be as much a part of him as the uniform he wore.
He reached the bottom step and I felt his hand brush my arm, but I wasn’t afraid. I’d never been afraid when he was there. Still feeling the heat in my cheeks, I raised my hand but hesitated when I heard the sound of one car door slamming shut followed by another. In surprise, I turned my head and looked directly at him, realizing my mistake as soon as I saw him fade like the smoke from an extinguished candle.
The sound of quick footsteps coming up the walkway preceded the front door being thrown open. My mother stood there with her gloved hand on the door handle, her cheeks pink and her eyes a vivid green. They settled on me and she frowned.
“Why is that man here? You said he’d be working in the garden and that I wouldn’t have any contact with him. And why . . .” She stopped speaking as her eyes widened and her gaze focused on the spot behind me where the soldier had been.
I turned around and stiffened with surprise. My soldier stood there—in solid form—so clear I could see the beard stubble on his chin and his thick eyelashes. He too seemed surprised, his gaze widening as it settled on me and then moved to my mother. There was recognition in his eyes and in my mother’s as he slowly put a leg forward, swept his hat from his head, and gave her a courtly bow before completely disappearing.
My questions stilled on my lips as my father filled the doorway behind my mother, his brows knitted together in annoyance. “And good morning to you, too, Ginnette.We can at least be civil to each other, can’t we? Or are you too much of a diva now to be cordial to the father of your only child?”
“Mellie.” My mother tried to shut the door behind her but my father stepped forward, blocking it from closing. “Would you please explain to your father that he’s supposed to be working outside in the garden and that I have nothing to say to him?”
Still stunned by the solid presence of the soldier and my mind racing with the possibilities of why he would choose this moment to appear, it took me a few moments to process what my parents were saying.
Not willing to wait for my reply, Ginnette faced my father. “I think we said everything that needed to be said thirty-three years ago, and I have no desire to revisit one of the most difficult times in my life. So”—she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a foot, diva-like—“why don’t you go dig a hole in the garden or something so Mellie and I can do what we came here to do?”
To my surprise, my dad smiled one of the smiles I remembered from my girlhood—before our lives had unraveled—a smile that engaged his eyes along with his mouth and had always been reserved for my mother alone. After she left, it had gone too, and I’d imagined it packed away with the boxes in the attic with the rest of the detritus of their marriage that he no longer cared to revisit.
“I think you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been, Ginny.”
Caught off guard, my mother struggled to retain her anger. Finally she said, “Nobody calls me that anymore. I prefer Ginnette.”
He just stood there, smiling. “But I still think of you as the Ginny Prioleau who swept me off my feet and stole my heart. I’m too old now to think of you as anything other than my beautiful Ginny.”
I tried not to smile, horrified as I was to relive a similar conversation I’d had with Jack when I’d tried to convince him that he wasn’t welcome to call me by the nickname my mother had given me. I was pretty sure that my mother would have as much luck convincing my father as I’d had with Jack.
Her chin quivered and then her cheeks pinkened even more. Could she be blushing? “Don’t flatter me, James. I’m only two months younger than you so we both know how old that makes me.”
Despite her words, she kept peering up at my father through thick eyelashes, and I fought the urge to gag. “Okay, you two. I think I’ve heard
He reached the bottom step and I felt his hand brush my arm, but I wasn’t afraid. I’d never been afraid when he was there. Still feeling the heat in my cheeks, I raised my hand but hesitated when I heard the sound of one car door slamming shut followed by another. In surprise, I turned my head and looked directly at him, realizing my mistake as soon as I saw him fade like the smoke from an extinguished candle.
The sound of quick footsteps coming up the walkway preceded the front door being thrown open. My mother stood there with her gloved hand on the door handle, her cheeks pink and her eyes a vivid green. They settled on me and she frowned.
“Why is that man here? You said he’d be working in the garden and that I wouldn’t have any contact with him. And why . . .” She stopped speaking as her eyes widened and her gaze focused on the spot behind me where the soldier had been.
I turned around and stiffened with surprise. My soldier stood there—in solid form—so clear I could see the beard stubble on his chin and his thick eyelashes. He too seemed surprised, his gaze widening as it settled on me and then moved to my mother. There was recognition in his eyes and in my mother’s as he slowly put a leg forward, swept his hat from his head, and gave her a courtly bow before completely disappearing.
My questions stilled on my lips as my father filled the doorway behind my mother, his brows knitted together in annoyance. “And good morning to you, too, Ginnette.We can at least be civil to each other, can’t we? Or are you too much of a diva now to be cordial to the father of your only child?”
“Mellie.” My mother tried to shut the door behind her but my father stepped forward, blocking it from closing. “Would you please explain to your father that he’s supposed to be working outside in the garden and that I have nothing to say to him?”
Still stunned by the solid presence of the soldier and my mind racing with the possibilities of why he would choose this moment to appear, it took me a few moments to process what my parents were saying.
Not willing to wait for my reply, Ginnette faced my father. “I think we said everything that needed to be said thirty-three years ago, and I have no desire to revisit one of the most difficult times in my life. So”—she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a foot, diva-like—“why don’t you go dig a hole in the garden or something so Mellie and I can do what we came here to do?”
To my surprise, my dad smiled one of the smiles I remembered from my girlhood—before our lives had unraveled—a smile that engaged his eyes along with his mouth and had always been reserved for my mother alone. After she left, it had gone too, and I’d imagined it packed away with the boxes in the attic with the rest of the detritus of their marriage that he no longer cared to revisit.
“I think you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been, Ginny.”
Caught off guard, my mother struggled to retain her anger. Finally she said, “Nobody calls me that anymore. I prefer Ginnette.”
He just stood there, smiling. “But I still think of you as the Ginny Prioleau who swept me off my feet and stole my heart. I’m too old now to think of you as anything other than my beautiful Ginny.”
I tried not to smile, horrified as I was to relive a similar conversation I’d had with Jack when I’d tried to convince him that he wasn’t welcome to call me by the nickname my mother had given me. I was pretty sure that my mother would have as much luck convincing my father as I’d had with Jack.
Her chin quivered and then her cheeks pinkened even more. Could she be blushing? “Don’t flatter me, James. I’m only two months younger than you so we both know how old that makes me.”
Despite her words, she kept peering up at my father through thick eyelashes, and I fought the urge to gag. “Okay, you two. I think I’ve heard
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