“You what?”
Lindsay faced her aunts. She would not cave. After all, she’d played this scene once before, so she could do it again. She would not let them make her feel foolish. I made the right decision. Right, Lord? Silence was her only answer, so she rushed on. Of course I did. And no one was going to tell her differently.
Fools think they need no advice, but the wise listen to others.
Nuh-uh. No way. She’d listened to others too many times. And look where it got her. Disappointed. Hurt.
Alone.
Tears stung at her eyes and she blinked them back.
She was not going to shed one more precious drop over Brendan HawkEye.
“I told Brendan I didn’t want to see him again.” There. Surely the aunts couldn’t argue with something spoken in such a calm, reasonable tone.
“Why on earth would you do that?” There was no censure in Ophelia’s tone, only total and complete confusion.
“I thought he was your Prince Charming.” Amelia, too, looked utterly baffled.
“He turned out to be more of a toad.” The words slipped out before Lindsay could stop herself. She felt the quick heat in her cheeks as The Three fixed her with chiding looks.
Per usual, Ophelia was the first to speak her mind. “Lindsay, I’m sure there is no need to be unkind.”
A retort flew to her lips, and she clamped them shut. Phelia was right. Berating Brendan wasn’t going to help anything. Besides, her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t really think he was a toad.
And even if he was, her treacherous heart would probably find a way to like toads. A lot.
Help me out here, will you, Lord? How do I explain this to them so they’ll understand and let it go?
An old adage flitted through her mind: “Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”
Well! What did that have to do with anything?
“Let’s just say he wasn’t what I thought he was.”
Cecelia cocked her head. “Oh. He wasn’t HawkEye?”
“No, he’s HawkEye . . . uh, Brendan. Whatever. He’s the artist.” The image of his painting of her came to mind. She could still see the exquisite detail, the way he’d seemed to capture her personality—even her soul—on the canvas. Oh, yes, he was an artist.
“Did he explain the painting?”
She sighed. “Yes.” Wait, did he? No, the conversation turned before he did so. “I mean, no. But that really doesn’t matter.”
“Oh?” Ophelia had the same expression she wore when she was trying to puzzle out a particularly stubborn theory.
This was not going well. “Yes, but there were things about him that I didn’t know—”
“Don’t tell me he’s married!”
“No!” Her response was almost as aghast as Amelia’s exclamation. “Of course not. It’s not that at all. He’s single, like he said he was—”
“Well, dear, which is it?” Ophelia sat ramrod straight on the couch. “Was he or wasn’t he what he said?”
“Yes, he was what he said, but he wasn’t what I thought.” Oh, good heavens. Even she could see the absurdity of this. Not surprisingly, The Three pounced.
“For mercy’s sake, Lindsay, make some sense!”
“What are you talking about?”
“That is the most illogical thing I’ve heard in years.”
The triplicate chorus rang in her ears, and her reply jumped out, hot and angry. “So what? So what if it isn’t logical? I’m not logical. I never have been. And what’s more, I have no desire to be! Not if it means I have to ignore my feelings and intuition! When will you people get that?”
Stop! Stop this now! But she wasn’t listening. She was on a roll.
“I don’t think the way you do. You three and Mac, you all think the same. A equals B equals C. But I don’t think like that. I don’t feel the way you do. I’m not you! OK? Considering how off the charts you three are in IQ, I fail to understand why that’s so hard for you to grasp. But you have to let me be who I am”—she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice—“no matter how inferior you all think that is—”
She broke off, not so much because she was finished, but because her throat was too choked with tears to continue.
The silence in the room was deafening.
A sob caught in Lindsay’s throat, and she shook her head. How could she have said such hateful things? She couldn’t bear to even look at her aunts for fear of the anger she’d see on their faces. Or, worse, the hurt.
She turned to leave, and suddenly they were there, beside her, their arms encircling her, their faces pressed against hers.
“No, oh, Lindsay, no. Don’t leave. Please. Not now.”
The plea was filled with grief, and she looked into Ophelia’s face, stunned to find tears coursing down her aunt’s cheeks.
“We can’t let you go. Not believing such things.”
“I—” The tightness in her throat cut off the words she so wanted to say. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m an idiot! Forgive me. . . .
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it did no good. The tears spilled out anyway. God, God, forgive me. . . .
“Oh, sweet Lindsay, don’t cry.” Amelia took hold of her hand and led her to the sofa.
Lindsay sat beside her aunt, leaning into the protective arm Amelia had around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Lindsay finally managed to sob out.
“No, my dear.” Cecelia knelt in front of her, patting her knee. “We’re sorry. So dreadfully sorry that you thought we . . . that we made you feel . . . oh, bother! Ophelia, where’s your blasted Kleenex?”
