her head and laughed. “Oh my stars, I can’t believe it! Of course you’re not her; you’re the actress. Kara Ball.”
Karyn looked at Susan and rolled her eyes.
Susan rose to the occasion. “Excuse me, but we have come to pay our respects to our friend. If you have any discretion at all, you’ll keep your observations to yourself.”
The woman stopped grinning as suddenly as if someone had thrown a switch; then she stared, speechless, as Susan moved away and led her friends toward the line of mourners waiting to speak to Julia Lawson.
“How awful,” Lisa whispered, her hand half-covering her mouth. “Do you get that a lot, K?”
Karyn shook her head. “Not so much. Hardly ever in New York, unless I’m near the tourist destinations or the Naked Cowboy.”
Susan gasped. “ Really ?”
“Not really. The guy wears Skivvies and plays guitar around Times Square.” She grinned at Susan. “Hey, you were pretty good back there. Did you learn the fine art of the brush-off in one of those Southern finishing schools?”
Susan tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “They should teach good manners everywhere. Unfortunately, civility isn’t part of the curriculum these days.”
The wind picked up, bringing with it soft spatters of rain that caught in Susan’s lashes and blurred her eyes like tears. Karyn pulled an expandable umbrella from her voluminous shoulder bag and fumbled with the mechanism. “You two can share with me. No sense in all three of us getting wet.”
“You all can share it; I’ll be fine.” Ignoring the threat of the rain, Susan stepped out of the line and walked directly toward David’s widow. Let the raindrops streak her makeup and paint black lines down her face. Let her hair frizz and go limp; let this silk suit suffer water stains.
She’d been dreading this moment for years, but she wasn’t a coward. She’d meet David’s wife and offer her condolences; she’d stand in silence and suffer whatever humiliation the offended wife chose to dish out.
But please, God, not in front of Karyn and Lisa. Keep them occupied with that stupid umbrella; don’t let them overhear.
Julia Lawson was petite, dark haired, dark eyed. She was probably still in her thirties, for her face bore no sign of those telltale nasolabial folds that eased onto any face past its fortieth birthday.
Susan waited until an old man teetered away on his cane, then she cut in front of a young couple and extended her hand. “Excuse me for breaking in line, Dr. Lawson, but I had to speak to you away from the group. I’m Susan Dodson. David knew me as Susan Brantley.”
She searched the widow’s eyes and braced for a flare of condemnation. The woman might tell her off; given her emotional state, she might shout or faint or curse—
But Julia Lawson took Susan’s hand and managed a tremulous smile. “David said you were beautiful. Thank you for coming. I’d like you to meet our son, Nicholas.”
Susan stood on the sidewalk, blank and amazed, as David’s wife dropped her hands to her son’s shoulders. Did she not understand?
“Nicholas”—Julia bent so Susan couldn’t see her face—“this is Mrs. Dodson. She was a friend of your father’s. He . . . loved her very much.”
Yes, she understood, but only the slight waver in Julia’s voice, betrayed their shared secret. The woman’s composure shocked Susan so completely she could only blink at the boy in astonished silence.
Nicholas offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Susan took his hand and struggled to find appropriate words. “Nice to meet you ,” she finally said, feeling like an adolescent schoolgirl. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
And suddenly Karyn was talking to Julia while Lisa spoke to the boy. Susan took a step back, wet and stunned and envious of Julia Lawson’s composure, position, and motherhood.
And her youth. Her youth most of all.
18
Mark followed the black limo that carried Julia Lawson and her son into an exclusive
Karyn looked at Susan and rolled her eyes.
Susan rose to the occasion. “Excuse me, but we have come to pay our respects to our friend. If you have any discretion at all, you’ll keep your observations to yourself.”
The woman stopped grinning as suddenly as if someone had thrown a switch; then she stared, speechless, as Susan moved away and led her friends toward the line of mourners waiting to speak to Julia Lawson.
“How awful,” Lisa whispered, her hand half-covering her mouth. “Do you get that a lot, K?”
Karyn shook her head. “Not so much. Hardly ever in New York, unless I’m near the tourist destinations or the Naked Cowboy.”
Susan gasped. “ Really ?”
“Not really. The guy wears Skivvies and plays guitar around Times Square.” She grinned at Susan. “Hey, you were pretty good back there. Did you learn the fine art of the brush-off in one of those Southern finishing schools?”
Susan tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “They should teach good manners everywhere. Unfortunately, civility isn’t part of the curriculum these days.”
The wind picked up, bringing with it soft spatters of rain that caught in Susan’s lashes and blurred her eyes like tears. Karyn pulled an expandable umbrella from her voluminous shoulder bag and fumbled with the mechanism. “You two can share with me. No sense in all three of us getting wet.”
“You all can share it; I’ll be fine.” Ignoring the threat of the rain, Susan stepped out of the line and walked directly toward David’s widow. Let the raindrops streak her makeup and paint black lines down her face. Let her hair frizz and go limp; let this silk suit suffer water stains.
She’d been dreading this moment for years, but she wasn’t a coward. She’d meet David’s wife and offer her condolences; she’d stand in silence and suffer whatever humiliation the offended wife chose to dish out.
But please, God, not in front of Karyn and Lisa. Keep them occupied with that stupid umbrella; don’t let them overhear.
Julia Lawson was petite, dark haired, dark eyed. She was probably still in her thirties, for her face bore no sign of those telltale nasolabial folds that eased onto any face past its fortieth birthday.
Susan waited until an old man teetered away on his cane, then she cut in front of a young couple and extended her hand. “Excuse me for breaking in line, Dr. Lawson, but I had to speak to you away from the group. I’m Susan Dodson. David knew me as Susan Brantley.”
She searched the widow’s eyes and braced for a flare of condemnation. The woman might tell her off; given her emotional state, she might shout or faint or curse—
But Julia Lawson took Susan’s hand and managed a tremulous smile. “David said you were beautiful. Thank you for coming. I’d like you to meet our son, Nicholas.”
Susan stood on the sidewalk, blank and amazed, as David’s wife dropped her hands to her son’s shoulders. Did she not understand?
“Nicholas”—Julia bent so Susan couldn’t see her face—“this is Mrs. Dodson. She was a friend of your father’s. He . . . loved her very much.”
Yes, she understood, but only the slight waver in Julia’s voice, betrayed their shared secret. The woman’s composure shocked Susan so completely she could only blink at the boy in astonished silence.
Nicholas offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Susan took his hand and struggled to find appropriate words. “Nice to meet you ,” she finally said, feeling like an adolescent schoolgirl. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
And suddenly Karyn was talking to Julia while Lisa spoke to the boy. Susan took a step back, wet and stunned and envious of Julia Lawson’s composure, position, and motherhood.
And her youth. Her youth most of all.
18
Mark followed the black limo that carried Julia Lawson and her son into an exclusive
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