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Bishop Towne, alone, wiped his hands on his slacks. It was five minutes past showtime. The audience wasn't restless yet but they soon would be.
Dance found her shoulders in a terrible knot. She glanced back at Boling's handsome face, his thinning brown hair, his perfect lips.
But, she told herself, feeling the spring steel of her soul flex within her, she'd lost one man to tragedy and she would far rather lose one this way--everyone going forward in life, healthy and with some vestige of affection. Something might work out in the future. At least there wasn't--she assumed--somebody else in his life. She would make sure that Boling and the children stayed in touch. Thank God they hadn't actually moved in together.
"Here. Snuck this in."
He handed her a Starbucks cup and she smelled immediately that it contained red wine, and since Boling was the barista it would be a good one. Yes, a nice Malbec, she deduced from a sip--one of the varieties they'd been exploring lately at wine tastings in Monterey and Carmel. They'd had so much fun on those nights....
Kathryn Dance told herself: No tears.
That was nonnegotiable.
"Everything okay?"
She explained, "Tough case."
"I was worried about you when we kept missing calls."
Quit doing that! she silently raged. Make me hate you.
He sensed her tension and backed off, let go of her hand, gave her space.
And that conscientiousness irritated her even more.
But then he decided it was time. She could easily tell from his stance. Yes, he probably wanted to wait before delivering the bad news but preferred to get it over with. Men did that. Either they never said anything personal and serious, or they blurted it all out at the wrong moment.
Boling said, "Hey, wanted to talk to you about something."
Oh, that tone.
God, how she hated that tone.
She shrugged, sipping some of the wine. A big sip.
"Okay, I know this is going to seem a little odd but ..."
For God's sake, Jon, get on with it. I've got my children to get back to, my dogs, my guests from New York ... and a friend here who's about to become the nemesis of 35,000 people.
"Sorry, I'm a little nervous about this."
"Jon, it's okay," she said, finding her voice surprisingly warm. "Go on."
"I know we've had a, well, sort of policy of not traveling with the kids, not overnight. Well ..." He seemed to realize he was stammering and now just blurted, "I'm thinking I'd like all of us to take a trip." He looked away. "For this consulting gig, they need me down in San Diego for two weeks--La Jolla. The company rented me a place near the beach. It's a month rental and they said I could keep it for a week or two after the job's done. So I was thinking we could all drive down, see Hearst's Castle, then go to Lego Land and Disneyland for the kids. Well, actually, I want to go there too. Not Lego Land particularly. But Disneyland. So, what do you think? A week in San Diego, all four of us?"
"A week?"
He grimaced. "Okay, I know it's hard for you to get off, especially after you took some time now. But if there's any way you could ... See, it's a four-bedroom place. We'd have separate rooms, all of us. You and me too. But still, it's a good step forward, with the kids, I was thinking. Traveling together but not together together, you know what I mean?"
"A week?" Dance was stammering herself too.
He'd be thinking: I said that, didn't I?
Oh, God--the move was temporary. Her mother hadn't gotten all the information.
He sensed her hesitation. And said stoically, "No problem. If that's too much time, maybe you and the kids could fly down and we could spend a few days together. I mean, you could always come down alone but, I don't know, I thought it might be nice to take a family vacation."
Those last two words were like lace trim: flimsy yet hopeful.
