“Becca reminds me a lot of Benson. Madison is more like you.” He looked steadily at her. “On the other hand, both of them look more like you than their father.”
“I know. Marjorie said once that she wished that at least one of her grandchildren looked like Benson or herself.”
Carter shrugged. “Luck of the draw. It’s all in the genes. They’re beautiful kids, Grace. Nice kids. Benson would have been really pleased about how you’re raising them.”
Grace couldn’t think of how to respond other than to murmur a thank-you and busy herself finishing her Diet Coke. When she next glanced up, she found Carter staring openly at her.
“Do you still miss him?” Carter asked quietly.
Still miss him, Grace repeated to herself. She thought quickly, again remembering the painful conversation she’d had several days before with Marjorie. The question was a minefield, and she trod with caution.
“I’m sorry that he’ll never get to know his children, or they him. Benson had a larger-than-life personality, didn’t he?” she asked rhetorically. “His presence could fill a room, and he was such a natural-born leader. I think he would have been a great success if he’d ever run for office.”
Carter pursed his mouth. “Yeah, he would have. But do you miss him?”
She shifted restlessly. “Benson’s death was so...so unexpected. In a way, I still haven’t adjusted. It’s like my life was stopped short, and it’s taken a while to get it back into gear.” Carter was still waiting for her answer, and she looked squarely at him. “I guess I miss the promise of what we might have been together.”
Nothing in his facial expression changed, and Grace wondered what Carter was thinking. Why did he ask that particular question? Why couldn’t she be straightforward in her answer?
“Are you coming home with us?” Madison asked, gazing up at Carter.
“Are you inviting me?”
“Yeaaaaah,” both children chimed in unison.
“Did you get your mothers’ permission? Maybe she has things to do.”
“Can Carter come to visit for a while?” Madison asked his mother.
“For a playdate?” Grace asked her son.
Madison got the joke and laughed. “Not a playdate. He’s too old. I know how to play chess,” Madison boasted to Carter.
“Really?” Carter said, impressed. “So do I.”
“Me, too,” Becca said, not to be left out.
“No, you don’t. You’re still a baby,” Madison teased.
“No, I’m not,” Becca whined.
Grace intervened. “I know you have something else you probably want to do for the rest of the day, so don’t pay attention to Madison....”
“I’d love to stop by. I think I just got challenged to a game of chess.”
“I wanna play, too,” Becca said.
“Mom, tell her she can’t,” Madison pleaded.
Becca’s whine turned to slow tears.
“Okay, time to leave. They’re getting tired,” Grace said. She slid out of her seat, lifting Becca. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said to Carter as she and her daughter headed for the ladies’ room.
When Grace returned to the table, Carter had already taken care of the bill. Together they headed in the direction of the parking lot, meandering their way through the mall, which was crowded with shoppers, aimless teens, a plethora of baby strollers and children.
Grace suddenly felt a stilted silence between herself and Carter. And she was very much aware of his physical presence. In a strange, intimate way, he made her more aware of herself. Grace wondered suddenly if she looked attractive in her black stretch pants and white cashmere sweater set. She absently fingered her hair. Was it fluffy and cute like when she’d combed it that morning, or had the cold, breezy air left it a mess?
They slowly followed behind the two children, who seemed to be enjoying the noisy bustle of the mall. Grace was very mindful of the one probing question Carter kept asking her about Benson. She worried that somehow her answer was inadequate. Why hadn’t she been more forthright? And she couldn’t stop herself from replaying in her mind the things Marjorie had said to her. Had she wanted Carter to hold her?
Grace took several more steps before she realized that Carter was no longer beside her. She looked quickly around and spotted him approaching a jeweler’s window to browse the brightly lit display of rings, necklaces and bracelets.
“Madison. Becca. Come over here,” Grace called to her children.
Becca skipped over and squeezed in front of Carter, and then she stood on tiptoe to peer into the showcase.
“I can’t see,” she complained.
Carter obliged by lifting her into his arms. Madison grew bored and walked away to a nearby water fountain. Grace kept an eye on him but joined Becca and Carter at the store window.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“It’s that time of year again,” Carter said.
Puzzled, Grace followed his gaze to the cutout red hearts, confetti and curled ribbons, which hit shoppers over the head with the reminder that Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.
“I want that,” Becca said, pointing with a small finger.
“That’s too expensive,” Carter replied, shaking his head.
“What’s she pointing to?” Grace asked, searching the display. She caught Carter’s gaze over the top of Becca’s head. He silently shrugged and raised his brows as if to say, what difference does it make?
Grace grinned and went back to examining the jewelry. She took in all the things a man could give a woman to show his love. Benson had never succumbed to such ploys.
“What do you want for Valentine’s Day?” Carter asked Grace as he set Becca back on her feet. The little girl immediately joined Madison at the water fountain.
“Nothing,” Grace said, waiting until the kids had caught up to her and Carter.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m serious,” Grace said, holding out her hand to her daughter.
“Are you telling me that your husband never did it up right on February 14?”
“He made up for it at Christmas, on our anniversary and on my birthday. That was fine by me,” she said, and it was true.
Still, Grace had a sudden and overwhelming sensation of isolation, almost abandonment. She distinctly recalled her last Valentine’s Day celebration with Benson. It had been three months before he’d suffered a fatal aneurysm. He’d gotten her flowers, and they’d gone out to dinner. But he’d spent the whole evening discussing his problems with the mayor’s staff. He’d taken a cell phone call and texted several messages of his own. It had not been a special night to her at all. But then, she’d always known about his intense focus on his career.
“Why are so you interested in how Benson and I spent Valentine’s Day?” Grace asked Carter.
“Just curious. Last year I wanted to send something to Marjorie. I realized that with Benson gone, there was no one to remember her. So, when I sent flowers to my mother in Virginia, I sent some to Marjorie as well. I know it’s been tough for her.”
“Is that why you sent me flowers and candy?”
Grace was a bit surprised by the intensity with which Carter returned her gaze before