Colleen watched the sun slowly rise over Edinburgh, as the light made its slow approach over the room, cutting a bright swash across the patchwork comforter. She rested her left hand in the thick band of sunlight and turned it to and fro, admiring the heartiness of her dried heather band.
Beside her, Noah slept.
In the end is our beginning, he’d said, and oh, how much had changed in the span of only a few days, set to the magic of Skye.
After that afternoon at the fairy pool, they’d spent the following days of their lovers’ respite traveling the windy roads of Skye, hiking the jagged cliffs of Storr, enjoying porridge at a small inn in Uig, and traversing the Fairy Glen, which resonated with even more magic than the pools. Colleen had fallen in love with the sloping, hilly glen, and the fairy circles, insisting, to Noah’s amusement, on leaving an offering for the mysterious beings.
“You believe in this, do you, my goddess of science?”
“I believe in everything, even those things science can’t explain.”
Noah kissed her and left his own offering, to please her.
They’d navigated the island like intrepid explorers, never tiring of discovery, or each other. Their evenings they spent wrapped in embrace, sharing every corner of their souls, except the darkest.
What will become of us when we return to the world? she had thought then, and still, now, didn’t have the answer.
On New Year’s Eve, as their trip neared its end, she’d beseeched Noah to take her back to the magical glen. She had one last wish of the fairies.
As she’d traced her path into the circle of stones—first forward, then, after making her offering and speaking her wish—retracing them backward through the spiral, Noah discovered his own bit of magic: a patch of purple heather, untouched by the changing of the seasons.
He found Colleen gazing up at the summit of Castle Ewan. “Colleen.” His voice cracked.
She turned to see him holding a small circle of woven heather. “Whatever lives we both left behind in New Orleans, they’ll always be a part of us, but we’re different people now. We both want to matter. I say, we can matter together. I say, in the end is our beginning, Colleen.”
Noah held the small band of heather toward her. Colleen saw, in the light of his words, what it truly was: a ring. “You’re proposing?” she’d whispered.
The corner of his mouth cracked into a grin. “Only if you’re accepting.”
We hardly know each other, she knew she should say. The voice of a reasonable woman, a woman of science and logic, as she counted herself. But she did know him. They’d exchanged a hundred silent words between them for every one spoken aloud, and she’d fallen in love with him without realizing the moment of inception.
“I’m accepting,” Colleen replied, releasing a sound that was half-crying, half-laughter. Who was this carefree woman, stepping into a future with both eyes closed and her heart wide-open? Who had she become?
“Christmas,” he managed to say between kisses. “We can do it next year, or we can do it ten years from now, but I want to marry you on Christmas.”
“Our day, from now on. Always,” she agreed.
Christmas.
Christmas Eve, though, would always be Maddy’s.
Winter faded to spring. She shared herself, in every way, except one. Every way, except the most important, the most fundamental, for a Deschanel.
He didn’t know she was a witch, and she feared what he’d do with that knowledge, given his own family’s history. His entire family had fallen apart because of his mother’s apparent involvement in witchcraft, and Noah hadn’t seen her, or his three sisters, since he was young, too young to have any memories.
She eventually wrote to Evangeline and told her the whole, sordid, wonderful story. Evangeline’s advice? Jump in with both feet and learn to swim together.
Easy for Evangeline to say, when she didn’t have her heart dangling over a cliff.
Colleen brushed her lips against Noah’s forehead and went to make coffee. As she assembled the tasks needed, her thoughts drifted to home. Almost a year into her residency in Scotland, she felt the first pang of being needed back in New Orleans. She didn’t know where it was coming from, though it wouldn’t surprise her if her own big life changes were at the root of this strange feeling of uncertainty. Noah asked, gently but at least once a week, when they could share the good news with their families, and she insisted it was better said in person.
She believed this, but there was more to it, more she was afraid to say, even to Noah, whom she’d let crawl around inside her soul and take a peek at spots in the corners once reserved only for her. She’d opened the protective compartments and let him in, and it wasn’t as bad as she thought… to the contrary, it was refreshing to not have the need to hide in solitude. Noah let the light in.
