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Conlan turned, saw her. His smile faded slowly, his eyes narrowed. In anger? Disappointment? She wasnt sure anymore; she couldnt read his face. Maybe the look had been one of sadness.
He waved her in.
She opened the door and went inside.
He held up one finger to her, then said into the phone, "Thats not okay, George. Were scheduled. I have the photographer ready. Hes waiting in the van already. "
Angie looked down at his desk. It was covered with notes and letters; a stack of newspapers dominated one side.
The pictures of her were gone. Now there was nothing personal at all, no glimpse of who he was on his off hours.
She didnt sit down, afraid that shed start to tap her foot or squirm nervously.
"Ten minutes, George. Dont you move. " Conlan hung up the phone, then turned to her. "Angie" was all he said. The Why are you here? was silent but unmistakable.
"I was in town. I thought we could--"
"Bad timing, Ange. That was George Stephanopoulos on the phone. I have a meeting with him in"--he looked at his watch--"seventeen minutes. "
"Oh. "
He reached down for his briefcase.
She took a step backward, feeling vulnerable now.
He looked at her.
Neither of them moved or spoke. The room felt full of ghosts and long lost sounds. Laughter. Crying. Whispering.
She wanted him to move toward her, give her some sign of encouragement, however small. Then she could launch into Im sorry and he would know why she was here.
"Ive gotta run. Sorry. " He started to reach for her, probably to pat her shoulder, but drew back before making contact. They stared at each other for another long moment, and then he walked out on her.
She sank down into the chair in front of his desk.
"Angie?"
She wasnt sure how long shed been sitting there, dazed, trying to collect the pieces of herself. She looked up and saw Diane VanDerbeek.
Angie didnt rise. She wasnt sure her legs would hold her. "Diane. Its good to see you again. "
And it was. Diane had worked with Conlan for a long time. She and her husband, John, had been their friends for years. Conlan had gotten custody of the friendship in the divorce. No, that wasnt quite true. Angie had given them up without a fight. For weeks after the separation, Diane had called. Angie hadnt called her back.
"Let him be, for heavens sake. Hes finally getting his life back. "
Angie frowned. "You make it sound like he fell apart after the divorce. He was a rock. "
Diane stared down at her silently, as if measuring what to say. After a moment, she glanced out the window at the gray November day. Her mouth, usually so quick to smile, remained pressed in a thin line, perhaps even curled downward ever so slightly.
Angie felt herself tightening up. Diane had always had a reporters directness. I call em like I see em had been her mantra. Whatever observation she was about to make, Angie was pretty sure she didnt want to hear it.
"Did you really miss so much?" Diane finally asked.
"I dont think I want to talk about this. "
"Twice this year I came into his office and found him crying. Once when Sophie died and once when youd decided to divorce. " Her voice softened; so did the look in her eyes. "With Sophie, I thought: How sad that he had to come here to cry. "
"Dont," Angie murmured.
