“Well,” she said, steel in her tone, “if you could let him know that Nora and I decided to stop in Vegas for the night, I’d appreciate it. I tried the house first—couldn’t reach him.”
“I certainly will, Mrs. Miller.”
Leanne hung up.
She stared at the pay phone, fingers curled tightly around the receiver even after the line went dead. Her stomach churned with a queasy mix of regret and suspicion. She’d finally found a phone that was usable and called to reassure her husband she and Nora were okay. And what had she gotten for her effort?
She walked briskly back through the lobby.
As she moved past the lobby bar, a man with long hair, gold rings on every finger, and a purple velvet jacket raised his glass toward her. He resembled the groupie dressed like a wizard she’d seen in California.
“You look like you need a cocktail,” he said, smiling.
Leanne stopped.
The last time a man said something like that to her, she was twenty-three and single. Something in his voice—teasing, yes, but kind—cut through the fog of her frustration. So instead of getting ruffled or indignant she said, “Maybe I do.”
He signaled the bartender, and a moment later a bright pink drink was set in front of her. It was cold, far too strong, and precisely what she needed.
By the time she stepped off the elevator and returned to her hotel room, the last of her cocktail in hand, she was seething.
Not drunk.
Not dramatic.
Just done being the only one putting effort into her marriage.Though in truth, how much had she really tried lately?
“Ready for dinner and a show at the Copa Room?” Leanne asked, smoothing her dress and checking her earrings in the hotel mirror.
“Did you find out who’s playing?” Nora turned from the vanity, applying a fresh swipe of rose-petal lipstick, then blotting her lips with a tissue she tossed on the bed. She eyed the half-empty cocktail in Leanne’s hands but said nothing.
“Not yet,” Leanne said. “But it’s sure to be swinging—whoever it is.”
“Swinging,” Nora repeated with a mischievous grin, drawing out the word like it was their own private language now. Her daughter’s smile full of amusement but something quieter as well—affection. For a second, Leanne forgot all the eye rolls, the slammed doors, the distance over the last year. The grumpy argument they’d had that morning getting back into the car. She was simply grateful. Grateful to be here with her daughter. On an adventure they hadn’t planned in a city that shimmered like a mirage.
“Maybe it’ll be Grandma,” Nora deadpanned.
They both laughed. Sharp, spontaneous peals that surprised even them.
But then they caught each other’s gaze.
And stopped.
A beat passed.
“What if it is?” Nora asked softly now.
“What if it is,” Leanne echoed, barely more than a whisper.
Neon lights flickered like heartbeats outside the hotel window, and the Strip buzzed with the promise of strange, unforgettable things.
Chapter Fifteen
Over coffee, Leanne flipped through the news stations to see if there were any reports of her mother, and coming up empty-handed, they once more decided no news was good news.
After a breakfast of bacon and sunny-side-up eggs with buttered toast, and a leisurely swim in the hotel pool, Nora and her mother climbed back into the Lincoln Continental, its chrome glinting under the morning sun.
Heat radiated in shimmering waves off the highway. Given the weather, they’d decided to try taking the top down. A surprisingly complicated task, given that neither of them had done it before. But after some tugging, and a few exasperated huffs, the valet jumped in to help and the roof folded away like an accordion, revealing an endless blue sky to Dean’s leather seats.
