Posey emerged into the ballroom. There was Jon, who waved to her. A few teachers were with him. Posey headed over, then bumped into Nicole. “Hi, honey, having fun?” she asked.
“Totally,” Nicole said, looking at the stage. “How about… Oh. Oh, no.” Posey looked, too, but even standing on tiptoe, she couldn’t see what was going on—the salmon had not fled the waters, and the dance floor was rather packed.
Then the bass player started to play a very familiar phrase.
“Oh, no,” Nicole said. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Posey’s heart crashed to a stop. Oh, she knew this song, yes indeed. No doubt about it. Her mouth was suddenly dry.
Then someone started singing.
“Nicole!” a girl in a pink dress shrieked, whipping out her phone. “Are you seeing this?”
“Oh, kill me now,” Nicole said. She turned to Posey. “Um…I think this is for you. Tanner, move.” She pushed Posey forward so she could see.
There, onstage, stood Liam Declan Murphy, leather jacket, five o’clock shadow, guitar in his hands.
Singing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.
Her favorite song. The same song that was playing in the elevator the day she gave him the CPR he didn’t need.
His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they fell on her, he smiled. “‘Sweet Caroline…’”
And a fair number of the kids and pretty much all the teachers chorused back, “Oh, oh, oh!”
“‘Good times never seemed so good,’” he sang, still grinning.
“‘So good, so good, so good!’” the mob sang back, and Posey’s eyes were suddenly stinging.
“Mr. Murphy, don’t quit your day job!” someone shouted, and everyone laughed, including Liam. But he kept singing, doggedly, messing up some of the words, and when he came to the chorus the second time around, it seemed like everyone in the room was singing with him.
“I think you’re hot, Mr. Murphy!” called a girl.
“Ew! Hello! That’s my father, so shut it, okay?” Nicole said. She glanced at Posey and rolled her eyes. “Sorry for you, Posey. I told him he should go out with you, but I never pictured…” The girl gave her a closer look. “Oh, man, you’re eating it up, aren’t you?”
Posey gave a shaky laugh, nodded and wiped her eyes.
The song ended, and the kids gave him a good-natured round of applause, and he jumped off the stage.
“Back to something a little, ah, more contemporary,” the singer said and counted off a beat to yet another song Posey had never heard of, and the salmon-jumping began again.
Then Liam was standing in front of her, and the sight of him was so overwhelming that she forgot to breathe.
“Want to dance?” he asked.
“Dad? Seriously? Not here,” Nicole shouted over the music. “I’m embarrassed enough.”
“Whatevs,” he said, and taking Posey’s hand, he led her through the maze of tables—there was Jon, grinning into his seltzer water and pretending not to see them.
In the foyer of the mansion, the music wasn’t so loud. “Want to dance?” he asked again, and Posey couldn’t quite answer. Apparently, he took this as a yes, because his arm went around her waist, and he pulled her close and moved in a slow rhythm that had nothing to do with the music, which was some god-awful song about wanting someone’s body and their disease—blick—but somehow it was the most romantic, mushy moment of Posey’s entire life. Holy Elvis, she might actually be crying from happiness. She could smell leather and fresh air, and his soap, and she looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling.
“That was the most pathetic version of ‘Sweet Caroline’ I have ever heard,” she said, her voice shaking.
“You loved it,” he said.
She shrugged, but couldn’t help a smile. “You’re right.”
He stopped moving and pulled back a little, taking both her hands in his. His smile was gone. “Cordelia, you’re not a bag of bones,” he said, and her mouth fell open. “You weren’t back then, either. I mean, you were a little thing, but I only said that because… Oh, crap.” He sighed. “Rick Balin said he planned to, uh…sleep with you that night.”
Posey took a quick breath. The truth was, sex had never even crossed her mind. She hadn’t thought further than the prom itself.
