The Green Lace Corset, стр. 82
They sat on the shawl to dry in the sun. She kissed him, smelling the salty sea on his cheek, and ran her fingers through his blond locks. The sun reflected off them, and his blue eyes sparkled. He leaped up, shot down toward the water again, and inspected its edge. Leaning down, he reached for something and scurried back to her. He opened his hand and held up his prize. “Look!”
“Shell.” She accepted it from him and ran her fingers over the white ridges. She’d never seen a real one before, only in picture books. She handed it back to him.
“Pitty.”
“Yes. It is very pretty.”
He stuck it in his pocket and curled up beside her. She looked out at the ocean. It had come to her at the train station that she couldn’t take him back to a life with her ma. Impulsively, she had bought tickets to the Pacific and a new life.
She removed her blouse, down to her undergarments, and let the velvety sunshine caress her bare shoulders, reminding her of Cliff’s warm touch. The touch she’d never feel again. She remembered his arm around her shoulder, warming her on their first ride to the homestead on that cold winter’s night. His deep voice, booming out songs to keep the boredom at bay. His kindness and concern for her in his ever-changing blue eyes.
She’d done everything she could to get away from him and hadn’t let his actions melt her resolve to hate him. She’d stayed alert and interpreted his actions as devious, ready to trick her like a shape-shifting coyote throwing his voice to trap her in his snare.
But his kindness toward her had been sincere after all, and she regretted all those months she’d fought the urge to let go, lean into him, and accept the love he offered. Now it was too late. The memories of their short time together would be with her eternally. She’d move forward in her life, keep hold of that one afternoon of bliss in her heart forever.
She gazed out at the vast blue ocean. Clouds billowed over it. She’d come to the end of this part of her journey and would stay for a while and a day. She wasn’t going to have the normal life she had thought she wanted. God had given her Isaiah, which was worth so much more. She didn’t know what her future held. As with the Pacific, she couldn’t see to the other side.
57
Outside the window, early March breezes had pushed the morning fog away to reveal blue skies. A month after Anne’s meltdown, her heart and mind were now clear as that sky. She sat in the rocker with her tiny, two-month-old miracle, Sylvie, in her arms. No, she was a big miracle. Anne couldn’t believe she’d ever considered not having her. This was what God had planned for them.
She looked up at the mosaic hanging on the nursery wall and said, “You glow, girl!”
The path wouldn’t be easy, but she’d move forward in a life filled with love. She sighed and smoothed down Sylvie’s curls, which had begun to grow out in all directions. Turned out Sylvie had inherited not only Anne’s big feet, but her wild hair as well. Her big brown eyes and long lashes were totally Sergio’s.
It felt so good to be settled in a real home. They’d visit her childhood home at least once a year. She hoped Sylvie would like to fish there, too, someday, beside the purple hyacinth, pussy willows, and water lilies. The quiet watch for a great blue heron to fly overhead, a tug on the line, or a thunderstorm to erupt with passion in a world full of wonder.
Anne put Sylvie in the bassinet and cranked the forest-animal musical mobile over her head, and she soon fell asleep. It had taken some hard convincing to get Anne to move to Bay Breeze, but when Paul had told her Sylvia would want it that way, that clinched it. Moving into the mansion had felt like a fairy tale come true. At first, Anne continued to see Sylvia around every corner, but soon even those feelings were comforting.
Fay came into the nursery with Diana in her arms. “You’ll never believe—”
“Shh. I just put Sylvie down,” Anne whispered, with a finger to her lips.
“Sorry.” Fay set Diana in her own crib, tossed a blanket over her, and kissed her forehead. “Beddy-bye, baby.”
They would raise the girls together as sisters—an untraditional family, but a family, nonetheless.
The women snuck next door to the guest room, which had become Anne’s room. Boxes were still piled in a corner, and the bed was unmade.
Fay gasped. “Blimey, girl. You’ve been here all this time, and you haven’t even finished unpacking.”
“I’ve been overwhelmed getting Sylvie settled and going back and forth to the museum and all, but I’m ready to start tackling my room today.” Anne gathered up a pile of clothes on top of a box.
Her phone rang.
“Sorry. It’s the museum. I should take it.”
“Hope they aren’t letting you go.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“Hi, Anne. This is William Willingsby.”
“Yes?”
“We just had a board meeting, and we’d like to offer you the art director job.”
“You would?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and sat on the bed.
“Because of our financial situation, it’s only part-time for now, but we hope you’ll continue to teach too.”
“I’m not qualified.” After all, Priscilla had a doctorate and Anne had only a BA. She put the phone on speaker so Fay could also hear.
“You’re an accomplished artist, and we like your hands-on and inclusive approach. I know you have a new responsibility at home, but we’d love for you to take over. We feel you have a good sense of what it would take to build a vibrant educational outreach program.”
Anne’s heart zigzagged with joy.
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll need to check about childcare. I think I can work it out.”
Fay nodded and did a happy dance.
“Come on in tomorrow, and let’s talk