Her fear was founded in the belief that her family saw her as the sane one. The unfailing pragmatist who carefully calculated every decision, even the small ones, but especially the big ones. What would they think of her, to learn she’d spent a week with a man she hardly knew and, at the end of it, accepted his proposal of marriage? More, that she was now months into this engagement and having no regrets over such a foolish, errant moment of weakness?
Colleen was not ashamed to be marrying Noah Jameson, not even a little. His position in society back home might make her mother cringe, but Colleen was a third child of August Deschanel, not the heir, or even the spare. Marrying beneath her station was an antiquated notion, in any case, one Colleen had no time for. She’d love him just as much if he were homeless, or if he were a millionaire, because she’d fallen for the man, not the place setting.
But what would they all think? She was supposed to be the rational one! The level head!
Let’s go when the spring term is over, Colleen. Go see both our families, tell them our wonderful news. It would be wrong to keep all this happiness to ourselves. Downright selfish, even.
Colleen found Noah’s enthusiasm contagious. So contagious that every time he talked about their future, she couldn’t help leading him to the bedroom. Love was sexy. Commitment was sexy. He was sexy. And he was hers.
She’d need to get in front of her family before they said something foolish. They’d probably assume she’d already told Noah who she was and what she could do, and though she hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him any of it, she knew unequivocally it must come from her.
End of spring. It wasn’t so far away, but everything would be different. She’d be an aunt for the first time. Maureen’s child was due any day, and Charles’ son would be coming only weeks after. Evangeline wouldn’t be there, because she’d opted to stay in Massachusetts for the summer. And Colleen would be engaged to the man of her dreams.
She sighed and poured a steaming hot cup of coffee.
Noah’s arms slid around her from behind. “Smells like chicory. Please tell me you found some chicory here.”
“Maybe,” she teased.
“There’s nothing from home I miss more.”
“Not even your dad?” She spun in his arms so she could see his face. She never tired of it. Could spend hours studying each curve, each line; running her hands over his light stubble decorating a strong jaw.
“Sorry, Dad, chicory wins.” Noah reached behind her to take a sip of her coffee. He feigned pouring the cup over her head and she winced and giggled. Giggled. When had Colleen, ever, in her life, giggled?
“I was thinking we should buy the plane tickets today.” Colleen nuzzled herself into his chest, still warm from sleep.
“Only if you stop trying to pay for mine.”
Colleen pulled herself back. Kissed him, letting her lips linger another moment. “We’ve talked about this. The money is nothing to me. It’s everything to you. Let me do this for you.”
“Wanna take the silver spoon out of your mouth and try again?”
Colleen playfully socked him.
“I’m going to be your husband, Colleen,” Noah said. “I have to be able to care for you.”
“That’s a very old-fashioned notion of marriage,” she said lightly. “And if you’re hoping to compete with my inheritance, you’ll always be disappointed. I didn’t have any say into what I was born with. And besides, you will be a force of your own when you’re a doctor. We won’t need my money.”
Noah frowned. “It’s easy to act like money doesn’t matter when you’ve always had more than you could ever need.”
Colleen kissed him again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But it is more than I could ever need, so why not let me share it with you? Save your money for our new place.”
“Our new place.” Noah’s smile returned. “I can’t wait to live with you. I always forget my damn toothbrush here, and I never have clean underwear at home.”
“That’s because you never do any laundry,” she chided. “But, of course, you’re the one who will care for me, right?”
“I oughta wash your mouth out,” Noah hissed and lifted her to the counter. He parted her robe with his hips as he moved in on her. His hands slid up her inner thigh, eyes widening when he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. His groin throbbed against her, through his pajama pants.
“With what?” Colleen purred and then abruptly gasped as he entered her and silenced her with several delicious, sharp thrusts.
Noah snored softly, asleep once more. Colleen peeled herself from the bed with great reluctance. She only had a short window before he’d be awake, and then they’d be focused on their studying, as they did every Sunday afternoon.
Colleen slipped into the small office on the second floor and picked up the phone. She hesitated before dialing. She’d been a terrible niece. In her attempt to let her family govern themselves, Ophelia became collateral damage. For Colleen, it was all or nothing, and that left her relationship with her great-aunt hanging in the balance.
