Her Mother's Shadow. Diane Chamberlain

of her shorts. “Where did you go?”

      “Starbucks the first time, and out to eat the second.” Their first date had been a casual, impromptu sort of thing. He’d bumped into her in the hospital corridor, told her he’d read her new book and been impressed by it, and asked her if she wanted to get a drink after work that evening. They’d ended up at a Starbucks instead of a bar, and the coffee date lasted four hours. He did most of the talking, and that had been fine with her. As a matter of fact, she’d asked him questions nonstop to keep him from asking any of her. She was not good at sharing her life story. He had opened up easily about his, though, telling her about his North Carolina childhood, his marriage, his two daughters. He was so open that she’d felt guilty for all she was keeping to herself. But he didn’t seem to mind. He wanted someone’s ear to bend, and she’d been very willing.

      “Starbucks doesn’t really count.” Judy took a swig from her own water bottle.

      “How long did you stay there?” Leda asked.

      “Four hours.” They probably would have stayed longer, but Starbucks had been closing.

      “Oh,” they both said at the same time, nodding.

      “That counts, then,” Leda said. “That’s totally a first date.”

      “And do you talk on the phone a lot?” Judy asked.

      “Not really.” He had called her a couple of times and e-mailed a couple more, but nothing lengthy or deep.

      “Because a lot of phone calls count as a date.”

      Faye laughed. “You two …”

      “I would say that four hours on the phone equals one date,” Judy said.

      Faye rolled her eyes, nearly too winded to respond. Her thighs were burning.

      “Where was the second date?” Leda asked.

      “The Sky Room,” she managed to say. Again, he had been the talkative one. By the end of the evening, she realized he had not asked her a single question about herself other than what she wanted to eat. Another woman might have found that annoying. She’d welcomed it.

      “Very nice.” Judy nodded her approval. “Did he pay for you?”

      “Yes … but I wasn’t sure how to handle that,” she said. “Should I have paid for myself?”

      “No. Always let the guy pay,” Leda said.

      “I don’t agree,” Judy countered. “You should at least offer to pay your share. Or pick up the check the next time you go out. So, you can pay tonight.”

      “I would never pay,” Leda said. “Especially not with someone as wealthy as Dr. Price.”

      “Where is he taking you tonight?” Judy asked.

      Faye hesitated. She really was saying far too much. She pushed the button to lower the machine’s resistance. “We’re going to a party,” she said. “Some friends of his.”

      “And then back to your house for a nightcap?” Judy asked.

      “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

      “Oh, girl,” Leda laughed. “You are ending up in bed tonight. No doubt about it.”

      “I barely know him.” Faye felt priggish. “Or rather, he barely knows me.”

      “Well, what did you talk about all those hours in Starbucks and at the restaurant?” Leda asked.

      “He did most of the talking.”

      Leda groaned, shaking her head in disgust. “That is so typical. All they want is someone to listen to them.”

      “You make sure he gets to know you before you sleep with him,” Judy said. “You know, you as a person.” She let go of the handlebar to take another swallow of water. “Otherwise you’ll feel used,” she continued. “He can say to himself, I slept with that hot-looking nurse and I didn’t even have to listen to her whine about her life.”

      Faye was quiet, enjoying the fact that Judy had called her hot-looking. She hoped she was not being patronized.

      “How long has it been for you?” Leda asked.

      “Hey!” Faye said with a shake of her head. “I’m your supervisor, remember?”

      “This conversation is off the record,” Leda said conspiratorially. “Okay? You need help.”

      She let out her breath, knowing she was going to tell them. She did need help. “My husband was my first and only,” she admitted.

      “Oh, my God.” Judy stopped her machine altogether. “And he die … passed away, what? Ten years ago?”

      Faye had to smile at the euphemism. They worked in a hospital, for heaven’s sake, and Judy never used the term “passed away.” But somehow, everyone had learned to treat Faye with kid gloves when it came to the subject of her late husband.

      “Nearly thirteen years,” she said.

      “Wow, Faye,” Leda said. “It must feel like being a virgin all over again.”

      She grew quiet. That was exactly how she felt, awkward and scared by the thought of taking off her clothes in front of a man, by the uncertainty of what to do, what would be expected of her. No one would call her fat—at least she hoped not—but she had grown bulky the way women often did at middle age, despite working out and watching her diet. She had little waistline left, her thighs were well padded. When she lay on her side in bed, she was aware of the force of gravity on her belly and breasts and could hardly imagine a man wrapping his arm around her in that position. Yet she had been imagining it lately. She’d been wondering what it would be like to lie in bed with Jim Price.

      Judy reached out to touch her arm in sympathy. “It will be fine. He’s the type who’ll use protection and make sure you’re … you know, happy.”

      “He wouldn’t need to use protection,” she said. “He hasn’t had anyone since his wife. And I’m menopausal.”

      “Oh, my God.” Leda laughed. “You’d better take a tube of K-Y Jelly from the supply room.”

      “Okay, that’s really enough!” Faye’s cheeks burned, although she was laughing herself. She stopped the machine and stepped off it too quickly. The carpeted floor felt as if it was moving beneath her feet. “I’m done,” she said. “See you downstairs.”

      Jim picked her up at 7:30 p.m., looking handsome, his salt-and-pepper hair in contrast to his black suit and tie. It was to be a fancy event, something for charity, and she hoped she was dressed appropriately. Semiformal, he’d said. She wore a short-sleeved, tea-length burgundy dress. She had good ankles—of that she was confident. His eyes lit up when she opened the door for him, and she guessed she was dressed just fine.

      He was talkative, as usual, on the way to the party, but the conversation was geared to the article she had written on the use of meditation in the treatment of chronic pain. She’d wanted his feedback on it before she submitted it to a journal. His comments were excellent, right on target, and she could tell the subject matter was nearly as close to his heart as it was to her own. She wondered if he was thinking about the pain of his patients or of his wife as he made a few suggestions for changes in the article.

      The party was held on the twelfth floor of a downtown hotel, in a huge penthouse that offered a spectacular view of the city lights and the Coronado bay bridge. The crowd, slightly stiff and overdressed, was made up of doctors and politicians and their spouses. The women glittered with jewelry, and she wondered how obvious it would be to them that her earrings were made of cubic zirconium and her dress had been purchased at JCPenney’s.

      Jim took her arm and held it locked through his own, as if to give her courage. She recognized many of the physicians and saw a few of them raise their eyebrows in what she gathered was surprise