upstairs and thanked God for blessing her with him.
“Hi,” she said in a whisper.
“Hi to you, too, little girl.” He hugged her tight, just as he had on the tarmac that day she left to go to L.A. Over the past ten years he and Janean had called and written to her regularly, sending pictures, asking if she needed anything. She’d needed them both terribly, but had refused to admit it.
“I missed you,” she admitted, with her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his dress shirt.
“Missed you, too. You stayed away too long and I don’t like that,” he chastised lightly.
Pulling away she looked up into those familiar warm eyes. There was always love and understanding there, no matter what she’d done, he always looked at her the same way. “I know. But I’m back now.”
With long fingers, Bruce tweaked her nose. “You bet you are. And you’re staying put this time.”
Lyra wasn’t too sure about that, but figured it was better to keep the thought to herself. Instead she just smiled.
“What are you all standing around for? Take a seat, we’re about to bless this food so we can—” Janean abruptly stopped, as her husband, Bruce, with his hands on Lyra’s shoulders, turned her around to face the door that led to the kitchen.
There she was, the woman who was responsible for all that Lyra was. She still wore her church clothes, a plum-colored silk dress that hung on her marvelously mature body as if it had been cut especially for her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun and her cherublike face bore just a light sheen of makeup. Even though she was ten years older, she was even more beautiful than Lyra had remembered.
“Hi, Ms. Janean,” she said, then cleared her throat because for a second she swore she sounded just like that ten-year-old girl Janean had seen at Easterntowne Elementary School.
Janean Donovan had no words, and that was saying something, since she had always been talkative and opinionated. But now she stood silent, her hands holding the handles of a pot with steam billowing upward. She took a step toward Lyra and Lyra took a step toward her. Sean stepped in and took the pot along with the potholders out of Janean’s hands. She wiped them on the stone-gray apron splattered with what looked like flour.
“My baby” was what she finally whispered, lifting her hands and clapping them against both Lyra’s cheeks. “My baby’s come home,” she repeated, her eyes clouding with tears.
Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest as her own eyes threatened to well up. “My pretty little girl all grown up.”
“I really missed you,” Lyra readily admitted, falling into Janean’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder in a familiar gesture. Lyra couldn’t even begin to remember how many times she’d cried on Janean’s shoulder, how many times Janean had whispered that everything would be all right, or how many times the woman and her family had actually made everything all right.
“I really missed you, too. Don’t you ever stay away that long again,” she told her.
“I won’t,” Lyra promised, realizing at that very moment how much this family really meant to her.
“Can we eat now? I’m starving. Minister Moore preached for a solid hour today and I’m still not sure what it was about,” Parker complained.
“That’s because you never pay attention,” Carolyn told her son as they moved around the table to take their seats. “You probably don’t even know the scripture he quoted from.”
“What matters is that I showed up in the first place,” Parker said in his own defense.
“It’d be good if you could get something out of showing up, son,” Uncle Reggie said, holding the chair for Carolyn and scooting her in before taking his own seat.
Regan laughed. “I’m surprised he showed up at all.”
“Right,” Savian added. “I wonder what young lady we have to thank for getting him into the house of the Lord today.”
“Doesn’t matter what got him there,” Carolyn said. “As long as he showed up he can receive a blessing.”
“That’s right,” Parker agreed with a nod.
“Even though I think he’d have to stay awake in order to do that,” Carolyn finished. “Next time you’ll know what Minister Moore’s preaching about if you stop yawning and nodding off.”
By then everyone was laughing and taking their seats. Everything felt like the good old days. And then the entire Donovan family joined hands as Bruce began the prayer for the family meal. Dion, who sat right beside Lyra, just as he used to all those years ago, took her hand. Lyra’s fingers nervously entwined with his and her traitorous body warmed.
Everything was not like the good old days, and that’s what had kept her away all those years. It was also, damn her wayward emotions, what had brought her back.
Chapter 3
She was on the dock looking out as the moonlight’s illumination danced along the water in sparkling ripples. He’d known she’d be right there, staring as if she were in her own little world, just like she used to.
Tonight Dion had been ambushed with memories, and he wasn’t at all surprised. Three days ago he’d found out she was coming home, even though she hadn’t been the one to tell him. That little omission stung, he’d readily admit. They’d been thick as thieves as kids growing up, even though he was four years older than she. But the minute he’d realized she loved to ride bikes, jump wheelies and climb trees as much as he did, Lyra had been one of his best buddies. For as much as he could be best buddies with a girl. Sean, on the other hand, never had much time for dirt bikes and running races, playing football and wrestling until somebody’s face was being ground into the dirt and they had no other choice but to cry mercy. No, as kids that was fun for him and Lyra, and they’d both enjoyed it.
Then things had changed and they’d made that one fatal mistake—or rather, he’d made that one mistake. For ten years he’d kicked himself for kissing Lyra. Now there was a part of him that was kicking himself for not doing more than kiss her.
“So I hear you’re finally going to marry him, huh?” he asked when his own silence was threatening to give him ideas that would only get him in more trouble.
She turned just as a slight breeze whisked past them lifting the ends of her curly hair slightly. She wore slacks and a tank top. The coral hue of the top added a vibrant tint to her burnt-orange complexion, giving her a more alluring quality than he knew she was aiming for. Gold bangles cuffed each of her wrists, matching the gold hoops at her ears. She looked so young standing there, so vulnerable.
“Good news travels fast,” she said with a shrug.
“It took you long enough to set a date. I thought you’d have gotten married as soon as you left with Stanford.” Saying the man’s name—even if it was only his last name—left a bitter taste in Dion’s mouth, but he did it anyway. He had to prove to himself that he could say the name of the man who would now and forever hold Lyra’s heart without screaming bloody murder and hurting someone in the process.
She
