The Last Dreamer by Barbara Solomon Josselsohn Page A

your face when I hummed my song—I didn’t do it to test you or anything, I was just humming. And the way you lit right up makes me think I can trust you with my past. You won’t trivialize my life, will you?”
    She looked at him, at his beautiful brown eyes set deep in his appealingly weathered face. She would never have guessed that he carried so much resentment. She would never have guessed that his casual charm was a kind of self-protection. Now more than ever, she wanted to know his story. She wanted to uncover all that had made him who he was, and develop a portrait of him that was honest and profound.
    “Of course not,” she said.
    He looked at her, then smiled his charming, tight-lipped smile. “Okay then. I’ll do it. I’ll talk about the Dreamers. Hey, it’ll be fun.”
    They agreed that they didn’t have enough time to continue the interview now, so they’d schedule another meeting. “I’ve got an idea,” Jeff added. “Why don’t we continue this up in Mount Kisco? You can see where we do our product development, and you’ll get a better feel for the business. And then we can talk some more.” He took his phone out of his breast pocket and made a few taps. “Except I have some meetings here in Manhattan coming up. Can we schedule it for  . . . next Thursday? Or is that too late for your deadline?”
    Things were moving so fast that Iliana felt as though she were racing to keep up with her life. Another meeting  . . . and this time up in Westchester? She needed a moment to stop and think. The waiter returned and Jeff ordered coffee for them. Iliana excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.
    Weaving among the tables, she felt wobbly on her legs. Clearly the wine had gotten to her. At the sink, she rummaged in her bag to find her lipstick. That was when she spied her cell phone, buried deep inside, and discovered that she had missed six calls and had two new voicemails.
    She hadn’t heard the phone ring. Not once. Snapping to attention, she forced her shaking fingers to tap the right numbers. She hoped that Dara’s orthodontist had called to confirm an appointment, or some stranger had reached her by mistake. But then she heard the voice. The tipsy sensation she’d been feeling immediately drained out of her, like an air mattress that had been unplugged.
    “Iliana, it’s Jodi. I have Dara here at my house. I ran into her when I picked up the boys. She felt too sick to stay for volleyball, and I think she has a fever. Where the hell are you? Call us.”
    The second, earlier voicemail was from Dara. “Mom, why aren’t you answering your phone? My throat hurts and my head, and I think I’m gonna throw up. I just wanna go home. Where are you?”
    Her heart racing, Iliana tried to call Jodi’s house, but her fingers were shaking and she couldn’t concentrate. Shit, how long ago had these calls come? Finally she finished dialing. “Jo, it’s Iliana. Is Dara okay?”
    “She’s okay, she’s sleeping. Are you all right?”
    “I’m in the city—”
    “In the city?”
    “I’m on my way home, I’ll be there in forty-five minutes, an hour max. Jo, thanks so much, I’ll be there soon, I’ll be right there.”
    Grabbing her bag, she left the ladies’ room. Her palms and face were sweaty. Poor Dara, waiting for her, feeling so sick and scared. It hadn’t even occurred to her that either one of her kids would be looking for her, would need her while she was gallivanting with Jeff Downs. What was wrong with her? She was a jerk to have come here. She was a jerk to have started all this.
    Jeff smiled as she returned. “Hey, I was just about to go in there and find you,” he joked. But as he looked at her, his expression changed. “Something wrong?”
    “Just something at work. A problem  . . . I’m going to have to get home right away.” She wiped the corner of one eye with her finger so she didn’t have to look at him.
    “Wouldn’t it be faster to go to the Times office?