pockets of his jacket. He dove back under the covers and pressed a little velvet box into my hand. “Proof,” he said triumphantly. “I’ve been carrying this with me for two weeks, trying to find the right moment to ask you if you’ll wear it.”
I hesitated before opening the box. I thought of the past few days. “It’s hard to believe anything can end this well,” I said. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but I was plagued by the deceptions of my sister-in-law. She had lied to everyone, offering each of us in her life just a little glimpse of one facet of her true character. In the end, she had become so splintered, she could not present a coherent whole to anyone. Maybe Poppy had lost her core.
“I love you,” I said to Robin. “And I’m proud that you’re the father of my baby.” It was an incredible feeling, hearing myself saying the words I’d never believed I’d get to say to anyone. I opened the box, to see a lovely yellow diamond with clear tiny ones set around it. The ring was small and delicate, and I thought it was beautiful.
“Hey, Sis! What’s for supper?” Phillip yelled from the living room.
I groaned, then rested my head against Robin’s.
“Lest the moment get too tender and mushy,” Robin said, but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded tolerant.
“We’ll be fine,” I said bravely, and tried to call up a mental list of what was in the refrigerator.
Charlaine Harris
CHARLAINE HARRIS is also the acclaimed author of the Lily Bard mysteries and the Anthony Award-winning Southern vampire series, most recently
