Authors: Linda Francis Lee
“Hey,” Portia said.
“Hey,” Ariel replied with little enthusiasm. Miranda just rolled her eyes.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Miranda snapped.
“She’s waiting for the creep … I mean, Dustin … to call,” Ariel explained hastily.
Miranda shot her little sister a glare. “You didn’t think he was a creep the other day when you—”
She stopped abruptly, glancing at Portia. Both girls jerked back to what they had been doing.
Miranda looked back down at her cell phone, her jaw set, but a moment later her lips started to tremble. “He’s not going to call. He broke up with me. He says I’m not mature enough for him.”
Portia sighed. “Boys can be real jerks,” she said, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter. “Let me guess: You wouldn’t … sleep with him, right?”
Ariel gasped.
Miranda scowled. “It wasn’t like that.”
Portia just waited.
“Okay, maybe it was like that. Don’t you dare tell Dad!” She dropped her head to her arms. “I hate New York! I miss New Jersey!”
With a mental sigh, Portia walked over to Miranda and, after only a brief hesitation, stroked her hair. “Oh, sweetie.”
Miranda drew a shaky breath. “My mom used to call me that.” She started to cry. “It’s her birthday today. Or it would have been.”
A shiver ran down Portia’s spine. The birthday cake. Not for some unknown someone who would show up at the apartment.
Once again, her first instinct was to run, but she sat down and hugged Miranda instead. Ariel looked on with that same expression she’d had when Portia and her sisters were dancing it out. Portia extended her other arm, and Ariel tucked under it like a baby bird. With another sigh, Portia realized she was getting pulled in closer and closer to this family.
“I miss her,” Miranda choked out, sobs racking her body.
Ariel didn’t say anything. She just squeezed in closer.
“When my sisters and I were your ages,” Portia finally said, “our parents died. So I know how awful it is.”
“B-b-both of them?” Miranda asked.
“Yep. We went to live with our grandmother.” Portia hesitated one last second, then plunged ahead. “And every year on our mom’s birthday, we celebrated with a party. What do you say we make a cake and have a birthday party for your mom?”
Miranda sniffled and straightened up. “I guess so.”
Ariel peered across from under Portia’s arm at her sister. “But what if it makes Dad too sad?”
Miranda’s features hardened. “Erasing her is the wrong way to miss her.”
That’s all it took. Instead of making dinner, Portia showed the girls how to make a birthday cake. And then she let them do it by themselves, trusting that the act of making something for their mother would be healing.
Portia started on party sandwiches, little small square bites of cucumber and cream cheese, smoked turkey with gouda, ham and cheddar nestled inside bread with the crusts cut off while the girls worked together as a pair. When Ariel saw what she was doing, she laughed, the clear, bright laughter of a child rather than the mini adult she so often sounded like. “It’s going to be a real party!” Ariel cheered.
The three worked together in a surprising harmony, and soon the cake was done. When Portia finished making the sandwiches and putting them in the refrigerator, she went downstairs and found streamers and an old H
APPY
B
IRTHDAY
sign in Aunt Evie’s boxes.
By the time they heard the front door open and close, they had the dining room set with birthday paraphernalia, party sandwiches covering the table, and a cake at the center of it all.
“I smell something good,” Gabriel called out when he came in the front door.
Portia held her breath. She had simply followed the knowing without a thought for the consequences.
“What’s this?” Gabriel asked as he came around the corner. He took in the balloons and the banner. “Whose birthday is it?”
No one spoke. Portia watched as understanding dawned, and she went cold. The hard planes of Gabriel’s face crumpled, sharp edges going weak. He didn’t look like he was on the verge of crying. It was more that some aching part of his soul had escaped the carefully controlled façade.
Miranda must have been watching his face, too, because when she spoke her voice was harsh. “It’s a birthday party. For Mom.”
Gabriel couldn’t seem to find words, but he looked every inch a wounded beast.
“All you want to do is forget her!” Miranda accused him when he didn’t say anything. “You want us to forget her! You made us come to this awful place and be with these awful people who break up with us and don’t like us and tell us we don’t fit in—all because you don’t want to think about Mom. Well, guess what,
we
loved her! We miss her!”
