“But why?”
Tony didn’t know how to answer his brother. He wasn’t sure yet he had an answer for himself, much less the rest ofthe Riordans.
The truth? He had come for one purpose and stayed foranother. And now, all alone in Claire’s office, where thedemands threatened to spill past the legendary order, he knew he would fight for a third.
He was falling in love with her.
He should have been a lot more surprised by the realization. Outraged, terrified. Appalled. He had no businessfalling in love with this woman. It certainly couldn’t helpher. In truth, it could do nothing but hurt her. Claire neededTony’s sense, his compassion, his support. She needed afriend, and he wanted to be her lover.
He stared at the cluster of snapshots on the bulletin boardwithout really seeing them. He saw instead Claire as she’dbeen the night before. Open, anxious, trembling like a budon the brink of opening. And he found for one unforgivable moment he wished he would have refused to let herback away.
“What do I tell them, Tony?”
It was Tony’s turn to sigh. If he’d been paying attention,he would have realized that he ran his hand through hismuch-longer hair in an almost-identical gesture to hisbrother. “Tell them I’ll fill them all in on the Fourth.”
And then, as Gina had put it so well, they can all tell mewhat I’m doing wrong. Even though I already know.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked fifteen minutes later whenshe walked into her own office to find Tony scowling at the phone.
Everybody seemed to be in an off mood today. Peacheshad scowled at her on her way by the kitchen, mutteringnasty warnings about people who thought surprises were acceptable in his life. Claire had ignored him. He’d almosthad a heart attack when Tony and Jess and she had walkedinto his little church hall with its peeling paint and ricketycard tables the night before, the only white customers in the all-black church.
He’d fussed and fidgeted and scowled. Claire wasn’t surewhether it was because he didn’t trust Tony, he was afraidthe preacher was going to embarrass him by praising his recovery or he thought Claire might be uncomfortable in his poor church.
It had been Tony who had defused the situation by wiselyletting Jess be the front man. All the little grandmas hadcooed over her, the little old men praised her, and thepreacher encouraged her to play their piano. And Peaches,as huge and threatening as a storm cloud, had preened likea parent.
“Tony, is something wrong?” she asked now, thinking how he’d sung heartily along as Jess had played, blithelydisregarding the fact that he had absolutely no sense of pitchor rhythm, which in that church had earned him more thanone raised eyebrow.
He looked up at her, dragging his hand through his hairfor the second time in as many minutes, his eyes distant.
He’d kissed her last night. She could still feel it, as if he’dleft part of himself behind with her, a warmth, a slow,seeping light that threatened to dispel some of the chill shealways carried with her. It made her want to smile.
It made her want to run.
He finally heard her and straightened away from the phone he’d been considering and offered her a chagrinedshrug. “I’ve been found. I have to wake up Gina andground her until she’s twenty for ratting on me.”
Claire frowned. “You make it sound like the Mafia’s after you.”
“Worse.” He grinned again, brash and crooked. “Mymother. She’s worried, so she’s called every one of my siblings so they’ll in turn call me and yell at me for her.”
Claire didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Worried?” sheasked. “About what?”
But Tony was already waving her off. “It’s my own dumbfault. I didn’t call her. And you know how mothers are.”
“I thought it was just me.”
He looked truly surprised. “Your mom never sent youget-well cards when you missed a holiday because she knewthat was the only reason you wouldn’t show up?”
Claire had to grin, even as she shook her head. Even as she ached in a way she hadn’t allowed herself in years.“Nope. My parents always felt that polite disdain was amuch better method of discipline.”
Tony’s easy humor faltered a little. “Oh, they’re gone?I’m sorry.”
“No.” Claire admitted her surprise at his assumption. Ather own dismissal. “They’re still, um, alive. In KansasCity.”
His hesitation was only worth a heartbeat, a hitch of quietempathy that made Claire want to reach out to him. “Thenyou don’t face regular terrorism at their hands?”
His retort was meant to be light. Maybe only Clairecaught an undercurrent. Maybe it was just because suddenly she remembered her homecoming all those years ago.She had boiled with excitement and relief and anxiety and outrage. Her life had changed forever, and she’d paced theliving room with its ironed slipcovers and empty end tablestrying to tell them. Desperate for someone—anyone—tosimply hold her and let her say all the terrible things she’dneeded to. She could still see the light as it had winked offher father’s glasses when he’d picked up the newspaper. Shecould hear the deafening silence as her mother had simplywalked from the room.
So she answered him with the truth. “I’m jealous.”
