Deidre Kavanaugh was Colleen’s sister. During the summer, they’d all learned that Derry Kavanaugh wasn’t Deidre’s biological father. Deidre had been conceived during an extramarital affair Brigit had had with billionaire business mogul, Lincoln DuBois. Liam had gone to Germany, where Deidre had been working as a nurse in order to break the devastating news. He’d brought her back to the States, and now Deidre was at Lincoln DuBois’s Lake Tahoe mansion.
“Just yesterday,” Colleen replied in a hushed voice. “Her…” She paused, unable to say the word father. She still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Deidre’s biological father wasn’t Derry Kavanaugh, but Lincoln DuBois. “DuBois isn’t doing very well at all. They had thought that he’d lost so much of his functioning because of several strokes, but recently Deidre insisted he be taken to the hospital for extensive brain imaging. Sure enough, they found a tumor in an area where they can’t operate. Deidre sounds fairly certain that he doesn’t have very long to live.”
Mari made a sound of distress. “I can’t imagine what she must be going through, out in Lake Tahoe, all alone…tending to a dying man…a man she just learned was her father months ago.”
“I know,” Colleen said grimly. “I’m glad that Liam and Marc have both visited her. I keep offering as well, but she insists she’d rather wait for me to come when…you know…” She trailed off, knowing Mari would understand she referred to the inevitable approaching death of Lincoln DuBois.
“She’ll need you at her side the most then,” Mari said, taking an empty club-soda bottle from Colleen and throwing it in the recycle bin. She glanced at Colleen sadly. “And Deidre still refuses to speak to Brigit?”
She nodded. “She’s adamant about not seeing Mom. You know Deidre. She’s a force of nature when she makes up her mind about something. She blames Mom for everything. I try to talk to her about starting slowly with reconciliation—testing the waters—but Deidre is so hurt, you know? She’s even refusing to attend the wedding, because she doesn’t want to see Mom.”
Mari opened her mouth to reply, compassion in her eyes, but was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open and the sound of energetic Latin music filtering into the kitchen.
“The natives are getting restless for those drinks after some impromptu rumbaing,” Marc Kavanaugh told his wife, an amused look on his handsome face. Mari snorted and grabbed the drink tray.
“I’m sorry I missed you doing the rumba,” she told her husband as she walked toward the door. “I hope you didn’t throw a hip out or anything.”
“My hips are in perfect working order,” Marc murmured, stroking his wife’s lower back. “I keep them well-tuned, in deference to you.”
“They’re well-tuned because of me,” Mari replied very softly, laughter in her voice. They kissed briefly and walked out of the kitchen.
Colleen wasn’t supposed to overhear their teasing, intimate little exchange, but she had. She also didn’t miss Marc’s special grin meant just for his wife or the way he caressed Mari’s hip in such an appreciative manner.
A strange feeling went through her. Was it envy? Longing for the kind of relationship Marc and Mari had?
All this wedding planning is making you miss Darin, that’s all, she told herself as she screwed the cap on a soda bottle.
Deep down, she knew that mental reassurance wasn’t entirely correct. Darin’s death had left an empty hole in her life, but this current feeling of longing, while not wholly unfamiliar, was not something she associated to her late husband. Darin and she had been the best of friends, entirely comfortable with one another. Their sex life had been good. They’d both been young and healthy and eager to express their love for each other physically.
But still, what she’d experienced with Darin had felt…controllable. There was no sense of tumbling dangerously head over heels or potentially sacrificing too much. She knew he would leave her while he was on duty for extended periods of time. She knew how dangerous his work was as an Army Ranger. She’d mentally prepared herself for periods apart from him, although who could totally prepare themselves for that final, most difficult separation?
Darin’s death had been hard—beyond hard—but she’d endured.
She hated to admit it to herself, but since his death, part of her had been glad she hadn’t been in that wild, fevered, impassioned kind of love with Darin. How could she have survived after his death if she’d surrendered every last shred of herself?
Following her father’s death, Colleen had been desperate for stability and certainty. The known world of her family life had suddenly crumbled. Her once respected and adored father was dead, maligned by the press and townspeople. Her sister, Deidre, left Harbor Town, never to return.
When she’d met Darin at nineteen, she’d immediately been attracted to his easy charm, amiable personality, and desire and ability to care for her unconditionally. She’d loved Darin. Part of her always would. But they hadn’t shared the deep, passionate connection she observed between Marc and Mari or Liam and Natalie.
But you’d thought your parents shared that same respect and passion, the niggling voice in her head said. Look what was hiding in the dusty, dark corners of that seemingly ideal relationship: infidelity, lies, secrets…
She slammed the cupboard door closed with a bang, willing the troublemaking voice in her head to shut up.
Around midnight Colleen said her goodbyes to the last guests and shut the front door. Eric, Mari and Marc insisted they wanted to help her clean up, but she protested, shooing them out the door. She’d prefer to attack things in the morning. Colleen couldn’t keep her mother from staying, though. Fortunately, the babysitter watching Brendan, Jenny, and Marc and Mari’s daughter, Riley, at her mother’s house had been hired to stay overnight and well into the morning. Together they made a good dent in the cleanup.
When Brigit finally left at close to 1:00 a.m., Colleen breathed a sigh of relief. She rubbed her neck as she walked down the dim hallway, feeling exhausted but happy. The party had been a success. It’d been a long day, and it was late. The thought of getting out of her heels and diving into bed was enticing.
She started and paused when she heard a tap on the front door. She hurried back and flipped on the front porch light.
“Did you forget something,” she asked as she opened the door, halting when she saw it wasn’t her mother, but Eric. He’d changed out of his suit. He stood on her small front porch, hands in his front pockets. He looked just as appealing in jeans, T-shirt and a casual jacket than he had in his well-cut, expensive suit. She shoved the thought aside.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, stunned.
“I started to feel bad about leaving when there was still stuff to be done.”
“Don’t be silly,” she admonished. “Everything is all cleaned up. There’s nothing left to do but go to bed.”
The silence seemed to swell and press on her eardrums in the seconds that followed. Colleen mentally replayed what she’d just said and blushed.