She took a breath. She twirled the coffee cup around on the saucer. “Maybe I shouldn’t...”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“I married the wrong person, too. I married a musician. A singer/songwriter with the voice of an angel. The first time I heard him sing was in Portland at a fair and he sang ‘I Guess The Lord Must Be In New York City.’ My bones melted and I fell right in love with him. I was young—twenty-one. He was older and had been trying to make a breakthrough in the music business for a long time. He traveled a lot but when he was in the Pacific Northwest, which he called home, we’d see each other. After a couple of years of that he suggested we live together, though he would continue to travel for every gig or business opportunity. He moved all his things into my little rented house. That went pretty well for a while. In fact, there were times it was a lot of fun—lots of musicians around, lots of music, a real party. We got married and he sang to me at our wedding. He also notified the newspapers and had a couple of photographers there. He was going to be the next Eric Clapton. I worked in a department store and he made a pittance on his gigs, barely enough to keep him in equipment and plane tickets. He did sell five songs to a big country star, they just never made the charts. That’s when I started to realize what a mistake I’d made—he made a hundred thousand dollars and bought all-new equipment. It was all about him. The big break that would set him up for life was always right around the corner. But of course marriage didn’t work. He didn’t want to be a husband. His music came first. He said, ‘I told you, Ginger—I have to concentrate on my music and I thought you were on board with that.’”
Matt gulped. Had he put the farm ahead of his wife? Would everything have been different if he’d given her ideas a try? “I’m sorry, Ginger.”
“Well, time to move on, right?” she said.
She was obviously trying to brighten up. He thought the pain of divorce must be much fresher for her. His phone vibrated and he looked. Lucy again. He’d call her later and explain he wasn’t in Portland and she’d have to find someone else for the night. He put the phone back in his pocket.
“Really, it’s okay...”
“Just my kid brother,” he lied. “I’ll call him back.”
“What if it’s an emergency?” she asked.
“If it was an emergency, I’d hear from Paco and Peyton and I’d answer for them because it would obviously be important. He probably has a work-related question. He’s working on a biochem degree. He’s researching.”
“Wow. You really do have an impressive family.”
He laughed. “So do you, Ginger.”
He walked her to her car. She told him again that it was the best apology dinner she’d ever had. “With my sister living here, we’ll see each other again. I can always apologize again.”
“You really don’t have to,” she said with a laugh. “Would you like a ride home?”
“No thanks. I like to walk, especially at night.”
“All right. Have a good visit then.” She put out her hand.
He pulled on that hand gently and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. Take care.” And he walked off into the night.
When he got back to Peyton’s house, it was kind of dark. They’d left the outside porch light on for him and when he went inside he found Dr. and Mrs. Grant were curled up together watching a movie. Peyton instantly put the movie on pause, flicked on the table lamp and sat up straight. “You’re back,” she said.
“I’m back.”
“Did you have a nice dinner?”
“I had a very nice dinner,” Matt said. “Have you ever tried the Cajun ahi at Cliff’s? Because it’s really good.”
“I meant with Ginger!”
“Did you realize that she’s Ginger Dysart of Dysart Trucking?”
“Who’s that?”
“The trucking company we use to take our crops to market. The company we rent our flatbeds from to take Christmas trees to market.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize.”
“You could’ve told me she was recovering from a divorce, just like me. I might’ve understood why you were acting so protective of her.”
“Well, it was a bit more than that. She told you about the baby?”
“What baby?”
Peyton sighed as if trapped. “Well, everyone knows. It’s been easier for her, really, since everyone knows and no one asks. She got pregnant and her husband left her, I don’t know the details. She said he didn’t want children. He wanted to devote his time to his career. So he left her.”
“Where’s the baby?” Matt asked with a sinking feeling.
“She moved back with her parents, had her baby as a single mother, and he died of SIDS at four months. That was almost a year ago. She’s just coming back to life.”
Matt thought he might throw up. “God.”
“She’s doing well now, considering. But you can see why I didn’t want you to be your tomcat self around her.”
“For the last time, I’m not a tomcat,” he said.
But he was. And he was damn lucky he hadn’t offended Ginger for the second time because he found her very attractive. Very desirable.
But now, knowing what he knew, he was going to get out of town and get back to Portland tomorrow. He’d make some excuse. He wasn’t staying the weekend, after all.
Grace walked around the great room of the new house. It was freshly painted. She hoped her mother would approve of the colors she’d chosen—ivory with dark brown accents in the great room. Taupe with just a touch of mauve in it, dark accents, ivory ceiling in the master bedroom. It was restful, she thought. On Monday they would install the kitchen cupboards and light fixtures and continue work on the shower in the master bath. The thing she thought was the smartest and most practical—a curved glass cinder block wall rather than a shower door for accessibility and also for the elegant design—that was taking the longest. Workers had spent days on that one small project.
Troy was taking advantage of a warm sunny Saturday with only a light breeze rather than strong winds off the Pacific to seal the deck and steps to the beach. The sealer dried so quickly he was already on the second coat and it was early in the afternoon. Sealer had been sprayed on the underside of the deck before Troy brushed on the topside. Spencer, their next-door neighbor and Troy’s colleague at the high school, was at work on the steps—fourteen from the deck to the lower level, fourteen from the lower level to the beach. The main level of the houses was thirty feet above the beach.
She found herself standing just inside the great room doors watching Troy. His jeans were ripped at the knees and he wore a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, exposing those biceps and forearms she loved so much. The jeans fit perfectly on his booty. He wore a cap to cut down on the glare, but he yanked it off regularly to wipe the sweat from his brow. He was just as sexy sweaty as he was all primped up.
He caught her staring and shot her that dazzling smile of his. “What are you looking at, little mama?”
“Dinner, I think.” And then she bit her lip.
There would be enough to do to keep them busy for quite a while, but she thought she could get her mother in the house in two weeks. And she suspected that her former skating coach, Mikhail, would be staying with them for some time. He had said, “I will come to this place if you could secure a little room in a cheap hotel. Just a bed is all I need—I despise to sleep