They were quiet for a moment, and Darcie pulled back, sensing that Heather had shown enough of her vulnerabilities for the moment. And Darcie’s own vulnerabilities were about to eat her alive. This was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter, and she longed to just hold her, to fix her, to love her the way she loved Heather’s father.
Impossible. Darcie knew that much better than most.
Feeling an ache born of hopelessness, she stood and looked around. “It’s pretty cold out here.”
“It’s okay.”
Good thing Darcie had a lot of patience. It could get trying when a young person was determined to disagree—or to make a point not to totally agree—with everything an adult said.
“So what is it about this park that’s special to you?”
Heather thought about not answering. Her feelings were private. And it was different talking to Darcie on the phone. It felt more anonymous. Face-to-face made those scary emotions do freaky things to her brain, made her feel stupid and embarrassed. But Darcie wasn’t looking at her like she was stupid.
“This is where my mom used to take me when I was little.” Heather watched as her breath puffed out in a white cloud. “She would push me on the swings and hold my hand when I went down the slide. And she laughed a whole lot back then.” Oh, God, the hurt inside was really bad.
“You miss your mom.”
“I guess.” She hated admitting to a need. “I miss Grandma, too, but at least she’s not dead.”
“I’m sorry about your mother, sweetie. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent. As much as my mom and I fight, I can’t imagine being without her.”
Heather looked up. Most people said they knew what it felt like, even if they didn’t. Darcie Moretti spoke honestly. And she didn’t talk down to her or shy away from sad subjects. “Do you, like, live with your mom still?”
Darcie laughed. “No. I have my own place, but sometimes I wonder why I shell out the money. I’m at my folks’ house a lot. Mealtimes especially. Ma takes it as a personal affront if I don’t show up for pot roast.”
Heather gave a wistful smile. “Grandma makes a pretty good pot roast.”
“A lot of problems and worries seem smaller over a bowl of mashed potatoes and pot roast.” Darcie heard the rumble of Heather’s stomach. “I bet you got so upset with your dad, you forgot to eat.”
Heather giggled, looking slightly embarrassed that her stomach had made such a loud noise.
“How would you feel about coming home with me? You’d be doing me a big favor,” she added quickly when Heather looked as though she was going to object. “I got tied up earlier and missed dinner. This is one of the unforgivable sins in a household like mine. Especially on Wednesdays and Sundays. If you don’t show, you’d better be dead or have a good reason why you’re not there.”
“But it’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“Doesn’t matter. A missed meal is a major cause for drama and lectures, with a huge helping of guilt so you don’t repeat the infraction. Ma’s side of the family is Irish and German and Dad’s is Italian. I imagine you can guess what sort of dramatics fly with a combination like that.”
“Do they yell at you?”
“Heck, yes. They yell at me and the dog and the walls. It’s an art families like ours learn at birth.”
Heather giggled again.
“Honest,” Darcie said, watching the softening, the acceptance, knowing she was on the verge of victory. She wanted that victory for Heather.
And she wanted it for Heather’s father. Just the thought, the image of Flynn O’Grady nearly sidetracked her.
“Grandma talks to the wall, and Mom talks to thin air. ‘She says she’s coming, then doesn’t show her mother the courtesy of a phone call. A body could be lying dead in the gutter, but does she bother to call her mother? No. And here I have a nice chicken in the pot going to waste,”’ Darcie mimicked, waving her arms like a conductor for emphasis, pleased by the way Heather’s face stretched farther into a grin. “You really don’t want to leave me alone to face that, do you?”
Heather stood. “What did she cook tonight?”
Darcie stood, too, barely restraining the urge to reach out, to make sure Heather didn’t walk off. “Roast chicken and stuffing. And chocolate cake.”
“I guess I could come for dinner.”
Darcie led Heather to the car, wondering if she would beat Flynn to Trenton, if she’d have a chance to form a bond with his daughter, to talk her into going home and staying there. She wondered if there would be enough time for the Moretti clan to work their magic as they had so many times in the past.
She prayed that there would be. She couldn’t lose a kid to the streets. It hurt too much.
Now that she knew it was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter at stake, it was all the more important to her. It was personal.
DARCIE DEBATED having a second piece of chocolate cake.
“Oh, go on,” Grandma Connor urged. “Your thighs won’t appreciate it, but life’s short.”
Rose Moretti raised her gaze to the ceiling as though seeking divine patience. Darcie decided that her mother had really perfected that look. “She insults her own granddaughter, right here in my kitchen. I ask you, is this the way to act?” Though Ma was German-born, thirty-five years of living with an Italian man had added to her repertoire of gestures and voice nuances.
“Of course it is. If family can’t tell the truth, it’s a sad day. Besides, she’s growing a baby in her womb and every little girl has to learn about chocolate.”
Darcie’s hand jerked and her next forkful of cake landed icing down on the china plate. She wanted to put a muzzle on Grandma Connor, but knew from thirty-one years of experience that it wouldn’t do any good. Grandma said what she wanted, when she wanted.
And that could well be a problem. Especially with Flynn coming over. She hadn’t yet told her family the identity of her baby’s father. And thankfully they hadn’t pushed her. Now, all she needed was for Grandma to mention the baby before she had a chance to talk to Flynn.
Trying not to think about any more disasters, Darcie forked a bite of the sinful dessert into her mouth, noticing that Heather had stopped eating and was watching to see if anyone had actually taken offense over the fat comments. The way Rose and Grandma were nose to nose, it sure looked like war.
“Hopefully this baby won’t inherit my tendencies to gain weight. And hopefully she’ll have more willpower.”
“You’re not fat,” Heather said cautiously.
“Of course she’s not!” Rose agreed, shooting another glare at her mother, which Grandma ignored with a sniff. “And Grandma does not think so, either. She just likes to hear herself talk. Trouble is, she lets anything that comes into her brain just rip right from her lips.”
“And you don’t?” Grandma asked, making a face.
Darcie couldn’t help it. She laughed. And so did Heather.
“I told you, didn’t I?”
Heather nodded. Both Rose and Grandma hid smiles. They were putting on a show. That it appeared to be at Darcie’s expense wasn’t a problem. Darcie understood them, knew she was loved.
“So, tell