Cavanaugh Strong. Marie Ferrarella
yanking open the front door. “What did I tell you about opening the front door?” she asked, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
“Not to,” Melinda repeated dutifully, her lower lip sticking out in a pout to end all pouts. “But this is Lucy. We hafta open the door for Lucy,” she insisted. “Lucy can’t get in unless we open the door.”
“Terrific,” Noelle muttered under her breath as she shook her head in disbelief. “I’m raising a minilawyer.” Taking a deep breath, she answered Melinda as if she was talking to an adult instead of a six-year-old. Brighter than most children several years older than she was, Melinda responded to being acknowledged rather than ignored. “Lucy can get in because I’m going to open the door for her, not you. When you get to be my size, you can open the door for her, too. Understand?”
The small, open face scrunched up as Melinda obviously pondered her mother’s words. “How tall are you, Momma?”
“Taller than you. Look, we’ll talk,” she promised the little girl, breezing by her. She flipped the lock on her front door to the open position. “Hi!” Noelle said brightly, greeting her grandmother as she walked in.
“Hi,” Lucy echoed back in a less-than-enthusiastic tone.
Even if Lucy’s tone of voice had sounded chipper, Noelle would have immediately realized that something was definitely wrong. While no one had ever accused Lucinda O’Banyon of being cheerful, she was chipper and behaved closer in age to her great-granddaughter than to the octogenarian she would soon become.
Lucy’s voice, coupled with the fact that she had come very close to being late for the first time since Noelle had known the woman, had Noelle back to being concerned. Really concerned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked the older woman pointedly.
This would have been the place where her still very shapely, attractive and feisty grandmother would have denied that there was anything wrong and then turn the tables on her, putting her on the defensive by demanding to know why she thought anything was wrong, etc.
Noelle knew the way her grandmother responded to events almost as well as she knew how she herself responded to things. Better, actually, since there were times when she was unclear as to her own reactions. She was never confused about Lucy’s reactions and motivation. Lucy was reliable, predictable and, more than that, the older woman had been her rock for ages now.
Neither one of her parents had ever been very “parental.” Her mother, Adriana, viewed being a mother as an inconvenience that got in the way of her lifestyle, and while her father, Howard, had shown signs of wanting some sort of a relationship with his only child, he was firmly entrenched under her mother’s thumb. Being so didn’t allow him to deviate from the plans Adriana had set in motion for him. He was her escort, her consort and the man who paid for all the expenses despite the fact that in the grand scheme of things, Adriana’s family had more money than her father did.
As far back as she could remember, her parents were always going to one country or another, usually getting there via some lavish cruise. That sort of lifestyle had no room for a pubescent daughter who needed regular schooling of some sort. So time and again, her parents would deposit her with her grandmother and take off.
In the beginning, they would pick her up again when they returned from whatever vacation hot spot had lured them away. But by and by, with each trip that became less the case. At first, a few days would go by before they would come for her. But then a few days would knit themselves into a week and then two, until one day, they “forgot” to come for her at all. After that, she stopped seeing her parents between their travels.
Noelle adjusted accordingly.
Though Lucy wasn’t ordinarily given to protestations of feelings or any overwhelming displays of emotions, her grandmother made her feelings for her known through actions and the interest that Lucy took in the various events—large or small—occurring in Noelle’s life.
Whether it was through her vigilance regarding basic hygiene or making sure that her grades were kept up, her grandmother made a point in having her finger in every pie that was part of her young life.
And Noelle loved her for it.
She noticed now that Lucy was not shrugging off her question, but neither was her grandmother immediately answering it.
Noelle examined the older woman more closely, seeing her grandmother’s reluctance to talk coming in direct conflict with an obvious apparent need to talk.
Noelle decided to try to help the matter along a little. Her eyes met her grandmother’s. “Tell me,” she coaxed softly.
Lucy took a deep breath as if bracing herself for the words that were to emerge from her lips. “Henry died,” the woman replied quietly.
Henry, Henry. Noelle searched her brain, trying to match the name to a piece of information that might have been carelessly tossed her way in one of their many conversations, both recent and from years past. Lucy was not one to go on at length about anything, but she did mention a great many things in passing.
And then it clicked into place.
“Henry, that’s the friend you visit at that senior retirement home on Thursdays,” Noelle remembered.
“Every other Thursday,” Lucy corrected. “Henry was Dan’s friend,” her grandmother told her, referring to her late husband, the grandfather she had never known. “And mine,” Lucy added in an eerily quiet voice Noelle surmised she was using to camouflage her pain.
Her grandmother and Melinda were the two people she allowed inside the barriers she had built up around herself. Emotions within that limited area came quickly and without restraints.
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry,” Noelle cried softly. Stopping short, she knew better than to just go with her instincts without first asking for permission. Generally speaking, Lucy was not a demonstrative person. But this was, after all, an extenuating circumstance. “Is it all right to hug you?”
Lucy nodded, suddenly looking much sadder than she remembered ever seeing her grandmother look. “I think I could use a hug right about now,” the older woman said.
Melinda, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, absorbing every word like a short adult-in-training, now took this opportunity to remind her mother and her grandmother of her presence by piping up, “Me, too, Lucy?”
Lucy extended her free hand toward the child, even as she struggled to keep back her hot tears. “You, too, Cupcake.”
Melinda instantly pressed her small form against her mother and her grandmother, melting into them and becoming part of the whole.
* * *
From a distance, as he watched the woman approaching the squad room where they both worked, Duncan Cavanaugh thought that his almost-brand-new partner looked like a walking tall drink of water. In general, he had always been a man who had never quite satisfied his overwhelming thirst.
But if nothing else, Duncan also had a keen instinct when it came to survival. He just naturally knew when to stand back and when to lean in.
The former was at play here. Newly minted detective Noelle O’Banyon might as well have had a no-trespassing sign taped to her forehead. Tempting though she was and definitely gorgeous, he knew enough to stay back and keep hands off. Even if he hadn’t been unexpectedly partnered with her when his former partner Lopez relocated to Miami six months ago to be near his ailing father, Duncan understood that you didn’t act on feelings of attraction to someone who clearly had the word rebuff written all over her.
At bottom, Duncan had decided that Detective Noelle O’Banyon was his own personal, ongoing trial. A test he could only successfully pass if he was oblivious to her.
Not an easy trick.
Especially when Cameron Holloway, one of the other detectives in Vice, had been quick to give him a heads-up the first time he had learned the name of Lopez’s replacement on