Ophelia answered on the first ring. “I expected this call five minutes ago.”
“You know me, Tante.” Colleen swallowed. “How are you?”
Ophelia’s gravelly cough filled the line. “If you’re winding up for some sort of apology for looking after yourself, spare us both, Colleen. I’m due for a nap.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, should I call—”
“Stop it. We both know you need advice, and we both know what about.”
Colleen laughed. “Why do I even bother?”
“I won’t tell you your future,” Ophelia said. “You turned me down once for divination, and I believe that was your truest self who rejected that offer. I won’t have you blaming me for coercing you into a glimpse.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“No, because I’m not going to tell you your future, now am I?”
“Tante…”
“Here’s your advice. Are you listening? I’m quite tired.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Colleen sighed. It was so good to hear her aunt’s voice. That old comfort of knowing you were talking with one of the ancients. One of the good ones. The ones who knew.
“Overthinking breeds fear. Your fears have always come from your inability to stop ruining the good things in your life with analyzing them into the ground. Stop doing that. Just stop it.”
“It’s so hard when my brain’s natural state is to consider all possible outcomes.”
Ophelia coughed again. She sounded so old now. So much had changed in just a year. Colleen’s heart ached. “It’s okay to think with your heart sometimes, Colleen. Men will tell you your heart is weak and can’t be trusted, but your heart speaks the loudest and the clearest, if you stop and listen. Our heart gives us the courage our mind would refuse us. Our heart gives those around us something special to carry with them when we’re gone. Our heart is an extension of our soul. Yes, your mind is a beautiful thing, and you were gifted with an especially good one. But it is not your mind, Colleen, that will warm you in the coldest nights. It is not your mind that will hold your hand when you need comfort. Your heart is who you are, and to push it aside, to… to deny it what it most wants is to deny yourself a chance at real happiness.”
Colleen wiped the tears from her eyes and worked to compose herself for a response, but the line was dead.
Colin and Catherine’s baby shower ended up occurring after the birth of their first son, Colin Austin Sullivan III, who made his grand entrance three weeks ahead of schedule. Named Colin, for his father, and Austin, for Catherine’s father, by the end of the first week of his life they decided two Colins in the same house was one too many, and so they called him Austin.
That wasn’t quite right either, though. He didn’t look like an Austin, with his jet-black hair and beaming eyes that Colin insisted would end up green like his and his father’s, Sullivan through and through. One of the Sullivan cousins who flowed in and out to greet the newest heir finally settled the matter, entirely by accident.
“Aussy… Aussty… Ozzy…” he stammered.
The young couple exchanged a look. Catherine said, “Ahh, Ozzy! There it is!” And Colin said, “How about just Oz?”
And so Oz was the second born child to the Sullivan clan in the generation, after Clancy, though being the son of Colin II and grandson of Colin I, and so on, drawing a straight line down from all the esteemed Sullivan men who had built their empire, ensured he would be first in everything in life. Especially where the law firm was concerned.
Rory and Carolina had flown back for the baby shower, but instead walked into a new nephew to love. Carolina’s dark-lidded eyes and sallow cheeks were hard to look upon, and Charles had half a mind to put Colleen on the job. But he’d heard a rumor that Colleen had already visited Carolina Sullivan once, and that this visit might be why Carolina survived the ordeal at all.
Cordelia attended the shower with Charles, looking ready to burst as well. She had eight weeks left, though she said the women in her family always delivered early, declaring this as a statement of scientific fact. Pregnancy tamed his wife in a way nothing else so far had. Her remarks were less cutting, and she was even agreeable from time to time. She no longer pitched a fit when he wanted to come with her to the doctor’s appointments, which had increased in frequency as of late, and tolerated spending a couple minutes after with him discussing what they’d learned. She’d even moved back into Ophélie, when he insisted she needed a full staff—and husband—attending her in these final days.
Charles wouldn’t go as far as to say he liked his wife, but life had settled some, and for that, he was grateful.
