right, and I said no. They both reminded me of you.
I’m not giving up, Eleanor. Just give me a chance to talk to you.