Her Mother's Shadow. Diane Chamberlain

She’d never cared for glitter, for the trappings of wealth, but she could not help but be impressed with both the other guests and with herself for simply being there. She wondered how much Jim had paid to get them into this party. It was a cancer benefit, though, she reminded herself. Cancer had killed his wife. He probably welcomed any opportunity to donate to that cause. He had not asked her what had killed her husband, and for that, she was grateful.

      Conversation with the other attendees was easier than she’d anticipated. Several people knew who she was; a few of the doctors even knew about her book. Jim was good at introductions, telling her a little something about each person she met and giving that person a tidbit or two about her. He was used to this sort of high-powered social event. That much was obvious.

      Halfway through the evening, when Jim had been taken aside by someone to talk business, one of the women ushered Faye away from the crowd and into the women’s lounge.

      “I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are to see Jim with someone,” the woman said. She was very attractive, her dark hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She had to be close to sixty, but her skin was flawless. “He grieved for so long.”

      Faye was touched by the woman’s words, but she felt a need to defend Jim. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think there’s a time line on grief, though.”

      “No, of course not,” the woman said. There was a faint hint of an accent to her voice. Italian, perhaps. “It’s just that he hasn’t looked happy in years. He looks happy tonight, though.” The woman smiled. “We were worried that if he finally did find someone, it would be one of the young nurses he works with. We’re a little sick of watching the older guys leave the wives who’ve stuck by them all these years for some young babe.”

      “Well, I guess I’m glad for once that I look my age.” Faye laughed. She knew a backhanded compliment when she received one.

      “Oh, sorry.” The woman laughed at her own faux pas and squeezed Faye’s hand. “I didn’t mean to imply that you look old. Just—”

      “I know what you meant,” Faye said, forgiving her with a smile.

      “Just, someone with maturity,” the woman continued. “It’s refreshing. My husband has an oncology practice in Escondido and he read your book. He said you’re the real deal.”

      “That’s so nice to hear,” Faye said, as sincere as she was surprised.

      “I’m Rosa Stein, by the way,” the woman said. “How do you do.”

      “So, is it serious between the two of you?” That question again.

      “Not yet.”

      “Well.” Rosa touched her shoulder. “I hope it gets that way.”

      “Me, too.” Faye surprised herself with the words.

      When they stepped out of the lounge, she spotted Jim across the room, near the window. He was engaged in conversation with a man and a woman, and the sight of him filled her chest with warmth. God, she liked him.

      “Thanks for going with me,” he said later, as he drove her back to her house. “I know those affairs can be stuffy, but they’re for a good cause.”

      “I enjoyed it,” she said honestly. She was wondering how to handle the next part of the evening. Leda and Judy’s discussion of the third-date rule still rang in her head.

      He pulled into the driveway of her modest, one-story house, shut off the engine, and turned to her with a smile. Reaching over, he gently touched the short hair at the back of her neck. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, both at his touch and at her uncertainty about what to do next. She had to say something.

      “If I invite you in,” she said, “does it sound like I’m asking you for more than coffee and conversation?”

      He laughed lightly, then took her hand. “That’s what I like about you,” he said. “You’re so straightforward. No games. And though I’d love to come in for some coffee and conversation, I think maybe I’d better not. I’m not ready for … for …”

      It was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words, but she understood.

      “Neither am I,” she said.

      He walked her to her door, where he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

      “I can’t believe I used to work with you and never even noticed you,” he said, drawing back to look at her.

      “You were thinking about your patients,” she said. “And your wife.”

      He nodded slowly. “I think that’s one thing that drew me to you.” He smoothed a strand of her hair away from her forehead. “You know, the fact that you were widowed. That you know what that’s like.”

      “Yes,” she said, although the truth was, she didn’t know.

      She was only pretending.

       5

      LACEY DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER TELLING CLAY and Gina that she had a date. She left the keeper’s house at six-thirty, stating only that she was meeting a friend for dinner. They would assume it was a female friend; they knew she wasn’t up for dating. They were proud of her. Everyone was, as though she’d successfully battled her demons and won. For the most part, she had, although she knew she wasn’t yet ready for temptation.

      A date with Rick Tenley, however, was no threat to the pact she’d made with herself to end her promiscuous behavior. He was the sort of man that might make other women swoon, but his preppy good looks did nothing for her. He was simply a nice guy, and she would have dinner with him as friends. She also had an ulterior motive in meeting with him: he was a lawyer. She might be able to pick his brain about how she and her family should approach Zachary Pointer’s parole hearing.

      She’d had trouble deciding where to meet him, finally deciding on the Blue Point Grill in Duck. She would have preferred a restaurant less filled with tourists, but Shorty’s Grill, her favorite eatery, was not the sort of place she could picture a guy like Rick. Besides, everyone knew her at Shorty’s, and tongues would start wagging. If people wondered why they never saw her with a man these days, they were keeping their curiosity to themselves, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t need to stir the pot. It would be best if she and Rick simply blended in with the tourists.

      He was already waiting for her when she pulled into the parking lot by the Blue Point. She could see him on the deck next to the little restaurant, leaning against the railing, looking into the water. He was dressed in a sports coat and crisply pressed trousers, and she wondered if her description of the restaurant had made it sound more formal than it was. Didn’t he realize he was at the beach? No one dressed up here. Plus, it was hot. He had to be roasting in that jacket.

      She pulled a wide barrette from her purse and clipped back as much of her hair as would fit inside the clasp, letting the rest of it fall free over her shoulders. Her long sundress skirted her sandaled feet as she got out of her car and started walking toward the deck. The dress was loose-fitting without being matronly. At least she hoped it was not matronly. Her wardrobe had changed dramatically. She’d tossed out her more provocative clothing, shocked at how little that left in her closet, and she’d taken herself on one of the most depressing shopping sprees of her life. She might as well let her belly button piercing close up for all the exposure it had gotten this year.

      Rick turned just as she climbed the last step onto the deck, and he smiled broadly when he saw her. “Great choice,” he said, motioning toward the restaurant. “The specials look fantastic.”

      “I thought you’d like it,” she said. “Everything they serve is good.”

      They had a short wait for a table and they passed the time standing on the deck, leaning against the railing and watching the sailboats on the sound.

      “It’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” he said,