Yet where was the peace? Abe thought, for despite the good news of the day, despite Jobe’s goal to see his grandchild being met, still his face was lined and there was tension visible even in his drug-induced sleep.
There had been a long moment when his father’s breathing had seemed to cease and he’d called urgently for the nurse.
It was normal, he’d been told, with so much morphine for respirations to decrease and also, he’d been further told, albeit gently, things slowed down near the end of life.
But no matter how gently said, it had hit him like a fist to the gut.
His father was dying.
Oh, he had known for months, of course he had, but he had fully realised it then. Abe had glimpsed the utter finality of what was to come and, rather than do what instinct told him to and shake his father awake and demand that he not die, Abe had held it in and headed out into the snowy night.
He had sent his driver home ages ago, and had stood for a moment looking up at the snow falling so quietly from the sky.
Instead of calling for his driver, or even hailing a cab, he had crossed the wide street and headed over to Central Park.
There he had cleared snow from a bench and sat by the reservoir, too numb, and grateful for that fact, to feel the cold.
Here had been the park of his childhood, though it had never been a playground.
Abe had never played.
Instead, on the occasional times his mother would take them, unaccompanied by a nanny, it would be he who would look out for Ethan, making sure he didn’t get too close to the water.
And that had been on a good day.
The park closed at one a.m. and, rather than being locked in for the night, Abe had stood with no intention of heading home.
There were plenty he could call upon for the usual balm of sex. As disengaged as he was with his lovers, Abe did generally at least manage some conversation, but even that brief overture before the mind-numbing act felt like too much effort tonight.
And so he had walked from the park to his father’s residence, which was far closer to the hospital than his Greenwich Village home. He had decided to sleep there tonight.
Just in case.
And now, for reasons he didn’t care to examine, conversation felt welcome.
Necessary even.
He walked through to the drawing room and she, Naomi, Merida’s friend, followed him in and took a seat on the pale blue sofa as he lit the fire that had been made up and then checked his phone.
Again, just in case.
‘The snow’s getting heavy,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be wise to stay nearer to the hospital tonight.’
‘How is your father?’
‘Today took a lot out of him. Are you a nurse?’ he asked, because he had no real idea of the qualifications required to be a nanny. Perhaps that was why he had pursued conversation, Abe thought—so that he could pick her brains.
But she shook her head.
‘No,’ Naomi said. ‘I’d always wanted to be a paediatric nurse but...’ She gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t do too well at school.’
She opened up the box again and tore off one of the large slices but the topping slid off as she attempted to raise it to her mouth. ‘How on earth do you eat this?’
‘Not like that,’ he said, and he showed her how to fold the huge triangle.
‘I haven’t had pizza from a box in years...’ Abe mused as he took his slice. ‘Or rather decades. Jobe used to take Ethan and me over to Brooklyn when we were small. We’d sit on the pier...’ His voice trailed off and he was incredibly grateful that she didn’t fill the silence that followed so he could just sit and hold the memory for a moment as they ate quietly. ‘This pizza’s good,’ he commented.
‘It’s better than good, it’s incredible.’ And made more so when he went and poured two generous drinks from a decanter.
‘Cognac?’ he offered.
She had never tasted it before and, given for once she wasn’t working, Naomi took the glass when he handed it to her.
‘Wow,’ she said, because it burnt as it went down. ‘I doubt I’ll have much trouble getting back to sleep after that.’
‘That’s the aim,’ Abe said. ‘You can rely on my father to have the good stuff on tap.’
‘What did you think of the baby?’ Naomi asked as he sat down. Not on the sofa but on the floor, leaning against it.
‘It’s very loud,’ Abe said, and she laughed.
‘She’s gorgeous. What are you getting her as a gift?’
‘Already done.’ Abe yawned before continuing. ‘My PA dealt with it and got her some silver teddy.’
‘I did all the shopping before I came,’ Naomi said, ‘though now I know it’s a girl I’m sure there’ll be more. Are you excited to be an uncle?’
He raised his eyes, somewhat disarmed by her question.
Abe really hadn’t given being an uncle much thought. Since he’d heard that his brother had got Merida pregnant it had been the legalities that he’d focussed on—making sure the baby was a US citizen and ensuring Merida couldn’t get her hands on any more of the Devereux fortune than the baby assured her.
Only, lately, Merida seemed less and less like the woman Abe had been so certain she was.
In fact, Ethan looked happy.
He didn’t say any of that, of course.
But if you are going to do pizza by the fire on a snowy December night, you do need to do your share of talking, and so he asked her a question. ‘Do you have any nieces or nephews?’
‘No.’ Naomi shook her head and then let out a dreamy sigh. ‘I actually can’t think of anything nicer than to be an aunt.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters who might one day oblige you?’
She shook her head.
‘So you’re an only child?’ he casually assumed, and then watched as for the first time colour came to her pale cheeks.
‘I don’t have any family.’
He saw the slight tremble of her fingers as she put down the crust of her pizza.
‘None?’ he checked.
‘I count Merida as family,’ she admitted, ‘but, no.’
Yes, she and Merida were close, but Naomi was very aware that though they were best friends, Merida was far more of Naomi’s world than the other way around.
And that said nothing against Merida. But she had parents, albeit awful ones, and a half-brother and half-sister, and cousins and grandparents.
Naomi had...
Merida.
Her birth mother had wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her and Naomi had no clue who her father was. There had been a foster mum when she’d been a teenager that had been amazing but she’d taken a well-earned retirement in Spain, though they still corresponded. And there was another foster family that she still sent a Christmas card to.
And of course, there were friends she had made along life’s way, but there was no family.
None.
Zip.
‘My