“Congrats, my man,” Charles said, one hand clapped to Colin’s back, the other peeling back the light blue blanket covering Oz’s sweet face. “Like all Sullivans, he showed up early and made everyone else look bad.”
Colin laughed. “I’m glad he’s here, but I wish he’d shown up on time instead. We weren’t quite ready for his arrival.”
Charles leveled a skeptical gaze. “A Sullivan? Not ready?”
“Thank goodness for Catherine. She’s such a natural. She was meant for this.” They watched, together, as a glowing Catherine showed her new son off to a group of doting women.
Yes, thought Charles. She was meant for this, but it doesn’t make me ready to see it.
The contrast between the woman he married and the woman he loved was like standing in the storm and watching the sun off in the distance. Cordelia pretended to be interested in the Sullivan baby, but she played the part expected of her. Said all the right things and inserted the appropriate dosage of “oohs” and “oh dears” as Catherine proudly told of how her baby launched his breakfast all over her new dress, or how she learned the hard way how to properly change a baby boy’s diaper.
Catherine’s radiance was soul-deep. She was meant for this, the nurturing of another. Whatever peace she’d made or not made with her marriage, it had all come down to this moment. She was the warm, glowing center of the room, and everyone, everything else, paled next to the force of her love.
Colin rejoined his wife, and Cordelia appeared at Charles’ side. “Be fortunate that baby has black hair, Charles,” she said, with a mischievous twinkle.
Was she goading him? Being playful? He wouldn’t know how to recognize it if she was. “I’ll pretend I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re quite good at that. Pretending.”
“And you, my dear, are getting better.” He tipped his glass of cognac at her.
“I don’t want a baby shower,” she declared suddenly. “I know I’m the one who said I did, but this child is taking all my energy, and I’m weary of parties, in any case. And do we really need others to spend money on us? Seems trite and in poor form.”
Charles could almost appreciate her practicality. “It’s your decision. If you don’t want a shower, we’ll cancel.”
“You’re upset with me.”
Charles laughed. “Upset? Do you think I want to be at this baby shower, let alone one where I have to be gracious and talk to everyone?”
“Yes, darling, but you don’t want to be at this baby shower because of her.” Cordelia had the good sense not to point, but she didn’t need to.
“It’s over. Past,” Charles insisted, more for himself. If he said it enough, he might one day believe it. “Their child puts a seal on it.”
“Their child,” Cordelia repeated. She wrapped both arms over the top of her protruding belly. “Too bad Catherine has no one to remind her to practice good sense and stop looking over at you every chance she gets.”
“I wish she wouldn’t,” Charles murmured into his glass. “I don’t know what else to say to make her move on.”
“Here’s a compliment, Charles,” Cordelia said. “I appreciate your restraint where she’s concerned. I know that’s difficult for you, and I didn’t make it any easier with that party I threw months ago. But someone has to get her to sing from the same hymnal, or that child that looks like every other Sullivan brooding around New Orleans won’t be enough to save her. And if she goes down? I fear you, and this family, go with her.”
Cordelia went home early, complaining of fatigue, accepting a ride from Irish Colleen. Charles stayed long past most of the guests without realizing, until he looked around and there was only Colin and Catherine.
“I better head out myself,” he said.
“Actually,” Colin said. He stood and gave his crisp suit a quick tug. “I need to head to the office for an hour or so.”
“Colin! Today, even?” Catherine exclaimed.
“Unfortunately, but Charles is here and… Charles, you don’t mind sitting with Cat and Oz for a bit, do you?”
Catherine’s and Charles’ eyes widened in horror, in tandem.
“I’m with Cat on this. Can’t you turn this shit off for one night?”
“Language, Charles. There’s a baby in the room,” Colin chided. He turned to Catherine and leaned to kiss her on the forehead. “It won’t be for long. We’re in court Tuesday and I just need to review the court documents once more.”
Catherine pouted but lifted her face to receive the kiss. “That’s what you have paralegals for, Olly.”
“I can call my mother to come back, if Huck can’t stay,” Colin said. He was already swinging his trench coat off the rack near the door.
“Please, God, no,” Catherine whispered, loud enough only for Charles to hear.
