“I can’t talk about this right now,” she said. “I’m on the other side of the country, and I have work to do.”
“Research on that guy’s book,” he said, sounding miffed.
“His name is Peter, and yes. And just so you know, it’s important to me. This book.”
Eric let that sink in. “What’s it about?”
She stood and walked to the sink in her room, looked at herself in the mirror. “I can’t really share that with you. It’s confidential.”
“I see.”
Finally, Eric capitulated with a sigh of defeat that she didn’t believe for one second. First, it was too charming, spilling over with phony notes of “woe is me.” She knew him too well. He believed he was goingto win her back because he knew how devastated she had been by their separation. He knew how badly she’d wanted to stay married and work it out. He now assumed that things were still the same.
Perhaps they were. Or could be. She wasn’t sure. But she didn’t want it to be that easy for him. He deserved to grovel a bit. And she deserved that too.
Gwen turned away from the mirror. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay? Next week sometime. We’ll talk then.”
Eric’s voice changed after that. He didn’t sound quite as confident or triumphant. “All right. Have a good time in Alaska. Don’t get eaten by a bear.”
“I’ll try not to. Now I really have to get going.”
Gwen ended the call and went straight for her toothbrush and makeup bag, because she didn’t want to dwell any longer on her failed marriage. Her stomach was growling, and the Red Dog Saloon was calling her name. And Peter was waiting for her, patiently, in the next room.
“He actually said that?” Peter asked as he dipped a french fry into ketchup. “He told you he would end it with ... what’s her name again?”
“Keri,” Gwen replied. “Yes, that’s what he said, though he didn’t commit to it. He just said ‘what if’ he ended it.”
“It sounds like he wants to make sure all bases are covered before he does anything rash.”
“That’s how I took it as well,” Gwen replied. “He doesn’t want to burn both bridges and have no way off the dreaded island of solitude.”
The piano player started a new tune. He plunked jauntily at a Billy Joel song, saloon-style.
“Is that ‘My Life’?” Peter asked, turning toward the piano.
“I believe so. I love Billy Joel.”
“Me too.”
They sipped their beers and watched a couple of tourists walk through the swinging saloon doors and gape at the thick carpet of wood chips on the floor.
Gwen dipped another french fry in the ketchup. “I need to confess something,” she said. “I didn’t hate it when I told Eric I was in Alaska with a friend.” She made air quotes around the wordfriend. “He sounded shocked. I think he expected me to always be there, sitting at home, just waiting for him to come back.”
“But here you are, living your life,” Peter stated.
“Yes. I love what we’ve been working on. I haven’t felt this excited about anything since ... well ... since I was pregnant. Life’s been pretty dreary since then, but this is the opposite of dreary.”
“It’s been exciting for me too.”
Gwen glanced at the time on her phone. “One hour before we meet Jeremy. Maybe we should talk about a game plan. Like how I should introduce myself and what questions I should ask him.”
The server arrived to clear away their plates, and they ordered coffee. Then they went over everything they knew and, more importantly, everything they didn’t know.
A half hour later, they returned to the Alaskan Hotel, and Gwen changed into jeans and sneakers. Not that she expected to be running anywhere. At least she hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. But one could never be too sure with a former delinquent. She was glad Peter would be nearby to keep an eye on things.
CHAPTER 9
Valdez
