by Wendy Webb
Jess put his arms around his wife. “That would mean the world to me, my dear.” And then he pushed back and looked at her. “You and I could practice, also! I promised to guide you through these social minefields, and I daresay I have done a poor job. As I said, I’ve been through this. I’ve been in your shoes.”
“How did you become so good at it?” Addie asked as they continued their walk.
“I’d have a few phrases at the ready whenever I entered a party,” he said, squeezing her hand and remembering those carefree days. “Compliments are always a good way to break the ice. ‘My, isn’t your dress beautiful?’ or, to complete strangers, ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jess Stewart.’”
“I’ll remember that,” Addie promised, as much to herself as to Jess. She would never be an embarrassment to him again.
As they neared the house, Addie could see Harrison standing on the front porch. “Hello!” he called down to them, waving. Jess waved in return. Addie smiled broadly.
“My wife insisted we take advantage of the cool evening air,” Jess said as they climbed the stairway to the Connors’ massive porch. “I had hired a car . . .”
“What a wonderful idea.” Harrison smiled and took Addie’s hand, threading her arm through his. “I’ve long admired your athleticism, Addie. I wish my own wife would take more of an interest in the out-of-doors.”
“Perhaps after the baby is born, she will feel more like exercising,” Addie offered.
“Perhaps.” Harrison continued to beam at her. Turning to Jess, he said, “Celeste awaits.”
That the two women had conceived children at roughly the same time was a relief to Addie, who had been worried about how her fragile friend would take the news that Addie and Jess were going to have a child. Addie had, in fact, kept the secret to herself for weeks, and asked Jess to do the same, until she could find a way to tell Celeste about their upcoming arrival without sending her into a torrent of grief.
Addie knew that Celeste still fiercely mourned the loss of her baby daughter Clementine the year before. They couldn’t encounter a pregnant woman on the street without Celeste dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and becoming still and silent. It was as though she was just going through the motions of a conversation, or shopping, or whatever they were doing. Outwardly, she was calm and collected, but Addie could see the firestorm that raged within.
When Addie discovered she herself was expecting a child, she knew that, soon, she would be the object of that simmering rage. Was there a gentle way to break this news to someone who would be broken by it? Addie wasn’t sure there was and had fretted about it for weeks.
She was spared finding the answer to this riddle, however. Over dinner one night, Jess told her about a conversation he’d had with Harrison that afternoon at the office.
“He confided that Celeste is with child,” Jess had said, raising his eyebrows. “He asked that we keep it under our hats for the moment. Don’t let on that you know. Wait for her to tell you. Harrison wanted us to know right away because Celeste is going to be quite the china doll until the baby comes. No more picnics, no more walks in the country. She’s going to slow down considerably. Take care of herself. They want to do all they can to ensure this one makes it.”
“I completely understand.” Addie hugged her husband. “Did you tell Harrison our news in return?”
“I did.” Jess smiled. “He was so pleased. I told him to go ahead and tell Celeste. It’ll be easier coming from him.”
And indeed it was. The next day, Addie answered the knock at the front door to find the Connors’ driver, hat in hand.
“I’ve been sent by Mrs. Connor to bring you up the hill to the mansion for lunch, ma’am,” he said, handing her a note from Celeste. “If you’re able.”
Addie didn’t much like automobiles, but she accepted the invitation, knowing that Celeste was going to announce her condition and the secret would be out in the open at last. When Addie arrived at the mansion, she was led into the parlor, where Celeste sat on the couch surrounded by freshly cut flowers.
“Addie.” Celeste smiled, holding her arms out wide. “Harrison told me your wonderful news. We couldn’t be happier for you.” Addie crossed the room and hugged Celeste, as summoned.
“Thank you.” Addie smiled, intending to say more about how thrilled she and Jess were about the baby, but something about Celeste’s face silenced her. There was a darkness behind Celeste’s eyes. Addie could see that her friend was not at all pleased with the fact that she was not the only expectant mother in the room. And then it hit Addie. I’ve stolen her spotlight. She didn’t know what to say.
“I have happy news of my own to share,” Celeste broke the silence.
“No!” Addie cried in mock surprise, grasping her friend’s hands.
“It’s true,” Celeste said. “I’ve planned a little celebration lunch for the two of us. Imagine, both of us expecting babies at the same time!”
“Oh, Celeste, I’m so happy for you—for us!” Addie gushed. “You and I can go through this together. How wonderful!”
Over lunch, the pair talked about baby names and doctor visits, and gradually, Addie began to think that she had just imagined the animosity behind Celeste’s eyes. She’s probably just worried about delivering a healthy baby.
Celeste reached over and grasped her friend’s hand, and just for a moment, the veneer that shrouded her real feelings vanished. “I hope—I believe—things will be different this time,” she whispered. Her voice trailed off, and Addie could see the tears begin to well up in Celeste’s eyes. Her friend would worry every day until the baby was born.
“Of course they will, my dear Celeste,” Addie said. “Our children will grow up together, the best of friends.”
