The Summer Hideaway by Susan Wiggs

from him. The two of them had never been at ease in one another’s company. Ross felt too restless to sit still. “I’m going to drive up and findGranddad. If I leave now, I can beat the rush-hour traffic out of the city.”
    “You just got here,” said Winifred.
    “Come with me,” he suggested.
    “I couldn’t,” she said. “I have too much on my schedule.”
    Ross didn’t let himself comment about that. “I can stay for dinner,” he conceded. “Then I need to borrow the car.”
     
    “Thank God I caught you,” said Natalie Sweet, exiting the taxicab. “Your mother told me I could catch you if I hurry.”
    In the remote parking facility where the car was stored, Ross set aside the car keys and opened his arms. She launched herself at him. They clung together for long moments and he inhaled the bubblegum-sweet scent of her hair. She was his best friend, and one of his oldest. He and Natalie had met at boarding school in Lugano, Switzerland. They had both been scared, skinny kids with mad skills at skiing and families that were far, far away.
    Leaning back a little, he lifted her off the ground. “I’m glad you caught me.”
    “Welcome home, soldier,” she said, and her voice in his ear was as welcome as an old favorite song on the radio.
    “Thanks.” He set her down. “You look fantastic, Nat. The writing life agrees with you.”
    She laughed. “Making a living agrees with me. See how fat and sassy I am?” She perched her hands on her hips.
    “You look great.”
    She had always been pretty—to Ross, anyway. Not a classic beauty; she had typical girl-next-door good looks,with the wholesome appeal of a loaf of freshly baked bread.
    “So things are working out at the paper?” he asked.
    “I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” She grinned at his expression. “That’s right, soldier. I’m coming with you.”
    “I don’t remember inviting you.”
    She indicated a slouchy-looking weekender bag on the pavement. “You didn’t. But you’re going to need me and we both know it. We’ve got the Vulcan mind link up and running, right?”
    In secondary school, they’d both been closet fans of Star Trek: The Next Generation , a crazy dubbed version that aired on the Italian national station. To this day, he still remembered how to say “Live long and prosper” in Italian.
    “Look, it’s really good of you,” he said. “But I’m driving upstate by myself. It’s not a pleasure trip.”
    “Haven’t you figured it out by now?” she asked, giving him a slug in the arm. “I’d rather have a rotten time with you than a great time with anyone else. So we’d better get going, or we’ll get stuck in traffic.”
    “You’re not coming.”
    “Why would you waste valuable time in an argument you’re going to lose?” she asked.
    “Damn. You are one huge pain in the ass.”
    A few minutes later they were in a thick but moving line of traffic leaving the city behind, block by tattered block.
    “Thanks for letting me tag along,” Natalie said. “This car kicks ass.”
    He’d never argue about his mother’s taste in cars. The Aston Martin roadster drove like a carnival ride. He could barely remember the last time he’d driven anything that didn’t involve both hands and both feet simultaneously.
    “You didn’t give me a choice,” he reminded Natalie.
    “I love George. You know I always have, and I want to do what’s best for him under the circumstances.”
    “That’s why I need to see him,” Ross said. “To figure out the circumstances. I can’t go by what my mother reported to me. According to her, he’s suffering from dementia. His judgment is impaired. He might be a victim of some predatory nurse.”
    She reached across the console, touched his arm. “I’m so glad you’re back, Ross. I want to hear what it was like over there,” she said. “When you’re ready to talk about it.”
    “Yeah, I’m not really there yet,” he said, knowing the trauma of his deployment