Indulgence in Death - J. D. Robb [9]
“Hmmm?” He glanced back at her.
“Jeez.” Frustrated, she turned him around and all but shoved his face into the plaque on the fountain.
SIOBHAN BRODY MEMORIAL PARK
DEDICATED BY HER SON
When he said nothing, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “So, well . . . happy anniversary a few days early.”
He looked at her then, just stared at her with those wonderful wild blue eyes. Just said her name. Just “Eve.”
“I got the idea when the Irish invaded last fall and walked it by Sinead. She and the rest of them ran with it. Mostly I just sent money. Hell, your money since it’s what you dumped in that account for me when we got married. So—”
“Eve,” he repeated, and drew her in, hard, pressed his face to her hair.
She heard him draw a breath, long and quiet, release it as his arms tightened around her.
“So it’s good.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, only ran his hand up and down her back. “What a woman you are,” he murmured, and she heard the emotion in it, the way the Irish thickened just a bit in his voice. And saw it in those vivid eyes when he drew back. “That you would think of this. That you would do this.”
“Sinead and the rest did the heavy lifting. I just—”
He shook his head, kissed her. Like the breath, long and quiet.
“I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough thanks. I can’t say what this means to me, even to you. I don’t have the words for it.” He took her hands, brought them both to his lips. “A ghra. You stagger me.”
“So it’s good.”
He framed her face now, touched his lips to her brow. Then looked in her eyes and spoke in Irish.
“Come again?”
When he smiled now it lit her up. “I said, you’re the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.”
Moved to melting, she took his wrists. “Even when I’m the pain in your ass?”
“Particularly then.” He turned to study the plaque. “It’s lovely. Simple and lovely.”
“Well, you’re a simple guy.”
He laughed as she’d wanted him to. “I’ve come to know her a little through the family. This would mean a great deal to her. A safe place for children to play,” he said, looking around again. “For families to come. Young people sitting on the grass, doing schoolwork, listening to music. Practicing on the football pitch.”
“I don’t get why they call it a pitch when it’s football, which isn’t actually football at all but killer soccer. It’s not baseball, that’s for sure. People over here don’t have two clues about real baseball, which is just too bad for them.”
He laughed again, took her hand, gave it a swing. “We should call the rest in, and you can show me around.”
“Sure.”
The kid bolted for the playground the second he got the signal and set to scrambling up ladders, hanging from bars, swinging on poles like a freckle-faced monkey.
Eve supposed it was a solid endorsement.
Before long, Sinead and more of the family who came along set up food on picnic tables where dogs were shooed away.
When Sinead walked over to sit on the lip of the fountain, Roarke followed, sat beside her. She took his hand, sat for a moment in silence.
“It’s good to know my grandchildren and those that come after will play here, and laugh and fight and run. It’s good something lasting and kind can come out of the sorrow and loss. Your wife knows your heart, and that makes you a rich man.”
“It does. You put in a great deal of time on this.”
“Oh, I’ve some to spare, and it was a gift to me, too. To my brothers, to all of us. Our mother cried when I told her what Eve wanted to do. Good tears. All of us shed too many sorrowful ones for Siobhan, so good tears wash clean. Your woman knows death and sorrow. They sit on her, move in her, and have made her sensitive.” She glanced at him. “She has a gift, a touch of sight that doesn’t come through the eyes, but the heart and the belly.”
“She’d call it instinct, training, cop sense.”
“Hardly matters what it’s called, does it? Ah now, look here.” She laughed, drew him to his feet. “Here’s a friend come to play with you.”
Puzzled, he looked