The Other Side - J. D. Robb [99]
He had the hem of her gown up around her thighs. “You did tell me,” he murmured between intimate kisses. “You wrote it on the mirror.”
“No, you did, you wrote ‘rocking ch—’ ”
“Shh.”
“You wrote . . . mmm . . . ” She forgot what she was going to say. “Oh, Harry . . . ”
Later, after the moon rose and the world was at its stillest, Angie pushed back the covers and padded down to the kitchen for a drink of water. She loved her house in all hours, but most of all in the thick of night, when its deep, benign silence wrapped her up like a comforter. Of course, sometimes there were noises. Creaks and cracks, nothing to be afraid of. Tonight that far-off, quicksilver sound that might be laughter played with her as she ran back up the stairs, holding up her gown in one hand, water glass in the other. It followed her back to her grandparents’ bedroom—hers and Henry’s now. It didn’t scare her; it made her smile. My house is so happy, it laughs.
She stopped shy of the bed. Bluish moonlight slanting through the window picked out writing on the mirror. Quite a lot of writing. She knew it read, “rocking chair/butter churn?” but she went closer anyway, just to . . . to . . .
“Oh, Henry,” she whispered, stricken with love. “Look what you did.”
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Her heart turned over. All her life she’d wanted the sort of love her grandparents had, complete, passionate, fulfilling. Eternal love. And now it was hers.
In bed, she laid her head on Henry’s chest and carefully arranged his sleeping arm around her. Lucky, lucky me, she thought, and drifted into a dream that began with the sweet, tickled sound of laughter.
Afterword
Alas, Emile Berliner, not Angie’s grandfather, invented the gramophone disk.
I don’t know who invented the self-tipping hat or the rocking chair/butter churn, but both have legitimate patents. Same with the pocket ashtray, the hat brim compass, the shoe-heel bottle opener, and the collar alarm.
Philip H. Diehl invented the first ceiling fan, and patented it in 1887.
The fly bat was invented by Frank H. Rose, but it didn’t really take off until Dr. Samuel J. Crumbine renamed it the “flyswatter.”
As for the flashlight, David Missell invented an early one around 1895, and sold it to the company that would later become Eveready.
Oh, if only Angie’s grandmother had invented the Comfy! It would have predated the Snuggie by about a hundred years, and the Darlingtons would’ve been millionaires. Fortunately—this isn’t in the story, but only because I ran out of room—while nursing the twins, Angie was playing with a piece of wire and accidentally invented the paperclip. Some people think it was William Middlebrook of Waterbury, Connecticut, but no, it was Angie. That’s how the Wildes got their wealth, eclipsing that of the Grimmetts by a mile. Henry and Angie’s proudest moment came in 1917, though, when the Paulton Republic won the first Pulizer Prize for journalistic excellence. Not long after that, the town was renamed Wildeton.
Almost Heaven
RUTH RYAN LANGAN
To my beautiful daughter-in-law,
Patty Langan,
for planting the seed that grew
into this heavenly tale.
And to Tom, my heaven on earth.
Prologue
“Attention, everyone.” Ted Crenshaw waited until the waiter signaled that every glass in the room had been filled with champagne. Copper Creek, one of the most prestigious private country clubs in northern California, was the perfect setting for this joyous celebration of the engagement of his only daughter, Christina, to handsome Mark Deering.
Drawing his wife Vanessa to her feet to stand beside him, the silver-haired man exuded wealth and success, and on this particular evening, great happiness.
He held aloft a fluted glass of Dom Pérignon. “To our daughter, Christina.”
The young woman who was the object of his affection was seated at the other