“Good. I’m writing a series on the freeway killer. Maybe you’ve read it?”
She wished she could say yes. Once, she’d been his first reader on everything. “I kind of stick with local news these days.”
“Oh.”
Her heart was swelling now, starting to ache. It was beginning to hurt just standing so near him. She ought to leave while her dignity was intact. Instead, she found herself asking, “Are you by yourself?”
“No.”
She nodded; it was more a jerking tilt of the chin. “Of course not. Well, I better—” She turned to go.
“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist.
She stopped, looked down at his strong, tanned fingers, so stark against her pale wrist.
“How are you?” he asked, moving closer to her. “Really?”
She could smell his aftershave. It was the expensive Dolce & Gabbana brand she’d bought him for Christmas last year. She looked up at him, noticed a tiny patch of black on his jaw where he’d missed shaving. He’d always had that problem, he did everything in such a hurry. Angie had had to inspect his shave every morning. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, let her fingertip trail along his jaw. “I’m okay. Better than that, really. I like being in West End again.”
“You always said you’d never go home.”
“I said a lot of things. And I didn’t say a lot of things.”
She saw the change that came over his face. A terrible sorrow seemed to pull at his mouth. “Don’t, Ange—”
“I miss you.” She couldn’t believe she’d said it. Before he could respond (or not), she forced a smile. “I’ve been hanging out with my sisters and being Auntie Angela again. It’s fun.”
He laughed, obviously relieved by the change of subject. “Let me guess: You’ve promised Jason to convince Mira that an eyebrow ring is okay.”
For a second it was like the old days between them. The good old days. “Very funny. I would never think an eyebrow ring is okay. Although he has mentioned a tattoo.”
“Conlan?”
Angie saw the blond thirty-something woman who’d come up to Conlan. She wore a plain navy dress and a strand of pearls. Not a hair was out of place. She looked like the owner of a small, exclusive boutique.
“Angie, this is Lara. Lara, Angie.”
Angie forced a smile. It was probably absurdly overbright, but there was nothing she could do about that. “It’s nice to meet you. Well. I’d better run.” She started to rush away.
Conlan pulled her gently toward him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“For what?” She made herself laugh.
“Call me sometime.”
She held on to a smile by force of will. “Sure, Conlan. I’d love to run into you again. Bye.”
FIFTEEN
The worst part about it was that she’d almost forgotten. At least, she believed she had, and in the end, that was pretty much the same thing.
“Denial” was Mira’s one-word answer to Angie’s long, drawn-out explanation of how she’d handled her emotions after the divorce.
It was, she thought, as good an observation as any. In the months between May and November, she’d allowed herself to think about several of her losses. Particularly her father’s death and the loss of her daughter and the subsequent realization that there would be no babies. In fact, she was proud of the way she’d handled her grief. Every now and then it had shocked her, pulled her under its icy surface, but in each instance, she’d swum free.
The divorce somehow had been pushed aside, a little thing in the presence of giants.
Now she saw the whole of it and she couldn’t look away.
“There’s nothing wrong with denial,” she said to Mira, who stood at the stainless steel counter, making pasta.
“Maybe not, but it can fill up and explode one day. That’s how people find themselves in McDonald’s with a loaded handgun.”
“Are you suggesting there’s a felony in my future?”
“I’m pointing out that you can ignore your feelings for only so long.”
“And I’ve reached the end of my time, huh?”
“Conlan was one of the good ones,” Mira said gently.
Angie went to the window, stared out at the busy street. “I think was is the key word in that sentence.”
“Some women choose to go after men they’ve accidentally let go.”
“You make Conlan sound like a dog that broke its leash and ran. Should I put reward posters around Volunteer Park?”
Mira came around the counter and stood beside Angie, put a hand on her shoulder. Together they stared out the window. In the silvery pane, backed by night, they became a pair of watery faces. “I remember when you met Conlan.”
“Enough,” Angie said. She couldn’t go down memory lane right now.
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” She gave her sister a tender smile, hoping it wasn’t as sad as it felt. “Some things end, Mira.”