Inner Harbor
Page 75
Anna was silent for a moment, her eyes still closed. "Go ahead. You can laugh. I'm too weak to get up and belt you."
"You worked so hard to do this for Seth."
"He had the time of his life." Anna's lips curved as she opened her eyes. "And since I'm going to make Cam and his brothers clean it up, I'm feeling pretty good about it, all in all. How are you?"
"I'm fine. I came to apologize for last night."
"Apologize for what?"
The question threw her off rhythm. She was already running behind schedule, she thought, distracted by the chaos and Anna's rambling monologue. Sybill cleared her throat and began again. "For last night. It was rude of me to leave without thanking you for--"
"Sybill, I'm too tired to listen to nonsense. You weren't rude, you have nothing to apologize for, and you'll annoy me if you keep this up. You were upset, and you had a perfect right to be."
And that blew Sybill's carefully prepared speech all to hell. "I honestly don't understand why people in this family won't listen to, much less accept, a sincere apology for regrettable behavior."
"Boy, if that's the tone you use when you lecture," Anna observed with admiration, "your audience must sit at attention. But to answer your question, I suppose we don't because we so often indulge in what could be termed regrettable behavior ourselves. I'd ask you to sit down, but those are really lovely slacks and I have no idea what nasty surprises there are on any of the cushions."
"I don't intend to stay."
"You couldn't see your face," Anna said more gently. "When he looked up at you, when he told you what he remembered. But I could see it, Sybill. I could see it was a great deal more than duty or responsibility or a valiant attempt to do what was right that brought you here. It must have crushed you when she took him away all those years ago."
"I can't do this again." The burn of tears scalded the back of her eyes.
"I just can't do this again."
"You don't have to," Anna murmured. "I just want you to know I understand. In my work I see so many damaged people. Battered women, abused children, men who are at the end of their ropes, the elderly we so blithely displace. I care, Sybill. I care about every one of them who come to me for help."
She sighed a little and spread her fingers. "But in order to help them, I have to hold part of myself back, be objective, realistic, practical. If I threw all my emotions into every one of my cases, I couldn't do my job. I'd burn out, burn up. I understand the need for a little distance."
"Yes." The painful tension drained out of Sybill's shoulders. "Of course you do."
"It was different with Seth," Anna went on. "Right from the first minute, everything about him pulled at me. I couldn't stop it. I tried, but I couldn't. I've thought about that, and I believe, sincerely, that my feelings for him were there, just there, even before I met him. We were meant to be a part of each other's lives. He was meant to be part of this family, and this family was meant to be mine."
Risking the consequences, Sybill eased down on the arm of the sofa. "I wanted to tell you… you're so good with him. You and Grace. You're so good for him. The relationship he has with his brothers is wonderful, and it's vital. That strong male influence is important for a boy. But the female, what you and Grace give him, is just as vital."
"You have something to give him, too. He's outside," Anna told her.
"Drooling over his boat."
"I don't want to upset him. I really have to go."
"Running away last night was understandable and acceptable." Anna's gaze was direct, level and challenging. "Running now isn't."
"You must be very good at your job," Sybill said after a moment.
"I'm damn good at it. Go talk to him. If I manage to get out of this chair in this lifetime, I'll put some fresh coffee on."
It wasn't easy. But then Sybill supposed it wasn't meant to be. Crossing that lawn toward the boy who sat in the pretty little boat, so obviously dreaming of fast sails.
Foolish saw her first and, alerted, raced toward her, barking. She braced herself and put a hand out, hoping to ward him off. Foolish skimmed his head under it, turning the defensive gesture into a stroke.
His fur was so soft and warm, his eyes so adoring, his face so fittingly silly that she relaxed into a smile. "You really are foolish, aren't you?"
He sat, batting at her with his paw until she took it and shook. Satisfied, he raced back toward the boat, where Seth watched and waited.
"Hi." He stayed where he was, pulling on the line and making the small triangle of sail sway.
"Hello. Have you taken it out yet?"
"Nah. Anna wouldn't let me and any of the guys go out in her today." He jerked a shoulder. "Like we'd drown or something."
"But you had a good time at your party."
"It was cool. Anna's a little pissed--" He stopped and looked toward the house. She really hated it when he swore. "She's pretty steamed about Jake barfing in her car, so I figured I'd hang out here until she levels."
"That's probably very sensible."
Then silence fell, heavy, as they both looked out over the water and wondered what to say.
Sybill braced herself. "Seth, I didn't say good-bye to you last night. I shouldn't have left the way I did."
"It's okay." He shrugged again.
"I didn't think you remembered me. Or any of the time you stayed with me in New York."
"I thought I'd made it up." It was too hard to sit in the boat and look so far up. He climbed out, then sat on the dock to dangle his legs.
"Sometimes I'd dream about some of it. Like the stuffed dog and stuff."
"Yours," she murmured.
"Yeah, that's pretty lame. She didn't talk about you or anything, so I thought I'd just made it up."
"Sometimes…" She took the risk and sat beside him. "Sometimes it was almost like that for me, too. I still have the dog."
"You kept it?"