She put her other hand on top of Celeste’s and said a silent prayer.
Addie thought of that months-ago day now, as she and Jess entered the Connor house for dinner.
Throughout the meal, Addie could see that Celeste was pale and drawn and breathless. The men made conversation about work matters, mostly, but instead of her usually animated repartee, Celeste only quietly smiled, as though the expression was painted onto her face. It made Addie wonder why on earth her friend should be going to the trouble of arranging these dinner parties and luncheons, especially tonight when she clearly would have preferred to be curled up in her own bed rather than entertaining visitors. As the men adjourned to the porch for cigars after dinner, Addie took Celeste’s arm and led her to the sofa in the parlor.
“You are not feeling up to this tonight, dear Celeste,” she said.
“Nonsense.” Celeste smiled. “We must maintain our social obligations. A man in Harrison’s position—”
“—should know when his wife has had enough of company,” Addie interrupted. Addie knew that she should end this evening now, for Celeste’s sake. She patted her friend’s hand, stood up, and said, “I’m going to find my husband and tell him it’s time to go home.”
“But the men haven’t had their Scotch,” Celeste protested.
“I, for one, am not feeling well,” Addie stated, raising her eyebrows. “I am going to have to beg my hostess’s kind indulgence and take my leave earlier than expected.”
Celeste sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa. “You are such a dear,” she said.
Addie followed the sound of the men’s voices from the parlor through the big double doors and onto the porch. It was a beautiful, peaceful evening signaling the coming of spring.
“Darling,” she said to Jess, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to be going now.”
“So soon?” Harrison protested. “But you’ve only just arrived! I do so enjoy your visits.”
“I hope you won’t think me rude, but the baby is dictating my actions these days.” Addie took her host’s arm and whispered, “On our way down the hill, we will stop at Dr. Maki’s house. I think he should come up and have a look at Mrs. Connor.”
“It’s not . . .
time?” Harrison looked from one to the other of his friends, his smile melting into a look of concern.
“Not yet,” Addie said. “Celeste seems frightfully tired, however, and just as a precaution—”
“Yes, yes, good thinking.” Harrison squeezed Addie’s hand. “You are always so kind, my dear.”
“We’ll see ourselves out, Harrison,” Jess said.
As they walked down the steps, Jess and Addie heard Harrison calling to his wife and assumed all was well.
They did not see her collapse into his arms, nor did they see him carry her upstairs to the bedroom. Jess and Addie had stopped at the doctor’s house and were home, snuggling together in their own bed, talking of Jess’s upcoming trip to Chicago—very ill timed, he thought—when Dr. Maki arrived at the Connor mansion. And later still, as Addie drifted off into sleep in the arms of her beloved, the doctor was giving Celeste something to quiet the raging fever that had overtaken her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kate had poured a glass of chardonnay for herself and a Scottish ale for Nick, and the two of them were sitting across from each other at a table near the window. It was after four o’clock already, and the sun was sinking low in the sky.
Nick took a sip of his ale and gazed out the window. “Photographers call this the golden hour,” he said, pointing outside. “See how the light is illuminating everything so beautifully?”
Kate smiled, noticing for the first time that the trees, the grass, the flowers, and even the houses seemed to be glowing.
“It’s the best time for shooting, when the world is bathed in that soft, golden light,” he said.
“So, you’re a—” Kate was about to say photographer, but the word stuck in her throat. The vision—or whatever it was—she’d had of her and Nick Stone, walking together in the woods, a camera in his hand, replayed in her mind.
“I’m a what?” He smiled.
She shook her head, trying to push the vision away. “Photographer,” she said. “But it seems like I already knew that. It sounds familiar. Did you tell me about this before?”
“Not likely,” he said and took a sip of his ale. “It’s not something I broadcast to a whole lot of people. It’s just a hobby, but I love it.”
“Something to do when you’re not chasing bad guys?”
“I think part of the reason I’m drawn to it is precisely because I chase bad guys for a living,” he said. “I shoot landscapes, mostly. It reminds me of the beauty in this world. And other things.”
“In contrast to the ugliness you must see every day on the job.”
He held her gaze for a moment. His eyes had a clarity to them that Kate hadn’t noticed before.
“That’s exactly right,” he said to her. “Not a whole lot of people get it, but you do.”
Kate fidgeted in her chair but couldn’t contain the smile that broke out across her face. “When did you take it up? The camera, I mean.”
“My dad was a photographer,” he said. “By trade. He gave me my first camera when I was about thirteen years old. An Instamatic.”
Kate grinned. “I remember those! I think I had one, too. With the old kind of film—what was it called?”
“One-ten,” he said, nodding.
“Wow,” Kate said, thinking back to her middle school years, shooting photos of her friends with that same kind of camera. “The technology has changed so much over the years. Who even uses film anymore?”
“I do,” he said. “I know everyone’s a photographer these days with their cell phone cameras, but to me, there’s just something about using an old camera that you have to set by hand.”
“There’s an artistry that has been lost,” Kate agreed.