Soon all four of them were doing their best to mop up the tears. Ophelia blew her nose with enormous gusto.
They all froze, looked at each other, then dissolved into hysterical laughter, collapsing against each other on the large, overstuffed sofa.
Amelia was the first to regain her composure. She touched Lindsay’s arm. “We love you, Lindsay. I love you.”
Lindsay blinked back tears again. “I know, Melia. I never doubted that.”
“But you doubt we like you.” Ophelia’s quiet words hit the nail square on the head.
Lindsay fell silent, not sure what to say. Finally, she nodded.
“Oh, my dear, we not only like you, we respect you.”
Lindsay looked at Cecelia. “You . . . respect me?”
“A great deal.” Ophelia sat down beside her. “Lindsay, you have so many wonderful qualities, so many gifts that God has given you. All three of us have watched you, the way you are with people, the ability you have to draw others out and bring them joy—”
“And we’ve envied that in you.”
Amelia’s comment was too much. Lindsay’s mouth dropped open.
“It’s true, Lindsay.” There was no doubting Amelia’s sincerity. “We’ve often wished we could reach people the way you do. Make them feel comfortable, rather than intimidated. But since it’s just not in our makeup—”
“Definitely not in our makeup,” Celie echoed, grinning.
“—we’ve been thankful to have you.”
“You’re our bridge, Lindsay.” Ophelia took her hand. “The one who connects us with others, and even with ourselves at times.”
Tenderness filled Amelia’s gaze. “You’re our heart.”
“The wind beneath our wings,” Celie chimed in, then sat back, clearly chagrined when her sisters glowered at her.
“What we’re saying,” Ophelia turned back to Lindsay, “is that we’ve always considered you a gift. Yes, Mackenzie is more like us. And we love him deeply, as well. But you. Well, God has used you to help us feel and to be honest about those feelings.”
Lindsay tried to sort through what she was hearing. “I . . . I had no idea.”
Ophelia pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose you could have, since we’ve never said any of this before. I’m afraid we don’t do particularly well expressing our feelings.”
Amelia smoothed back Lindsay’s hair. “But I promise you, if we had known you were feeling as you were—”
“Left out—”
“Lacking—”
Lindsay swallowed with difficulty. “Lonely.”
Celie took her hand. “Oh, my dear, we would have done whatever it took to let you know how we felt.”
“And that you are, most certainly, not alone.” Ophelia gave a definite nod.
“Though, heaven knows, there have been times when you quite likely wished you were.”
Lindsay shook her head. “No, I didn’t want to be without you.” At their knowing looks, she grinned. “OK, once in a while, maybe. But not often. I just wanted to feel as though I belonged. That I wasn’t just . . . an oddity that you and Mac endured as best you could.”
Ophelia lifted her chin. “If anyone in this family is an oddity, it’s me. Actually, all three of us.”
“After all, my dear”—Amelia’s eyes reflected the awe in her words—“you can cook.”
“And clean house.” Phelia shuddered.
“And do all those puzzling acts of domesticity that most women learn at their mother’s knee,” Celie finished.
Amelia frowned. “Good heavens.” She looked at Ophelia and Cecelia. “Do you realize, if you really contemplate the facts, Lindsay is the most normal of the four of us?”
“Now, that’s the kind of logic I could learn to love!” Lindsay laughed, and her aunts joined in. This was what she’d longed for, prayed for so many years—this sense of belonging. If only she’d realized it was there all the time. If only she’d said something sooner.
The truth shall set you free. . . .
Oh, yes. Thank you, Father.
“Well, I for one will need some help recovering from that realization.” Ophelia rose.
“Absolutely.” Amelia’s tone was filled with mirth. “In fact, I think it will take nothing less than something terribly gooey and replete with chocolate to get us through our trauma.”
“Oh,” sighed Celie, “if only some gracious, gifted, creative person would take pity on us—”
“—and bake a pan of double-chocolate—”
“—fudge-frosted—”
“—nut-filled brownies.”
Lindsay’s lifted her hands, signaling surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll take pity on you.” She looked at Ophelia. “I assume you have the necessary ingredients for brownies.”
Ophelia’s expression was blank.
“Margarine, flour, sugar, eggs,” Lindsay listed hopefully.
“And I would find these items . . . where?” Ophelia glanced around.
“In the pantry!” Amelia supplied, tone triumphant.
“No, in the kitchen, in that cold thing,” Celie countered. “What is it? Ah, yes, the refrigerator.”
“Never mind!” Lindsay gasped out. “I’ll go to the store. You three are hopeless.”
“Indubitably,” Ophelia said.
“Undeniably,” Melia offered.
“Most assuredly,” Celie finished.
And not one of them had the grace to look even a little bit repentant.