“Miranda, that’s enough,” Gabriel said, the words catching in his throat.
“No, it’s not! I hate you! I hate you for moving us here!” She bolted from the room, her steps rapping a staccato beat up the stairs.
Ariel’s small face looked so thin and fragile that Portia was shocked. The girl was obviously taking in everyone’s pain, with no idea what to do about it.
“I’m sorry if we hurt you with the party,” Ariel choked out, and ran from the room before Gabriel could speak.
He looked at Portia. The hard planes were back in place. “What in the hell is going on?”
Portia took a deep breath. “The girls were upset when I got here. Miranda’s boyfriend broke up with her.”
He narrowed his eyes at the boyfriend mention.
“But the real problem, Gabriel, is that they feel they can’t talk about their mother.”
“I’m paying a fortune to a shrink so they have someone to talk to!”
“They need to talk to you.”
He plowed his hands through his hair. “So you got it in your head to throw a party for a dead woman.”
“Exactly,” Portia shot back. “My grandmother did the same thing for me and my sisters after our mother died. It made us feel as if she was still with us, somehow.”
He strode to the table and stared at the cake.
“Of course you miss her, Gabriel, but your daughters are still here. They need to celebrate their mother. If they’re at all like me, they’re terrified that they’ll forget her, that at some point a whole day will pass and they won’t even remember it was her birthday.” Idiotically, tears pricked Portia’s eyes.
Gabriel turned to leave, but stopped at the door, his back to her. “Things are fine, Portia. Just leave it alone.”
Her mouth dropped open when he left. “Things aren’t fine,” she called after him. “You’re smart enough to know that.”
He disappeared up the stairs without replying. Stunned, Portia stared after him. Was he going to leave it at that?
She had promised herself that she wouldn’t get involved, wouldn’t open herself up to this family. While she had opened herself to the knowing, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t use the knowing with Gabriel and the girls. Look what had happened when she had. She’d made a cake for the man’s dead wife, wrecking all three of them.
Go back downstairs,
she told herself.
Instead, she followed Gabriel, taking the stairs two at a time up to the office level. He wasn’t there, so she kept going, hearing noise from the floor above. She tiptoed up the last flight and stopped in the doorway of a room that she had barely noticed the night they had gone to the roof. She saw now that it was being used for storage. There was an old bike and boxes, though there was also a sound system and television, even though there were no sofas or chairs.
Gabriel stood inside a closet, pulling a box that seemed to have been hidden in the very back on a high shelf. He strode over and set it down with a thump, wrenched off the top, and pulled out several framed photographs.
Something aching and painful twisted inside her: jealousy. Every time Gabriel came into her arms, she conveniently forgot about his wife. But watching Gabriel stare at the photos of the woman, she had a blinding reminder of why she had told herself to stay away from this man. She started to turn away.
“I’m selfish.”
His voice stopped her.
“You asked weeks ago why I didn’t have photos out, why I wasn’t keeping the memory of my wife alive for the girls. Miranda’s right. I didn’t want to remember.”
Portia’s heart twisted a little more. “You loved her, and now she’s gone,” she said, her voice coming out a near whisper. “It’s okay to want to avoid the pain.”
He hesitated. “It’s not that.” He ran his hands over his face. “How am I supposed to know what’s right or wrong? For the girls? They don’t come with an instruction manual.”
Portia gave him a faint smile. “You just have to keep trying. That’s all they want.”
He swallowed, nodded at her. “Get the girls, will you? I have an idea.”
Portia found Miranda lying on her bed, curled on her side, eyes squeezed shut, earbuds in her ears. Portia knocked, then knocked more loudly, but there was no answer. With no help for it, Portia walked through the open door and sat on the bed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Hey, kiddo.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Who calls people ‘kiddo’?” Her voice rasped a little from all the tears.
Portia knew Miranda was lashing out because she was hurting. “Your dad wants you and Ariel to go upstairs.”
“What’s he going to do, lock us in the attic?”
“Oh, honey, he’s figuring things out as he goes. He’s bound to make some mistakes along the way.”
The girl snorted. “You think?”
“He’s trying right now. Give him a chance.”
