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“It’s been so tough on her. She hasn’t handled it as well as Izzy, but she’s younger so I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“Izzy was upset about the coat.”
“Yes.” He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “That was my fault. Probably a mistake, but it looked like rain, you didn’t have a coat and the coat was there—it’s impossible to get it right all the time. We have the odd moment like that when Izzy is visibly stressed, but generally she’s handling it well.”
Flora was no expert, but she didn’t think Izzy was handling it well at all.
“She’s great with her sister.”
“Yes, right from the moment Molly was born the two of them have been inseparable.” He put his glass on the table and sat down on the seat, tugging her down next to him. “I’m not sure how I would have coped this last year without Izzy.”
“Where is she now?”
“Officially? In her room doing homework, although I suspect she’s messaging her friends.”
They were alone, and yet not alone.
If she glanced up, would she find Izzy watching them?
“Thank you for coming to the rescue today, Jack. I couldn’t believe it when you arrived at my apartment. That must have been inconvenient and annoying for the girls. I’ll start making phone calls first thing on Monday and find somewhere else to live.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m sure the last thing the girls want, or need, is me staying here. You probably already pushed your luck by coming to get me.”
“Coming to get you was Izzy’s idea.”
“Really?” She couldn’t have been more surprised by that news. “Izzy suggested coming into Manhattan to get me?”
“Yes. She heard me on the phone and was worried.”
“That was thoughtful and incredibly kind.” She was touched, relieved and a little bemused.
She’d been so sure that Izzy resented her, but what evidence was there for that?
She’d talked about Becca. But what was wrong with that? It was good that she felt comfortable enough to talk about her mother. Flora was being oversensitive.
Having rationalized it, she raised her glass. “You have wonderful daughters.”
“I think so, but I’m willing to admit to bias.”
She was conscious of how close he was. She had to physically stop herself from lifting her mouth to his. “You should be biased. You’re their dad. It’s part of the role. They’re lucky to have you.”
“What happened to your dad?”
“My mother spent a summer painting in Europe. Tuscany. Corfu. Paris. She met a guy and they traveled and painted together for a while. When the summer ended, she came home and discovered she was pregnant.” It was something she’d never discussed with anyone. Not Julia. Not even her aunt.
“She never tried to contact him?”
“Yes. He didn’t want a family. He blamed her for getting pregnant.” It was easy to talk in the sheltered, leafy cocoon of his garden. The warm evening air was sweetened by the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine, and distant city noises blended with the call of birds and the hum of insects.
“You’ve never thought of trying to trace him?”
“No.” The last thing she needed was to meet someone else who wasn’t interested in her, but she didn’t share that.
He took her wineglass and set it down next to his on the table.
“I’m sorry you lost your home.”
