A New Lu by Laura Castoro Page B

mood for reminders of home, and obligations at Rodrigo’s. No yogurt today. I need real eggs and cream and sugar consolation.
    Sometimes the rain just keeps falling. There at the back table is Dr. Templeton in earnest conversation with a beautiful younger woman. Not cute. Beautiful. She’s leaning across the table toward him, a ribbon of shiny black hair flows down her back to touch the seat behind her. She’s slim and exotically dark, and she’s gripping his outstretched hand for all she’s worth. They wear identical intense expressions. This is love, if I’ve ever seen it.
    Bloody hell.

10
    Slipping into a chair near the front, I am annoyed with myself for being annoyed. Why should I expect Dr. Templeton to be different from any other free, good-looking, disposable-income male? She’s quite lovely, really. Even if she does appear to be Dallas’s age.
    It’s a slow moment in the afternoon. The waiter comes right over. Rather, he makes his way in a leisurely I’m-just-doing-this-until-my-real-life-comes-along pace.
    â€œChocolate malt, heavy on the syrup.” Sleeping doesn’t seem to be a problem these days, caffeine or no. Besides, I’m still reeling from my appointment with Dr. Feelbad. Doctors are springing up in my life like weeds, irritating and uninvited.
    No, I won’t even glance at them again. This is the Hamptons. Young things and older males are so commonplace it’s boring. It’s the beginning of a warm spring weekend. Sure, that’s it. She’s just out from the city. That’s why the Marvelous Matrons didn’t know about her. Shewas under their radar, not likely to walk through his office door, except to bring in Grandma.
    I’m still obsessing when the waiter returns with what passes in my world these days for a stiff drink. At least the straw stands up in it.
    But then the words of Dr. Reynolds come back to me. “You know the odds against a women of your age delivering a normal child?” Yes, I do.
    â€œExcuse me!” I lift a hand to bring back the slim young man who’d begun to drift away. He pivots, heel and toe. A model, I don’t even have to ask. I hold out the malt. “This really isn’t what I want.”
    He doesn’t touch it. “You ordered it.”
    â€œI’ll pay for it. Just bring me a banana split. Pineapple, strawberry and caramel toppings.” I’m giving up—alas!—chocolate.
    He takes the malt between two fingers, as if it’s contaminated.
    I pull out the scanned picture of my little stranger. It’s still the photo of a shrimp, but my heart swells three times in size. “We’re in this together,” I say to the grainy rendering. “You better get used to regular food, though. Okay?”
    â€œWell, hello.”
    Sometimes the heart pounds for other reasons. Standing over me are Dr. Templeton and his sweet young thing. He smiles easily. “I thought that was you.”
    No need to lie. “Hi. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
    My gaze moves casually to the young woman. Could be I’m supersensitive, but I spot in a second what could not be noticed while she was seated. This chick is pregnant. Four months at least.
Ooo-kay.
No wonder he had sympathy for me.
    He puts an arm protectively around her shoulders, for the second thing I notice is that she has been crying. “I’d like you to meet someone special to me.”
    I smile, but my eyes say, you old dog!
    â€œThis is Jolie Katz, my daughter.”
    The shoe has dropped, squarely on my dumb-ditty-dumb-dumb head. I rise as if I’ve been introduced to royalty. “I’m Lu Nichols. So glad to meet you.”
    Her hand is cool, her touch gentle but not unfriendly. “Hi. Dad says you are a friend of his.”
    Does he? The look I cast him causes the most amazing thing. A blush! Or something like it. His naturally tanned skin deepens a