"It was all I had left of you. You mattered to me. I know it may not seem like that now, but you did. I didn't want you to."
"You worked so hard to do this for Seth."
"He had the time of his life." Anna's lips curved as she opened her eyes. "And since I'm going to make Cam and his brothers clean it up, I'm feeling pretty good about it, all in all. How are you?"
"I'm fine. I came to apologize for last night."
"Apologize for what?"
The question threw her off rhythm. She was already running behind schedule, she thought, distracted by the chaos and Anna's rambling monologue. Sybill cleared her throat and began again. "For last night. It was rude of me to leave without thanking you for--"
"Sybill, I'm too tired to listen to nonsense. You weren't rude, you have nothing to apologize for, and you'll annoy me if you keep this up. You were upset, and you had a perfect right to be."
And that blew Sybill's carefully prepared speech all to hell. "I honestly don't understand why people in this family won't listen to, much less accept, a sincere apology for regrettable behavior."
"Boy, if that's the tone you use when you lecture," Anna observed with admiration, "your audience must sit at attention. But to answer your question, I suppose we don't because we so often indulge in what could be termed regrettable behavior ourselves. I'd ask you to sit down, but those are really lovely slacks and I have no idea what nasty surprises there are on any of the cushions."
"I don't intend to stay."
"You couldn't see your face," Anna said more gently. "When he looked up at you, when he told you what he remembered. But I could see it, Sybill. I could see it was a great deal more than duty or responsibility or a valiant attempt to do what was right that brought you here. It must have crushed you when she took him away all those years ago."
"I can't do this again." The burn of tears scalded the back of her eyes.
"I just can't do this again."
"You don't have to," Anna murmured. "I just want you to know I understand. In my work I see so many damaged people. Battered women, abused children, men who are at the end of their ropes, the elderly we so blithely displace. I care, Sybill. I care about every one of them who come to me for help."
She sighed a little and spread her fingers. "But in order to help them, I have to hold part of myself back, be objective, realistic, practical. If I threw all my emotions into every one of my cases, I couldn't do my job. I'd burn out, burn up. I understand the need for a little distance."
"Yes." The painful tension drained out of Sybill's shoulders. "Of course you do."
"It was different with Seth," Anna went on. "Right from the first minute, everything about him pulled at me. I couldn't stop it. I tried, but I couldn't. I've thought about that, and I believe, sincerely, that my feelings for him were there, just there, even before I met him. We were meant to be a part of each other's lives. He was meant to be part of this family, and this family was meant to be mine."
Risking the consequences, Sybill eased down on the arm of the sofa. "I wanted to tell you… you're so good with him. You and Grace. You're so good for him. The relationship he has with his brothers is wonderful, and it's vital. That strong male influence is important for a boy. But the female, what you and Grace give him, is just as vital."
"You have something to give him, too. He's outside," Anna told her.
"Drooling over his boat."
"I don't want to upset him. I really have to go."
"Running away last night was understandable and acceptable." Anna's gaze was direct, level and challenging. "Running now isn't."
"You must be very good at your job," Sybill said after a moment.
"I'm damn good at it. Go talk to him. If I manage to get out of this chair in this lifetime, I'll put some fresh coffee on."
It wasn't easy. But then Sybill supposed it wasn't meant to be. Crossing that lawn toward the boy who sat in the pretty little boat, so obviously dreaming of fast sails.
Foolish saw her first and, alerted, raced toward her, barking. She braced herself and put a hand out, hoping to ward him off. Foolish skimmed his head under it, turning the defensive gesture into a stroke.
His fur was so soft and warm, his eyes so adoring, his face so fittingly silly that she relaxed into a smile. "You really are foolish, aren't you?"
He sat, batting at her with his paw until she took it and shook. Satisfied, he raced back toward the boat, where Seth watched and waited.
"Hi." He stayed where he was, pulling on the line and making the small triangle of sail sway.
"Hello. Have you taken it out yet?"
"Nah. Anna wouldn't let me and any of the guys go out in her today." He jerked a shoulder. "Like we'd drown or something."
"But you had a good time at your party."
"It was cool. Anna's a little pissed--" He stopped and looked toward the house. She really hated it when he swore. "She's pretty steamed about Jake barfing in her car, so I figured I'd hang out here until she levels."
"That's probably very sensible."
Then silence fell, heavy, as they both looked out over the water and wondered what to say.
Sybill braced herself. "Seth, I didn't say good-bye to you last night. I shouldn't have left the way I did."
"It's okay." He shrugged again.
"I didn't think you remembered me. Or any of the time you stayed with me in New York."
"I thought I'd made it up." It was too hard to sit in the boat and look so far up. He climbed out, then sat on the dock to dangle his legs.
"Sometimes I'd dream about some of it. Like the stuffed dog and stuff."
"Yours," she murmured.
"Yeah, that's pretty lame. She didn't talk about you or anything, so I thought I'd just made it up."
"Sometimes…" She took the risk and sat beside him. "Sometimes it was almost like that for me, too. I still have the dog."
"You kept it?"
"It was all I had left of you. You mattered to me. I know it may not seem like that now, but you did. I didn't want you to."
