The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [166]
With no effort at all, Craig reached up and peeled his brother’s hand from his mouth—not that he needed it to state, “You didn’t jump.”
No. He looked over at Ivy. He rolled off his brother and leaned back in the grass on his elbows. Which the flower-eating dragon lady could have told you weeks ago if she was any good at interpreting dreams. I couldn’t have made it any plainer for her.
“ ‘It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents,’ ” she quoted Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, First Baron of Lytton, with great élan around a mouthful of highly addictive buttercups. “ ‘—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the’ . . . well, up the cliff in this case. And down the hillside and through the trees. It was terrible. And the lightning and the noise . . .”
What happens?
“I slip in the mud and fall.” Her eyes lifted to Oliver’s steady gray-blue gaze. “You slip. You fall.” Her mind flashed on the few quick glimpses she’d caught of his last moments, the panic and horror; the desperate screaming desire to save himself, to live . . . the raw realization and acceptance . . . Tears rivered down her cheeks. “Oh, Oliver.”
Aw, gawd.
Dashing the back of his hand over one eye, Craig wrapped his other arm around her and gave a reassuring hug. “Girls, huh? Remember how Mom could laugh so hard she cried?”
I remember everything now.
“Yeah? Including what I said about you taking my Chevelle out?”
I was about to die, man.
“Now that I know you didn’t know that . . .”
Ivy chuckled and cheered as Craig chased Oliver around and through the old gazebo in a brotherly ritual they’d performed a hundred times or more—laughing, stumbling, shouting grisly threats. This time, however, when the younger was caught, there was no noogie or dangling spit over his face. Craig clutched him in his arms, shook him, held him a few moments more, kissed his cheek, held him, and finally whispered something in his ear before reluctantly letting him go.
They stared at each other long and hard, saying things with their eyes that no words had been made for . . . until Ivy sniffed back her tears and broke the silence. She intended to call Jay first thing in the morning. Craig smiled and started toward her—Oliver beat him to her side.
Ask.
“Why me?”
I tried everyone in his near future and you were the only one who let me in.
“His near future?”
The Rossinis will be planning a Glad to Be Back party in the fall. Your mother would have brought you. I just rushed things along.
“So you can just pop in and out of my head . . . whenever ?”
Nah. I’ve done what I needed to do. I’m leaving and I’ll close the door on my way out.
“The door?”
Whatever it was that made you susceptible to me—I don’t know, being unsuspecting, being creative and imaginative . . . open-minded? Maybe it was just destiny. But whatever it was, it isn’t there anymore. You’ll be wary now, and that closes doors on all sorts of possibilities. He nudged her gently with his elbow. Lighten up. It’s okay. In this case it’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure my brother doesn’t want his wife running around talking to dead people. Not to mention how horrible you are at it.
“Bite me.” Irrespective of her words, they grinned fondly at each other.
Thanks, Ivy.
It wasn’t like she’d had a choice, but she nodded her acknowledgment anyway. But as he turned to leave her, she stopped him.
“Wait a second.” She stood, looked around for Craig, who was nowhere in sight, but still sidled up close before she spoke again. “You said