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I rolled my neck. My shoulders had grown stiff from so much sitting. The mattresses in this place leave a lot to be desired. Not that it matters. Sleep remains pretty much nonexistent. But that wasn’t why I was stretching. I was stalling. I don’t like recalling that day.
She pressed onward. “What did he say? James Dunaway? In the diner…”
“He said nothing.”
As usual, it was Laurel who did most of the talking. “James”—I recall the way she motioned, widely—“You remember Dr. Hastings?”
I extended my hand. “Max.”
“Dr. Hastings—Max—is treating my father.”
“Right.” He seemed to be searching his mind, looking for something misplaced. We shook hands. His grip was firm but friendly, which is to say it gave nothing away. “A physician,” he remarked with a jutted lip, “The Lord’s work.”
“Dr. Hastings,” Laurel said, plentiful with the formalities, “Thinks Dad could benefit from a feeding tube. But I think…” Her brow furro
wed, and she paused as though she’d just recalled something long forgotten. “Wait. What are you doing here?”
“I had a meeting a few blocks over.”
I watched the two of them. James Dunaway scooted into the booth next to me, across from his wife. He glanced sideways in my direction. “Never tried this place. Thought I’d check it out.” He paused, looked toward the counter, and then directly over at me. “And now I have.”
Dr. Jones narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t worried?”
“Not really.”
“How did he seem?”
“He didn’t seem like anything.”
I pictured James Dunaway now, with his ashen complexion and the eternally grumpy expression that appeared to be plastered on his face. I wondered what he knew. I wondered who might have told him.
“Did you think he knew?”
“Up until that moment, no. No one knew about our affair. We were careful—we were discreet.”
“Who do you think could have told him? Your brother? Nina? Mrs. Dunaway’s father?”
I smiled at her line of questioning.
“There’s still someone…” she remarked, very much leading the witness.
My head cocked to the side. “Who?”
“Max. Come on. Can’t you see? Remember what you said last week?”
I averted my gaze. My mind followed where my heart dared not go.
“It isn’t possible that Laurel—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t respond. The answer to that question still lay far ahead.
For the moment, I saw myself easing out of that diner booth, excusing myself politely but hastily. As it was, Ellie would be waiting for me. She never forgot a promise to take her for a swim, and she expected me to be punctual.
As I slid behind the wheel of my sedan, I recalled exactly what I’d been thinking that afternoon. I was thinking that I’d fucked up. I was thinking that I’d gotten too close. I’d crossed a line that maybe I shouldn’t have crossed. The first rule of any love affair, I knew well. Never get involved with someone who has less to lose than you do. Laurel, it appeared, did not have so very much to lose.