“And I…” Liam shook his head. “I just said something stupid to put him off. It was an impulse or whatever. Because you were a good kid, and you didn’t deserve some idiot like Rick trying to…you know.”
So Rick had been planning to sleep with her—and Posey being barely sixteen, vastly inexperienced about the world of boys, and outweighed by probably a hundred pounds by a boy used to getting what he wanted…that could’ve been really bad.
Liam was looking at her solemnly. “I didn’t realize he’d drop you like that. I just thought maybe… I don’t know. I didn’t think it through, and then I completely forgot about it. I didn’t mean to ruin your night, and I’m really sorry.”
“Oh…I… That’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s actually a little…sweet, now that I know.”
He grinned, and her knees went weak. “I am pretty sweet.”
“Well, let’s not go overboard,” Posey said, though her heart was just as soft and mushy as all her other parts were becoming.“Cordelia,” he said quietly, his smile fading. “I seem to be in love with you.”
The words were like sinking into a vat of warm caramel sauce. “Oh,” she whispered. “That’s…nice.” If she died now, that would be fine. Completely fine.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Will you forgive me for being an idiot, then and more recently? Because that image you have of me…I wouldn’t mind trying to live up to that.”
She let those words, and all the others, sink in. The past was never what you thought, was it? Liam Murphy had been protecting her honor—awkwardly, perhaps, but there it was. He’d been looking out for her, because that was the kind of man he was, and always had been.
“So?” he said, his eyes warm.
“Yeah, well, I’ll definitely think about it, Liam, and—”
“You should probably marry me.” He smiled. “When Nicole’s ready for a stepmother, yeah. You should marry me. I’ve never been so happy as I’ve been with you, Cordelia, and let’s face it, you’ve been in love with me half your life, more, maybe, and of course, I am incredibly good-looking and—”
“My God, the ego.” But she was crying, and laughing, and almost unable to take in what he was saying, her heart pounded so hard.
Liam’s face grew serious. “I’ll take good care of you, Cordelia. I promise.” Then he was kissing her, the gentle scrape of his five o’clock shadow, the heat and softness of his lips, and she melted against him, heart utterly light.
“Lovebirds?” It was Jon. “I hate to interrupt, especially since I’m filming this for YouTube, but pay attention.” Posey pulled back—with difficulty—and looked at her brother-in-law. “I’ve released you from chaperone duty. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.”
Posey and Liam looked at each other. “Nah,” Liam said. “I think I owe you a decent prom.”
And with that, he led her back into the ballroom. And danced with her.
And kissed her.
More than once.
Right in front of everyone.
EPILOGUE
Fifteen months later
IT SEEMED ONLY RIGHT that the first wedding at The Meadows in sixty-two years was Posey and Liam’s. The old mansion was still standing, oh, yes. And would continue to stand for a long, long time, if not forever.
On the first day of fall, Vivian Appleton died in her sleep at the age of 102. On the bureau across from her bed was the model Posey’d made, and it comforted her to know Vivian had had it close, that maybe The Meadows, even in miniature, had been the last thing Vivian had seen.
A month later, when Allan Linkletter asked her to come to his office for the reading of the will, she hoped it was because Viv had left her the model. It wasn’t worth anything much beyond its sentimental value.
She said hello to the Vultures, trying to be pleasant, despite the gleeful greed that glowed in their faces. “Took the old bag long enough,” muttered one of the nephews, and Posey stifled the urge to kick him in the nuts.
Allan wasted no time in getting down to business. When everyone was seated around the conference table, he read the preliminary legalese, and then paused and cleared his throat. The Vultures all leaned forward.
“‘To Cordelia Wilhelmina Osterhagen,’” Allan read, “‘I hereby give the land, buildings and their contents of The Meadows, my property located at 1100 Shady Brook Road, Bellsford, New Hampshire.’”
