Warrick studied him with that intense expression he sometimes wore when he looked at Ben. “I would love a chance to catch up more while you’re in town. Maybe we could arrange dinner sometime.”
“I would enjoy that,” Ben answered. “I’m staying in a rental on Redemption Bay. The old Sloane house.”
“I know it. Perfect. I’ll drop by one day soon so we can make arrangements.”
The doctor reached out a hand and shook Ben’s. “Good to see you, son. I mean it.”
With another of those kindly smiles, he walked out, leaving Ben alone with his memories and a restaurant full of people who didn’t want him there.
* * *
RUSS WALKED OUT of the diner into the beautiful blue of an Idaho summer morning feeling shaky, off balance at the unexpected encounter. He walked a few dozen steps on autopilot, then turned into the small alley next to the restaurant used by delivery trucks. When he was sure no one could see him, he rubbed a hand over the ache in his chest.
Lydia’s quiet, thoughtful boy had grown into a tall, handsome man. A man any parent would be proud of.
But, oh, the shadows in those blue eyes.
When he woke that morning and decided to grab a bite to eat at Serrano’s before work, he never expected to find Ben drinking coffee and looking out at the lake.
How could he have? As far as he knew, Ben hadn’t been back since the day of his sister’s funeral.
He stood, lost in indecision, while the lake sparkled in the distance and the peaks of the Redemption Mountains gleamed white in the sunlight with snow that hadn’t melted yet.
This had been easier when his wife was still alive. Joan had provided a necessary buffer, somehow, to keep him from doing something stupid.
She was gone now, bless her. After a year, he was finally learning to make his way without her, one baby step at a time.
Perhaps it was time he took a giant step into the unknown and finally faced all the murky secrets of the past.
He picked up his cell phone. A quick web search revealed the number he had purposely avoided looking up for a year.
He was ridiculously aware that his palms were sweating as he selected “call” on the phone options.
It rang four times. Just before he was certain the call would go to voice mail, a slightly breathless voice answered. “Hello?”
He swallowed. “Lydia. Hello. It’s Russ Warrick. Is this a bad time?”
After a long, awkward pause, she spoke again, clear surprise in her voice. “Russ. Hello. No. No. It’s not a bad time. I was in the middle of yoga.”
He tried not to picture her, limber and prettier at fifty-four than she had ever been.
“Sorry to interrupt. You can call me back when your class is over.”
“No class. Just a video at home. I paused it. Really, this is fine. Is something wrong?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I haven’t talked to you in forever,” she said calmly. “You’re not a man who calls out of the blue just to chat.”
That was true enough. He had stayed away from her on purpose, hadn’t called her once since Joanie died, even though he had been tempted a hundred times.
This was a stupid idea, he thought. Her relationship with Ben was none of his business. She was none of his business. But stupid or not, he had called her and couldn’t just make an excuse now and hang up.
“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. I had some information I thought might interest you.”
“Oh?”
“I just bumped into Ben at Serrano’s.”
“Ben? My Ben?”
The singular pronoun sent pain clutching his heart. “Yes. Your Ben. I thought you might want to know.”
Her tone shifted from shock to crisp disbelief. “That’s impossible. I’m sure you’ve made a mistake. Ben will never come back to Haven Point. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
“No mistake. I spoke with him for a good ten minutes.” A wonderful ten minutes. It had been so very long, he had absorbed every word, memorized each mannerism and vocal tone. “He’s in town to help Aidan Caine with a project. Apparently he’ll be here for a few weeks. I thought you might want to know.”
“What makes you think I didn’t already know?” she asked in a haughty tone. The essence of Lydia, bristly and distant on the outside but so very vulnerable beneath all the layers.
“Your reaction just now was a good giveaway.” He fought hard to keep the dryness out of his tone. “He also seemed reluctant when I suggested he call you.”
“So you thought you would step in to make things right between us by calling me, anyway. How very helpful of you.”
Her hostility stung, though it wasn’t unexpected. Lydia had erected a wall between them long ago, so high and so wide one would never guess they’d once been best friends...and much more.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” he said stiffly. “I know if my son were in town, I would want to know.”
She didn’t answer for a long moment, a silence thick and murky with secrets. Why wouldn’t she tell him the truth, even after all these years?
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice subdued. “You’re right. I’m a bear today. I think it’s the low pressure system coming in. It’s left me edgy. I was hoping the yoga would help center me. Perhaps I’d better get back to it. Thank you for telling me, Russell. You’re right. I do want to know. I doubt Ben would have called to tell me himself, even though he knows I’m in the area for the summer. I appreciate that you stepped in.”
“You’re welcome.”
He should say goodbye but he didn’t want to hang up. Not yet. A cool and distant Lydia was better than nothing.
“How are you doing?” she asked after a moment. “I’ve been wondering.”
She sounded genuinely interested, which was more than most people did when they asked that question. His standard response was to say he was fine then deflect the inquiries with a change in topic but that didn’t seem right with Lydia.
Somehow there seemed more freedom here on the phone, when she wasn’t standing in front of him with those deep green eyes.
He looked out at the lake, silvery in the sunlight. “It’s been a year and a few weeks now,” he answered, his voice low. “I’m done with all the firsts now. First Christmas without her, first birthday, first wedding anniversary. There’s an odd sort of relief in that, you know? In making it through. I believe I’m finally starting to get used to coming home to a quiet house.”
“I’m so sorry, Russell,” she said, her tone soft and rich with empathy.
“Thank you. You know a little about loss yourself.”
“More than I’d care to. Yes. The first year was definitely the hardest after Lily died. I remember the first time I laughed again at a joke on a television show. I felt so terribly guilty afterward, I cried myself to sleep. But then I began to find more and more things to smile about and realized my life wasn’t over, just different.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly. It’s a perspective shift. I’m still finding my way but at least I don’t feel like I’m floundering through quicksand anymore.” He appreciated that she was willing to push beyond the usual platitudes and the superficial sympathy.
“I