skip what he looked like in his tweedsâ¦disheveled wavy hair, black sprinkled with silverâ¦brown-black eyesâ¦calm voiceâ¦gentle mannerisms. The fact that he was a widower with no children. The way he simply listened!
âHow old is he?â Marsha interrupted her reverie.
âReeceâs age. Fifty-six. The third time we bumped into each other was at a local family-type restaurant. I eat there often because lone diners donât stick out like a sore thumb, and everyone is friendly.â She blew out a noisy breath. âI guess the third time was the proverbial charm. We met there again, sort of by accident, and then we planned on it once aweek or so. Weâve browsed through bookstores and art galleries and thatâs all. Neither of us wants more.â
âYet. Thereâs a yet in your tone.â
âYet,â she conceded, then laughed disparagingly. âIâm supposed to use this time back here to figure out who I am. I donât even know if Iâm Maggie or Margaret. I need to be quiet for a while, come to grips with some old ghosts. Then maybe I can get a handle on what comes next.â
âWhat do you want to come next?â
âI donât really know.â She saw pain etched in her sisterâs profile. âThereâs absolutely no physical contact.â
âBut your hearts have connected.â A tear trickled from the corner of Marshaâs eye.
âOur hearts have connected,â Maggie whispered. âHe is my best friend.â
Marsha wiped at her eyes, blinking to keep them focused on the highway before her. âThis is dangerous territory, hon.â
She nodded. âAnd I am petrified.â
The next morning Maggie tapped softly on Ginaâs door, then peeked inside.
âIâm awake,â Gina mumbled from under the covers. âMmm, do I smell coffee?â She yawned and stretched.
âYou do.â Maggie slipped open the shades while Gina plumped pillows and sat up. Morning sunlight streamed through the two open windows. Warm air chased away last nightâs coolness, promising rising temperatures today. She handed her daughter a mug of coffee, kissed her forehead, then sat beside her on the bed. âYou must have had a late night.â
âThanks. No, just a long day. A really long day. What is this?â She inhaled the steaming liquid and took a sip. Her eyes widened. âMom! This is real coffee!â
Maggie smiled. She still loved surprising her daughter, still loved watching her wake up in the morning on rare occasions such as this. Her tousled hair framed her face, a lovely feminine version of her fatherâs with strong chin, olive skin, and striking dark brows that accented her green eyes. âAunt Marsha and I went up the interstate to shop at some boutique-type places. Lo and behold, I found a Starbucks.â
âMmm. Itâs great. Did you find a purple dress with red flowers?â
âI did. Itâs absolutely wild. My sister may disown me if I wear it to the wedding, but itâs perfect for the reunion. What did you think of Chicago?â
âI loved Chicago! So exciting. It was the perfect antidote to Poduâexcuse me. Valley Oaks. Look in that shopping bag. I bought Lauren some towels she liked. We didnât have a shower gift, did we?â
âGood idea.â She admired the towel set, then pulled out a book. âWhat? Oh my goodness. Brady Olafsson?â She turned it over and gasped at the resemblance to his father, Neil.
âDo you believe it? Do you believe we didnât even know?â
âMarsha never mentioned that heâs an author. This looks like a major publication.â
âIt is.â
âInteresting. How did you get along with him?â
âWell.â Gina looked out the window.
Maggie sat back down. âWhatâs wrong, sweetie? Is the chip still there on his shoulder?â
âDelilah died.â She
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