He mulled over his options. He could forget the whole thing and simply write off the afternoon as a string of coincidences. He scoffed out loud. Out of the question. Not when he couldn’t get his mind off the dazzling girl who had turned eighteen that very day. Was there any possibility Lark would have forgotten their daughter’s birthday? Somehow, he didn’t think so.
He scanned the bio again. It said nothing about a husband, but he’d need to tread carefully. She could be married and have chosen not to put that detail in her bio. He noted she’d written many articles about kids’ health issues and tied them to parenting, so mentioning a son in her bio made sense.
Deciding to keep it simple, Miles used the email address on the website and typed in his cell number and a message: Need to talk, please call tonight.
LARK SIPPED HER decaf coffee, hoping the waiter would come by to top off her cup. Pretending to reach into her handbag that sat on the floor, she checked her wristwatch. Only 7:45 p.m. This dinner was crawling by. She’d give it another thirty minutes, and then she could politely make her exit.
Why had she said yes to this fix-up in the first place? To distract herself? She’d never forgotten the significance of the date, so what made her think this year would be different? But she’d behaved as if packing her schedule would allow the day to pass unnoticed. Lark had started the morning with brunch with half a dozen women friends from her book club, followed by Christmas shopping in a nearby town. That should have been sufficient to keep her distracted. Of course, it could have been fifty women wandering the streets of Paris and her mind still would have drifted into the past. But she’d known one thing for sure—this could well be the year she’d finally disclose what she’d kept hidden in her heart for so long.
Lark had always thought it curious that no one could look at her and detect the slightest clue about her secrets or regrets or her deepest hopes. In every external way she’d lived out the adoption cliché. She’d gone on with her life. But every year, as November faded into the flurry of December and the holidays, the memory of the tiny newborn baby she’d held in her arms, oh, so briefly, rippled beneath the rhythm of each day, strengthening and intensifying as the date came closer. The rest of the year, Lark managed to tuck that period of her life away. Instead of dominating her days, it was more like a low hum in the background, not intrusive or disruptive, but never completely vanishing, either.
“Lark is a big movie fan,” Dawn said, casting a pointed look her way.
Hearing her name gave her a jolt and forced her to refocus. She shifted in her chair and said, “I sure am.”
“But I bet you and Dawn only like chick flicks.” Bruce, Lark’s blind date, mocked a reproachful tone.
“I plead guilty.” Lark grinned. “Bring on a screen filled with women talking about life.”
The loudest groan came from Dawn’s boyfriend, Chip, whose youthful looks matched his nickname. Real name, Henry. Lark found it odd, even a little off-putting, that he’d never outgrown being called Chip.
“I guess that means you’ll pass on the latest zombie takeover movie,” Bruce teased.
“We’ll both take a pass, thank you,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes.
Lark could find nothing wrong with Bruce, an affable fortyish bachelor looking to settle down. At long last, Dawn claimed. Too bad he wasn’t romantically appealing—to Lark, anyway.
Guilt alone forced her back into the conversation. Filled with optimism about introducing Lark to Bruce, Dawn had done everything a best friend could to make this evening a success.
Lark sent Dawn a reassuring smile. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that on this particular evening she couldn’t quiet her inner turmoil and be 100 percent present at the table. She vowed to be pleasant, even enthusiastic, until she could duck out. Thankfully, she had her own car, so there’d be no awkward moments at the door to contend with.
“How long have you two been friends?” Bruce asked, pointing back and forth between Dawn and Lark.
“Not all that long, really,” Dawn responded. “Three years or so. We bonded over the snack committee for our sons’ basketball team.”
“Dawn and I noted that it was left to the mothers to figure out the snacks on game days.” Lark knew she sounded resentful, but so what? Way too many of these school sports rituals fell to the moms to handle, as if the dads couldn’t manage to pick up boxes of granola bars on their way to the games.
Dawn playfully bumped her shoulder against Chip’s. “We actually solidified our friendship over the plan we hatched to get the kids’ dads more involved.”
“Did it work?” Bruce asked.
“Not really,” Lark said, chuckling, “but we planted a seed, or so we like to think.”
This small talk was getting old. As close as Lark was to Dawn, she’d never for one minute considered confiding details about certain parts of her past. Lark could talk freely and without embarrassment about her ill-fated marriage and, paradoxically, her confidence-building divorce. She had no trouble bragging about her son, or grousing about her sometimes troublesome parents, but she’d become completely resigned to silence about one of the most significant—and wrenching—events of her life.
Lark was content to listen as Dawn switched topics. “Lark and I have our best times during our weekly coffee dates, where we brainstorm about our businesses. We’ve both worked for ourselves for years, but it can be isolating, too, especially for Lark. She spends so much time hunched over her laptop.”
“Ah, yes,” Lark said, putting the back of her hand on her forehead, “the loneliness of the writer in her garret. Seriously, though, I do have my nose buried in research much of the time. My regular trips to the Bean Grinder with Dawn provide the best breaks.”
“It sounds interesting, what you do,” Chip said. “Were you a science major in school?”
“No. Typical English major, specifically creative writing and literature. Not the most practical degree, but rewarding in other ways.”
“Seems so,” Bruce said, smiling in a genuinely admiring way.
By the time they’d finished their coffee, Lark’s spirits had lifted. They’d passed a pleasant hour chatting about Dawn’s latest PR client, a new fitness center and Lark’s recent series of articles about learning disabilities for a parenting magazine. Chip and Bruce contributed stories about office politics in the accounting department of the energy consortium they worked for.
The stilted conversation that defined the atmosphere over dinner had subtly given way to an amicable camaraderie as they topped off the evening with blueberry pie and coffee. By the time they said good-night in front of the restaurant, Lark was sincere in telling Bruce she’d enjoy seeing him again. Perhaps for dinner one night soon.
And for almost one whole hour, she’d pushed the memories into the storage box in her mind. She arrived home and let herself into her house, grateful that Evan was with his dad for the weekend. After shedding her coat and boots, she filled the kettle to make herb tea. Then she sat at her table to check her phone, starting with the texts. Nothing urgent. Mom seeing if they could meet for lunch at the Half Moon Café soon, maybe on her day off from the gift shop in town, where she’d recently been promoted to assistant manager. Lark mentally pictured her day planner. She could probably manage time for lunch with her mother. She hadn’t seen her in quite a while.
A text from Dawn. A thumbs-up on their dinner with Chip and Bruce. Lark grinned. It had taken her friend less than half an hour to send a message about their double date.
She