Enright Family Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

them and Ry would tell me what they were.”
    “I used to look for shells with Ry too, when I was little.”
    “You did?”
    “Umm-hmm. Ry was four years older than me, and he was a good teacher.”
    “That’s ‘cause Ry knew everything about the beach. He knew everything about the bay.” Corri’s eyes brightened slightly.
    “Yes, I believe he did. He loved it here, and he—”
    Corri froze as they rounded the tip of the cove. The lighthouse rose across the inlet, silent and tall and proud.
    “I want to go back.” Corri turned to run, and India grabbed her gently by the arm.
    Turning the little girl around as calmly and gently as she could, India told her, “It was the place he loved best, Corri. You can’t run away from it. You can’t hide from it if you’re going to stay in Devlin’s Light, sweetie.”
    “Am I?” The tremulous voice was barely a whisper. “Am I going to stay?”
    “Of course you’re going to stay.” Aunt August had been right. In addition to grieving over Ry, the child was uncertain of her future. And the uncertainty had her terrified. “Corri, we are your family. Aunt August and I love you. Youbelong here with us, and absolutely, positively, you are staying here with us. Devlin’s Light is your home.”
    “I … I … wasn’t sure. Ry adopted me, but my mama said—” She stopped suddenly, her little face taking on a worried look.
    “Your mama said what, sweetie?” India sat on the sand and tugged on Corri’s hand. Corri sat down next to her and permitted India to put a loving arm around her. The child relaxed almost immediately, her slight body easing into India’s side.
    “Mama said that we … we weren’t like Ry. That we never would be like real Devlins …” Her little voice faltered.
    “Well …” India cleared her throat. Why was she not surprised that Maris had planted such seeds in her daughter’s young mind? “You know, your mother wasn’t married to Ry for a very long time, so maybe she never got to feel like a Devlin. But you’ve been family for two whole years now, and when Ry adopted you, your name changed to Devlin. That makes you very much a real Devlin.”
    “You think?”
    “I’m certain of it.”
    Corri’s face visibly relaxed.
    India let out what felt like a long-held breath. Whatever it took to give this child security, to make her understand how much she was loved, she would do.
    Three sandpipers landed on the sand a mere fifteen feet from where they sat. The frenetic little birds pecked at the sand, seeking favored tidbits of food. Soon several other shore birds lighted at the water’s edge, looking for lunch, their little feet following the gentle ebb and flow of the waves.
    “Look, Corri”—India pointed—“there are some terns.”
    “Least terns, they are called,” Corri corrected her.
    “Hmm. Right you are.” Impressed, India smiled to herself. The child had spent a lot of time with Ry, who had known every variety of every shore bird on the East Coast.
    “And those,” said the little girl, pointing a straight little finger at a small group of chunky little birds, dark feathered above, lighter below, “are purple sandpipers. Ry called them ‘rock peeps.’”
    “Why, so he did.” India laughed. “I had forgotten that.”
    “And there—look, India” A hushed Corri rose onto one knee, whispering excitedly. “That’s a plover. We don’t see so many of them, ‘cause they’re dangered. Ry called them ‘sand peeps.’”
    “Very good, Corri.” India rubbed Corri’s back fondly. “Ry would have been so very proud of you.”
    Corri beamed at the praise. For a moment, the child was there, in her smile, for the first time in days. And in that moment individual grief became shared grief. As she burst into tears, Corri buried her face in India’s chest.
    “It’s okay, Corri, it’s okay to cry.” India fought herself to speak the words she knew the child had to hear, then gave in to the tears she herself had not yet