A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [19]
“You haven’t signed the closing documents yet,” Kevin reminded her. “It’s not too late. So let’s do it, okay? Let’s tell Cici and Lindsay you’ve changed your mind and you’re going to Chicago instead.”
Bridget spent a long moment looking from one to the other of her children, so filled with conflicting emotions that she didn’t know where to start. Were these really her children? How had they grown into these strangers whose thought processes Bridget could barely begin to fathom? Kate had not bothered to ask her mother’s advice when she decided to marry a man she’d dated less than three months, nor when she decided they “had nothing in common” on her twin girls’ second birthday. But now she wanted her mother to fix everything. And Kevin, whose perpetual bachelorhood was merely an excuse for the kind of selfishness that included scuba diving in Belize and a designer apartment with a view of the Washington Monument, thought he could settle the problem of his inconvenient mother with the same brusque efficiency with which he settled a court case. Who were these people?
The answer of course was simple: They were her children, whom she loved with all her heart.
She said gently, “Katie, I love my grandbabies, but I told you when they were born that I did not want to raise them. And I’m sorry you can’t afford the three-bedroom apartment. Maybe prices would be cheaper if you moved out of the city.”
Before Kate could draw a breath to reply, Bridget turned to Kevin. “Kevin, honey, you are a dear, dear boy. But you don’t have to be the daddy now. You don’t have to take care of things, and you don’t have to fix things, and for heaven sakes you do not have to be responsible for me. All you have to do, both of you, is to live your best lives, right now, just like I am. Someday I am going to need you, and when that day comes I want you”—she pointed a finger at Kate in mock sternness—“to have a house in the suburbs with a mother-in-law suite, a maid, and a pool. And you”—she turned the finger on Kevin—“to have a wife who loves you as much as I loved your father.
“In the meantime . . .” She smiled. “You’re right, I do have a family. And it includes Cici and Lindsay. We’re about to go off on a marvelous adventure together, and we’ve earned it. Some day, if you work hard and live right, the two of you might get a chance to have as much fun as I’m having. So be happy for us, okay?”
She stood, then, and extended her hands to her two rather dazed-looking offspring. “Now, unless you’re planning on serving me with papers for a competency hearing . . .” She paused only slightly to toss Kevin a look of mild inquiry. He quickly stood up and grasped her hand. “Let’s get back to the party, shall we?”
His name was Peter Shepler, and he insisted everyone call him Shep. He was over six feet tall, slim and muscular with iron gray hair and a nose like Richard Gere’s. There had been a time in Lindsay’s life when the mere sight of him could stop her breath.
Now all she could notice was that he had had a lot of work done on his teeth. His smile was about three shades whiter than the brilliant white satin she had used for the buffet. She thought about complimenting him on it, but wasn’t sure that would be polite.
He looked down at her now with that sad, tender, sweet expression in his eyes that once upon a time had melted her heart like chocolate in the sun. “So,” he said, “after all these years, it’s good-bye.”
Lindsay actually remembered a very distinct good-bye some five years ago, when he had married another woman. But she merely smiled and agreed. “It looks like it.”
His gaze swept her face, her hair, and barely skimmed the glitter-dusted curve of her cleavage before returning