There’d been a moment of silence. Then chaos exploded, the four Vultures squawking, swearing, sobbing as Posey sat there, wide-eyed and stunned into silence. Eventually, Allan explained that the Vultures had no legal recourse at all. The will was iron-clad, witnessed, and Viv’s doctor had signed an affidavit that she’d been completely competent when she made the change. The Vultures didn’t have a talon to stand on.
Vivian had also left Posey a very brief note: You’ve been more family to me than those money-grubbing Vultures ever were. It was noticed.
That was all. But that was everything.
It took a while to process—Posey owned The Meadows, a huge Victorian mansion on ten acres of land. What to do with it was another question.
At first she’d done nothing—being with Liam was new enough, and gently trying to become part of Nicole’s life without causing the girl any undue stress. But Nicole had been very sweet…she seemed to view Posey almost as a big sister, and Posey was careful not to take sides when Liam and his daughter disagreed.
Liam’s worry about Nicole had lessened from DEFCON four down into normal overprotective father range. His obsession with door-locking dwindled to just one check, and while he still had a thing about hand washing, it was just enough for Posey to mock him for scrubbing in before meals. Then again, the guy was a mechanic, so she couldn’t really fault him there. And if he was still occasionally brooding and growly…hey. It had a certain hotness, and Posey was not objecting.
In the spring, though, Posey made the hard decision to sell the church, acknowledging that it needed more than she could give it, in both time and money. It was hard, especially leaving behind the bell, but a nice young couple had bought it and seemed quite gung-ho to fix it up the way it deserved. They’d also bought a dozen or so treasures from Irreplaceable Artifacts. She imagined they’d be back for more, in fact. Her perfect customers—taste and money.
So she’d moved to The Meadows—not to the mansion, but to the stone caretaker’s cottage, which she had always loved. The only downside…the cats hated it. Twice, they’d made the mile-long trek back to the church, Meatball in the lead, followed by Jellybean and Sagwa, Posey in hot, panicky pursuit. The third time, the owners suggested that they keep the faithless felines, who clearly were more attached to the place than to the person who’d fed them all those years. Then again, they’d come with the church. Posey dropped by about once a week to visit, and sure, they seemed happy enough to see her…as happy as cats got, that was.
But Shilo loved The Meadows, as he always had, and it always made Posey smile to see her giant dog galloping sloppily across the lawns, jowls flopping, as he came at her first whistle.
And in the mornings, as she sat with her coffee on the small balcony of the caretaker’s cottage, her hand on her dog’s big head, Posey could still hear the bell, and it never failed to make her smile.
The Meadows was going to be a banquet facility…weddings, anniversaries, stuff like that. Posey thought Vivian would approve of filling the old mansion with parties again. But though she now owned the estate, party planning really wasn’t her thing, and there was no way she was giving up Irreplaceable Artifacts. So she’d hired a person to get things going, a person who could handle both event planning and the catering end of things, a person who’d been looking for a slight change of career…and if that person was a pain in the butt sometimes, and if she tended to show off too much cleavage, that was probably okay. Gretchen had already managed to book six weddings for this summer alone. Seemed like her celebrity status was a good thing after all.
Gret was in the kitchen now, checking on the wedding food (some German, some other types, too). She’d dumped Dante almost as soon as they’d patched things up and was cutting a wide swath through the single men of New Hampshire.
At the moment, Posey was in her room, alone, though Stacia, Jon and Brie were due any second. In her hands was a note she’d received last month, something she’d taken out just because it seemed right to look at it again. In February, she’d decided to write to her birth mother, sending it through the attorney who handled the adoption. Nothing terribly emotional, just the facts. But she’d thanked Clarice for having her, and for giving her to Stacia and Max. She told her birth mother what a happy life she’d had, that she was a sister, and now an aunt, and that she’d be getting married soon to the man she’d loved her whole life. She’d signed it only “Cordelia.”
Clarice had written back through the attorney. I’m so, so glad to know these things, and I wish you every happiness in the world, Cordelia. Thank you for telling me.