“No, I’m already here,” Charles said. “I’ll stay.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Catherine protested.
“No, you are not that,” Colin agreed, smiling, as he disappeared through the door.
“He’s been paranoid about me ever since Carolina’s ordeal with Clancy,” Catherine said with a sigh. She leaned back into her chair. Oz snored softly in the bassinet a foot away. “But my delivery was fine. Early, but fine. Oz is healthy. I’m healthy. He’s being ridiculous, and frankly, if he was that concerned, he would stay himself and not pawn me off on his best friend.”
Charles pointed at the door. “I can leave, and we can say I stayed for a couple hours.”
“Wouldn’t be the first lie we told Colin,” she said. Catherine pulled her hair up into a ponytail and clipped it with a quick dexterity that had him mesmerized. “No, stay for a bit. When’s the last time we were alone together, anyway?”
When’s the last time anything good came of us being alone? “He’s beautiful,” Charles said, because he couldn’t think of a response to her question that didn’t lead them down a dangerous path.
Catherine smiled. She snaked an arm over the chair and into the cradle. “He is, isn’t he?”
“It looks good on you,” Charles said. “Motherhood, or whatever.”
“Or whatever?”
“Shit, Cat, I’m no good at small talk, or serious talk, or any of it.” Charles rubbed his hands over the whisper of stubble on his chin. “Sorry for saying shit in front of the baby again.”
“That’s three times,” she teased. “Besides, he hasn’t even settled on his permanent eye color. What are the odds that shit becomes his first word?”
Charles laughed. “That would be fucking hilarious.”
“Colin would love that.” She withdrew her hand and folded it across her other, in her lap. “He’s only grown more particular about things over time.”
“Colin was never going to be a man who knows how to relax and have a good time.”
“I thought marriage and fatherhood would soften him.”
“You can’t change anyone, Cat.”
“You’ve changed.”
Charles inhaled, but it did no good. What he needed was a lungful of smoke. A bump of coke. “I’ve adapted.”
“You make it sound so depressing. Isn’t that what I’ve done, adapted?”
“Catherine, no one forced you to take this path. You chose to marry Colin, and chose to have his child.” No, not one bump. Twelve. Why had he agreed to this? “I don’t know why you insist on acting like you’re a martyr.”
Her eyes teared. “I’m sorry you see me that way, as a foolish girl who can’t appreciate that she caused her own circumstances.”
Charles leaned forward over his knees. He clasped his hands together to avoid touching her. “I don’t think that.”
“It’s what you said.”
“I guess it is,” Charles conceded. “It helps me to think it, when you chose him.”
“You know why I chose him.”
“I know what you told me. I know what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”
“Who says I’m sleeping?”
Charles stood. “I’m gonna call Josephine. It wasn’t a good idea for me to be here, alone with you.”
“My marriage is failing, Huck.” Catherine turned her head to the side, revealing a cheek full of tears. “And yes, I know why I chose him. And because of Oz, I would never choose differently. That doesn’t change matters.”
“If Colin were asked, would he say the same?”
Catherine laughed and sniffled at the same time. “Nothing is ever so complex for Colin. Nothing will ever be. He never did understand the value in dreaming.”
“What’s done is done,” Charles said. Only now, when he’d stopped to take a deep breath, did he feel the tightness in his chest. The sensation of his heart breaking, again, a sensation only Catherine Connelly Sullivan could produce. “My advice is to think of your son now, Catherine. He’s what matters. The rest is just details.”
“Is that what you’re going to do? Think of your son?”
“He’s the only thing keeping me going,” Charles said. He reached for the phone. “Should I call someone?”
“No.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“Yes, Colin, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m nothing like him, Catherine.”
“Oh, I know,” she replied, turning away from both her love and her son. “I’m reminded of that every single day.”
Charles willed himself to move toward the door. To not go to her instead and take her in his arms, shake the sense into her, all the while kissing her, loving her. She was intoxicating and maddening, perfect and imperfect. His and not his. He loved her, he hated her. She was his salvation and his undoing.
“Be happy,” he said before disappearing into the New Orleans night.