After a while, he whispered a quick, “Sorry,” against my hairline before releasingme.
I wasn’tsorry.
That hand might’ve left a trace on my body, but it had also left one on myheart.
I thought of Mom again, of her claim that the right man could fix a broken heart. August could touch mine, and this was as thrilling as it was terrifying because that meant he could mend it just as he could breakit.
8
Dinner was delicious and laid-back.Neither Isobel nor Nelson brought up the mating link, and neither of them asked questions about my intentions toward their son or his intentions towardme.
But after dinner . . . Well, after dinner was a differentstory.
While the men cleaned up the vestiges of our meal, Isobel brewed a pot of chamomile tea before leading me to the firepit. Flames snapped in between the circle of stones and warmed the cooling night air, casting shadows over her haggardface.
She’d promised me she was well, but the deep creases around her eyes and lips worried me nonetheless. As she reclined in the burgundy Adirondack, I prayed her fatigue wasn’t a symptom that her double-mastectomy had failed itspurpose.
“August spoke to us before you arrived,” she said, jouncing me out of my pessimisticmusings.
Clutching my mug, I focused on the dancingblaze.
“Nelson and I, we don’t want to meddle, but your parents are no longer here, and well, we feel a responsibility toward them to discuss it with you. This . . .link, it’s momentous and not without consequence, for you and for ourson.”
How I wished the fire could leap out of the pit and incinerate something, anything, just to drag the focus away fromme.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but your mother, she was intendedfor—”
“Heath. Iheard.”
“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause, then, “The reason I’m bringing up your mom is because I want to remind you that you have a choice in the matter. You and my son might have a connection—you always had a connection—but I guess, what I’m trying to say, is that this connection has grown into something . . .more.”
At this point, if the flames decided to incinerate me, I wouldn’t have trulyminded.
“August feels strongly toward you, but you’re so young, so if you don’t reciprocate his feelings, he’ll understand. Maybe not right away, but in time, hewill.”
She touched my forearm, and I jumped, spilling tea all over mylap.
“Oh, I’msorry.”
“It’s okay.” The tea seeped into the red silk, darkeningit.
“A mother wants only one thing in life, and that’s her child’s happiness. You’ve always contributed to August’s, but now you’ve become the pivotal object of it. And although he claims it’s not because of the link, the link doubtlessly enhances what he feels. Doubtlessly enhances what you feel,too.”
Although I wanted to melt through the planks of my chair, I finally looked at Isobel. Her green eyes were gentle instead of reproachful like I’dfeared.
“I want what’s best forbothof you, and maybe that’s each other. But you’re onlyseventeen.”
I’d be eighteen in two weeks, but then August would be twenty-eight in March, so we’d always have this nine-years-and-some-monthsgap.
Over the husky notes of the jazz song pouring from the outdoor speakers, Isobel said, “Nelson and I, we met when I was sixteen and he was twenty-two. And Maggie, shewas—”
“Thirteen. And Dad was three years older, which had made a lot of peoplebalk.”
She smiled. “How I remember. But Maggie was so spirited and strong-willed that whenever anyone mentioned the age difference, she’d get all up in their faces.” Isobel turned her gaze to the flames and sighed. “I guess age doesn’t really matter in the end.” She removed her hand from my arm. “What does matter, though, is making an informed decision. You have options. August is one of them, but the Winter Solstice isanother.”
I cast a glance over my shoulder to make sure the men were still out of earshot. August was drying a plate by the sink while Nelson was stacking the glasses inside a cupboard. They seemed deep into their ownconversation.
“Isobel, would you and Nelson be disgusted if I choseAugust?”
