"You're Aunt Tessa," Megan said in delight. "The one who was the fairy princess in the school play."
Tessa looked taken aback. "I, uh, yes, that was me."
"I'm going to be a princess next Halloween," Megan continued. "Mommy thinks I should be a lion, or a Gypsy, but I think a fairy princess would be better. Because they're so pretty. You're beautiful," she added shyly.
To Sam's amazement, a flush of red swept across Tessa's face. How many people must have told her she was beautiful, with long blond hair sweeping past her shoulders, eyes the color of the deep blue sea, and a mouth that could pout or kiss or laugh with the best of them.
Looking at her now, in the light of the kitchen, he was struck again by the sheer beauty of her. And what he liked even better was that she could still blush.
"Thank you," Tessa said slowly. "You're beautiful, too."
"Do you want some Cheerios?" Megan asked.
"No, thanks." Tessa took a step back toward the door. "Maybe I should wait at Grams's house until you're ready to go to the hospital, Sam."
"Don't leave," Megan protested. "You just got here. I have so many questions. No one ever seems to know where you are. Daddy says you're a model. And Grams showed me your picture on the cover of a magazine. I want to be a model when I grow up." Megan sent Sam a look that dared him to deny her that dream. "So you have to stay."
Tessa glanced at Sam. "Do you think it's all right for me to be here?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"You know why."
He did. But despite Alli's wish for the contrary, Tessa and Megan were family. Sometimes family ended up in the same room. And sometimes he liked to live a little dangerously.
* * *
Alli stared down at her grandmother's face. There was no tightness to her skin, no pucker to her lips, no humor, no joy, no pain, no anger. Phoebe MacGuire's face was as smooth as the face of a porcelain doll, the lines of age having vanished overnight. She looked…
#p#分页标题#e#
Alli was afraid to let the words out, terrified that saying something out loud or even to herself would make it come true. She desperately wanted to see something on her grandmother's face, some emotion that would show she was still alive, still caring about them, still fighting to go on. But aside from the slight rise and fall of her grandmother's chest, there was no movement. And Phoebe was pale, her skin almost as white as her hair, translucent against the white sheet that covered her.
Alli wished for Phoebe to open her eyes, so the light would shine out of them like the lighthouse beacon on the rocky beach calling the sailors home, showing them the way to go, guiding them to safety. She wanted to feel safe again. She wanted all of them to be safe.
"Wake up, Grams," Alli said softly, stroking her grandmother's hand. Alli could feel the pulse beating in her grandmother's thin wrist, but she could also feel the fragility of her bones, and it frightened her.
Had her grandmother always been this thin or had she lost weight? And if Phoebe had lost weight, why hadn't Alli noticed? She felt an immediate surge of guilt at the thought that she hadn't been paying enough attention, so caught up in her own problems was she. Was this her fault? Could she have done something differently?
"You have to be all right," Alli said more strongly. "I don't want you to die."
"I can't die yet, honey. I haven't finished counting the stars. And don't you know, my darling girl, that you will never be alone, because there is always love, and love lives forever."
Alli could hear the familiar words as clearly as if her grandmother had said them out loud. But in truth the words had come from memories of those dark nights when the fears took hold and the only one who could soothe them away was her grandmother.
"You have to wake up. You have to say the words, Grams. Otherwise, I can't believe them. Please," Alli begged.
The hospital room door opened and William Beckett walked into the room. He was an imposing man, tall, with a strong square face, sharp dark brown eyes, and thick brows that matched the pepper-gray color of his hair. He wore an expression that told everyone he usually got what he wanted. And he wanted Phoebe.
Losing her more than fifty years ago to John MacGuire, a man picked out for Phoebe by her parents, William had returned from Chicago after John's death, determined to win Phoebe back. He'd become a frequent visitor to Tucker's Landing, spending weeks at a time in a rented cottage, all the while wooing Phoebe. And while Phoebe seemed to care deeply for William, she had yet to commit to any sort of future with him.
Alli had no idea what their real relationship was, but anyone could see that William, despite his austere demeanor, was in agony. He had dark shadows under his eyes and wrinkles in his usually crisp tan slacks.