“What? You’re telling me that he’s planning to sing Happy Birthday? Dive into the cake?” But Miranda sat up and scooted off the bed.
Portia didn’t have the faintest idea what Gabriel had in mind, so she just said, “Let’s get Ariel.”
They walked down the hall. Ariel’s bedroom was empty.
“Where is she?” Portia asked, frowning.
Miranda gave her a funny look, walked into the room, and knocked on the closet. “Hey, A, you in there?”
“No,” came the muffled reply.
Miranda pulled open the door. Portia could just make out Ariel sitting cross-legged in the corner, writing in a journal.
“What part of
no
didn’t you understand?” she snapped.
“The part where Dad doesn’t take
no
for an answer when he wants us upstairs.”
Ariel scowled.
“Supposedly, he sent Portia down for us,” Miranda added.
Ariel glanced between Miranda and Portia, then closed the journal and started to put it away, only to stop. “Turn around,” she instructed them.
Once the book was hidden, Portia, Miranda, and Ariel headed up the stairs to the top floor and found Gabriel standing in front of a television set.
Miranda glared at him, not making it easy.
“I thought we could watch some DVDs.”
“You made us come up here to watch TV?” Miranda demanded.
Gabriel didn’t let the sarcasm deter him. “Not TV. Home movies. Ones of you girls and … Mom.”
Ariel flew forward. Miranda just stayed by Portia in the doorway, visibly tense.
Gabriel looked at her. “There’s that great one of you and Mom dressed in matching clothes for Easter.”
Miranda bit her lip, and then came forward reluctantly. As she got close, Gabriel pulled her into a hug and then pulled Ariel in with them. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Portia felt tears backing up in her throat. She began to turn away.
“Where’re you going?” Gabriel blurted.
“It’s time for me to get home,” Portia said, summoning a smile.
“No!” Gabriel and Ariel said. Even Miranda gave Portia a half smile. Ariel raced over and pulled her into the room.
In addition to the DVDs, Gabriel had gotten four slices of cake and a tray full of the party sandwiches. The four of them sank down onto the floor to eat and watch.
Victoria Kane had been a beauty. Dark hair, deep blue eyes, and the sort of rosebud mouth that made men go wild. She seemed about twenty-five in the first DVD. She danced for the camera and winked before pulling Gabriel close and kissing him. The kiss was deeply intimate, like a movie kiss between two characters in love. Portia had to swallow hard.
But both girls were smiling. “Mom was beautiful,” Miranda breathed.
Gabriel took a deep breath as he stared at the screen.
They watched Miranda’s third birthday, an elegant Christmas party, and Ariel’s sixth birthday before they were finally done. At the end, Ariel threw her arms around her dad’s neck, and he hugged her fiercely. Miranda conceded a nod, and he nodded back, though Portia could see that he wanted more.
The girls trooped downstairs to go to bed. Gabriel sat quietly, staring without seeing. Portia went over and slipped down next to him on the floor, their backs against the wall.
“That was a lovely thing to do for the girls. But obviously painful for you.”
“Painful?”
“It’s not just the girls who are grieving,” Portia said, stumbling over what to say. “You have to remember that you’re in pain, too. I could see how much you loved her.”
Gabriel reached over and took Portia’s hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Then he said, in an absolutely even tone, “I never loved her at all.”
She barely understood the words. “What?”
He heaved a sigh, dropping his head back against the wall. “We never should have married. She loved partying, just like Anthony. We wouldn’t have gotten married, but she got pregnant.”
Portia was stunned. Gabriel didn’t seem like the kind of man who got anyone pregnant by accident. “So you married her?”
“I figured I wouldn’t be the greatest father, but I couldn’t allow a child of mine to be raised by a woman who liked partying as much as Victoria did. The only way I could make sure that my child was taken care of was if I married the mother.” He sat quietly for a moment, then added, “Victoria wasn’t very maternal, but she did her best. And she loved the girls. You can see that.”
Portia leaned her head on his shoulder. Gabriel had intrigued her, maddened her, filled her with desire. But now all that swirled together into something stronger. She thought of how he had handled Cordelia’s confession. How he struggled to be a good father. “You’re a good man, Gabriel Kane.”