The Mummy Proposal. Cathy Thacker Gillen
still thinks his oh-so-charming father walked on water.” Despite the fact that Seamus had barely known Cole existed, except on the few occasions when the Irish poet had trotted him out, to show him off and enhance Seamus’s own ego. “Which is why I don’t want to take Cole to the book party.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid someone will say something,” he guessed.
“Although many faculty members remain in the dark about the circumstances surrounding Seamus’s death, I have since come to realize some knew about his philandering.” She took a deep breath. “Some of them thought I knew and was turning a blind eye, to keep the marriage intact. Others actively covered for him when he was out carousing, and helped him keep his infidelity from me.”
“So if any of them were to look at you sympathetically …” Nate guessed where this was going.
Brooke nodded. “Or just react in a way that would stir questions in Cole’s mind, it could be a problem. I worked very hard during the years of our marriage to protect Cole from anything unpleasant. Right now, he’s secure in his father’s love and the memories he has of our times together as family. He doesn’t realize that anything was amiss.” She crossed her arms self-consciously. “And I don’t want to do anything that would take away from that. Because there were parts of our lives together that were very good.” Times when Seamus had really poured on the Irish charm. “And that’s all I want to dwell on. So going back to the English department, where Seamus and I first met …”
Once again Nate looked shocked. “You were his student, too?” he asked in surprise.
“I took one of his classes when I was a senior,” Brooke admitted, with no small amount of cynicism. Looking back, she could see how gullible, how ripe for the picking she had been. But at the time, their age difference and Seamus’s history as a tortured artist, and a known womanizer with a penchant for getting involved with female students, hadn’t mattered. With effort, Brooke found her voice. “He was twenty years older than me, and when the writing was going well—as it was at the time—he was very sweet and kind and funny and loving.” That was all she had seen. All she had needed to see.
“He made you happy.”
Not ashamed to admit it, Brooke nodded. “When he asked me to marry him and give him a child, I was thrilled. I’d finally have a family again, and so would he.” Maybe she’d been blind, but her first years as a devoted wife and mother had been one of the happiest times of her life. “We had Cole right away. Seamus wrote a few new poems and continued teaching. And I became consumed with building a part-time business on the side, and being a mom.”
“And later?”
“We still had good times. But Seamus was under a lot of pressure. In academia, what they say about publish or perish is very true. The powers that be were on him to produce another book of poetry the university could promote.” She swallowed uncomfortably. “Seamus didn’t think it was that simple. He wanted to wait to be inspired, but that wasn’t an option if he wanted to keep his standing in the department. So eventually he did what was expected.” Brooke tried not to dwell on the fact that Seamus’s mistress had no doubt supplied the muse for the latest collection of love poetry, just as Brooke had allegedly inspired his earlier work.
She sighed and went on. “He had just submitted Love Notes from the Soul to his previous publisher, The Poet’s Press, and was waiting to hear back about whether or not they were going to buy it, when he died. Eventually, they decided they wanted to publish it posthumously, since it was his last work.” Even though it wasn’t his best work. Far from it, actually.
Nate studied her, as if sensing there was more. “So what are you going to do?” he asked finally.
Brooke put away her lingering feelings of anger and resentment. “I’m not sure. The university has notified all the newspapers in the state that the book is coming out, and they’re trying to get it reviewed. Since Seamus isn’t here, they’d like me to speak with the press and help promote it.”
“But you don’t want to,” Nate noted, perceptively.
She picked up the invitation and advance copy of her late husband’s book and held them at her side. “Every instinct I have tells me it would be a mistake, especially since my feelings on the matter are so complicated. So I’m going to sidestep that minefield and let the university handle it. In the meantime—” she put her personal angst aside and got back to the business at hand “—I’d like to show you what I’ve done with the guesthouse.”
“THIS IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING,” Nate murmured several minutes later, after he had completed the tour of the caretaker’s cottage. The mismatched furniture had been covered with soft blue denim slipcovers, and colorful braid rugs adorned the newly polished wide-plank pine floors. Art was on the walls. Blue-and-white paisley draperies dressed up the plantation shutters on the windows. The old appliances in the kitchen sparkled, and a round table for four had been brought in and set with dishes that were as pretty and useful as everything else in the home.
Nate cast another glance at the cotton quilts on the beds, the fresh towels, rugs and shower curtain in the lone bathroom. It was like a guesthouse out of a magazine, with all the comforts one could possibly desire. “How did you make it so livable so fast?”
“Well, as you can see, I had everything moved onto the lawn, then had the cleaning service do a thorough scrubbing of the space. I put half the furniture back, keeping the pieces that were in the best shape and leaving the others outside. Which brings me to my next question.” She walked out to the yard and gestured at the odds and ends. “Do you want to put these things into storage or give them to an auction house for resale, along with everything you won’t be using?”
“Auction everything.” The money from the sale would go a long way toward funding the makeover.
Brooke made a note on her clipboard. “You said you wanted to get away from the black-and-white color scheme.”
“Right.” Nate sauntered back into the cottage and gestured toward the inviting decor. “I want the main house to look as comfortable as this.” Like the cozy, welcoming homes all his married friends had. A place where he could come home and put his feet up.
Brooke tapped the pen against her chin. “That’s a pretty big undertaking. We’re talking about furnishings for ten thousand square feet of space. And we’ll have to come up with a new color scheme.”
Nate felt his eyes begin to glaze over. That always happened when the discussion turned to decorating. “Whatever you decide is fine with me.”
She looked at him, clearly unconvinced.
He lifted both palms in surrender. “I’m not kidding—I like your taste. You understand a lot about boys and what they need. Speaking of which …” He took a deep breath and plunged on. “I’m planning to take Landry to get a haircut this evening after camp. And then to buy the clothes he needs. Any chance you and Cole might want to join us?”
Brooke hesitated.
Nate knew he was pushing it, dragging her further into this situation. But he had no choice. Edging closer still, he threw himself on her mercy. “I know nothing about any of this. And Landry can tell. You, on the other hand, are Supermom.”
She raked her teeth across her lower lip. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” he said. “I could use your help. Please don’t make me beg….”
As their eyes locked, Nate sensed a wall going up between them. “I meant what I said yesterday. You’re going to have to learn to do this on your own eventually,” Brooke stated, sizing him up with golden-brown eyes.
“Eventually being the key word,” he agreed.
After another moment, she finally relented, as he had hoped she would.
It was Landry Nate had trouble convincing.
“No way!” the teen said when