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She was four blocks away when it started to pour. Raindrops the size of golf balls battered the sidewalk in front of her, formed rushing silver rivers along the curb. She popped open her umbrella and headed for Pioneer Square. In the park, dozens of homeless people huddled in pods, passing cigarettes back and forth, trying to keep dry.
Finally she reached Yesler. The viaduct--that arching concrete overpass that dared a big earthquake to crumble it--held the rain at bay.
She ducked into the restaurant. Al Boccalino was empty this early in the day. The working lunch crowd wouldnt be here for another hour at least.
Carlos, the owner of the restaurant, came around the corner. Seeing her, he smiled.
"Mrs. Malone. Its good to see you again. "
"You, too. " She handed him her coat and umbrella and followed him into the small, Tuscan-inspired trattoria. Immediately, she smelled the pungent combination of garlic and thyme that reminded her of home.
"You should bring your mama back some time," Carlos said with a smile.
Angie laughed. The one time she had brought her parents here, Mama had spent the whole night in the kitchen, chastising the chef for cutting tomatoes for marinara. Crush them, shed muttered. That is why God gave us hands. "Sure, Carlos," she said, her smile fading when she saw Conlan.
He rose at her entrance.
Carlos helped her into her seat, gave them each a menu, and then disappeared.
"It feels strange to be here again," Angie said.
"I know. I havent been here since our anniversary. "
She frowned. "I thought your apartment was right around the corner. "
"It is. "
That silence descended again. They looked at each other.
Carlos appeared at the table, holding a bottle of champagne. "My favorite couple together again. Is good. " He filled each fluted glass with glittering, bubbling liquid. He looked at Conlan. "You let me decide your lunch menu, yes?"
"Of course," Conlan answered, still looking at Angie.
She felt exposed by that look, vulnerable. She reached for her glass, needing something in her hand.
I want to tell you about this girl I met.
"Conlan," she said just as Carlos reappeared by the table, holding a plate of caprese salad. By the time theyd oohed and aahed over the food, Angie had lost her nerve. She finished her glass of champagne and poured a second.
Shes really great. Shes living with me. Oh, and did I mention shes pregnant?
Conlan leaned forward, put his elbows on the table. "This morning I got a call from my agent. Ive been offered a book contract. " He paused, then said, "And the only person I wanted to tell was you. What do you think that means?"
She knew how much it had cost him to admit that. She wanted to reach for him, take his hand in hers, and tell him that she still loved him, that shed always loved him and always would, but it was too soon for that. Instead, she said, "I think it means we loved each other for a long time. "
"Most of my life. "
She touched her glass to his. The brittle clinking was the sound of beginnings. She knew she should tell him about Lauren now, but she couldnt do it. This moment felt magical somehow, full of possibility. "Tell me everything. "
He launched into the story of a local man who had been convicted of raping and killing several elderly women in the late nineties. Conlan had done an investigative piece on the story and been hooked. Hed come to believe the man was innocent, and DNA tests had just proven it. "Its a Cinderella deal," he said. "Theyre giving me a decent amount of money to write this book and another one. "
He was still talking about the story an hour later when they finished their dessert and paid the bill.
Angie got to her feet, noticing that she was more than a little tipsy.
Conlan stood beside her, steadied her with his touch.
She stared up at him. His face, creased now in a smile, made her want to cry. "Im so proud of you, Conlan. "