“I don’t think Ansel Adams Photoshopped any of his images,” Nick said, leaning forward. “That was all his eye, his skill as an artist.”
The air between them began to electrify—Kate could feel the tingle on her skin. Best to tone this down a bit, she thought.
“So, your father was a photographer,” she said, circling the conversation back to safe territory. “What did he think of you becoming a cop?”
“He never knew it,” Nick said, a sad smile on his face. “My dad had his own photo studio. He did portraits to make a living, but he really loved shooting landscapes. And when I got out of school, I worked with him.”
“He must have loved that,” Kate said, thinking of her own father. “But—he died before you joined the force?”
Nick nodded, a sheen in his eyes. “It’s the reason I became a cop, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.
Kate felt the rush of Nick’s emotion—grief—and reached over to touch his hand. The heat was palpable, jolting up Kate’s arm and then all through her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We can talk about something else.”
“I was out of the shop,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “I came back to find him on the floor in a pool of blood. They got away with about seventy-five bucks in cash. That’s all we had on hand.”
“Oh, Nick.”
“I know it’s cliché, but that’s why a lot of people become cops. I dedicated my life, then and there, to putting the bad guys behind bars.”
They sat there, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment, the intensity of the emotion flowing through both of them.
“Did you ever find the people who did it?” Kate asked, not knowing if she should.
He shook his head, a grimace of disgust twisting his lips. “I’ve never stopped looking.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his ale. “Man, how did this get so heavy?”
“Sharing life experiences will do that to a conversation.” Kate smiled. “But do you know what I’d like now?”
“What’s that?”
“Pasta,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and pulling away. “Are you hungry? I know it’s a little early, but I could whip up something for us.”
Nick finished his ale. “A fabulous idea,” he said, putting his glass down on the table. “But I’ll help. I’m pretty handy with a spatula.”
Kate smirked. “I’ll bet you are.”
Soon, Kate and Nick were in the kitchen, aprons on, knives in hand. She was slicing tomatoes, and he was chopping onions. Bacon was sizzling under the broiler, and chicken was cooking on the stovetop grill. A pot of pasta water was heating on one burner, a stainless steel pan was warming on another, and in a saucepan, butter was melting.
“What are we making, exactly?” Nick asked.
“Cheesy pasta with onion, bacon, tomato, spinach, and chicken,” she said. “Comfort food. I thought we could both use a dose of it. My own famous recipe. Here, hand me those onions, will you? And get the milk out of the fridge?”
As the pasta bubbled in the water, Kate began sautéing the onions. “This’ll be your job,” she said to Nick, handing him the spatula and stepping away from her post in front of the pan. “Caramelize. Don’t burn. And then add the tomatoes and, last, the spinach.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled.
While he was doing that, Kate added a few tablespoons of flour to the melted butter in the saucepan and stirred to make a roux. To that, she added the milk and the shredded cheese.
Ten minutes later, they were back at their table with heaping bowls of pasta in front of them.
“This is incredible,” Nick said, taking a bite. “Do you mind if I inhale it? I may not be able to talk for a while.”
“I think in some parts of the world, that’s a compliment to the chef.”
“Only if it’s followed by profuse burping. Which I’m not above, by the way.”
Kate smiled, watching him. How long had it been since she’d had such an easy conversation with a man other than Simon? She couldn’t remember the last time. Things had been so strained with Kevin over the past year or so, she had trouble recalling a time in which they were truly happy.
“What?” Nick said, taking a bite of his pasta. “You’re staring at me.”
She
was out on a limb, and she knew it. “You’re really easy to talk to, Nick Stone,” she said, inching out onto that limb even further.
He smiled. “So are you,” he said. “I haven’t opened up like this to anyone at the precinct—nobody knows about my dad. And yet here I am blurting all of this out to you. This may sound like a strange thing to say, but it feels like I’ve known you forever.”
Kate’s stomach did a quick flip. “I’m the one dreaming about a dead woman, remember? Very little is going to sound strange to me.”
Their conversation meandered through typical first-date territory—where they had spent their childhoods, college experiences, the roads each of them had taken to get where they were. They had so much in common—favorite movies, books they enjoyed, even where they liked to travel, and how they treated their dogs—Kate began to peek into the future and wondered if hers was going to include Nick Stone.
But she shook that thought out of her head. Now was not the time to even consider getting involved with another man. Her divorce papers weren’t even signed. And she was involved in an investigation he was working.
After dinner, Nick and Kate took their drinks into the library and sat in front of the fire.
Nick’s arm rested against the back of the sofa, inviting Kate to snuggle in. She didn’t, fighting off every impulse she had to do so.
“I’m glad I took the afternoon off,” he said finally, not looking at her.
“I’m glad you did, too,” she said.
“I should probably get going,” he said. But neither of them moved.
And then he turned to her, his outstretched arm pulling her shoulders in to him. Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers, and her arms were wrapping around his neck. She dissolved into him and wished the kiss would go on forever.
But then she pulled away, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—”
