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“It’s a long story. Someday I’ll tell you when it’s not a security risk,” he answered, smiling. “Truthfully, she just asked me to come. I’m not sure if you know the story.”
“I do. I’m sorry for your loss.”
His late wife, Ginger Harrow, had committed suicide the previous fall. It hadn’t even been a year yet.
“Thanks.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m in a good place today. It’s one day at a time. I haven’t been doing much. A beach party on the island, ushering in summer, seemed like a safe bet.”
“I hope you’ll have a good time. Pam’s parties are always fun, Mr. Roman.”
“Please call me Andy. I’ve been here before. Jack was a contributor to my campaign. We met when I was a criminal defense lawyer.”
A wave of heat washed over Sandra. She hadn’t thought of Jack in a long time. Not like this, not of what he once meant to her. Everyone else was angry at Jack, but not Sandra. If he walked through that door, she’d pick right up where they’d left off, and she thought of the painting that hung over her couch. His last gift to her.
“Interesting,” she said, dying to tell him she was once Jack’s mistress, that she had carried his child in her womb.
For the next minutes, Andrew Roman gave her the minutia of his relationship with Jack, and she took it all in, wondering if Pam knew about it. She doubted it. Pam stayed in the dark about things like this, purposely, Sandra decided. Out of curiosity, she’d ask.
“Does Pam know this?” she finally asked.
“She does. I had reason to tell her after my wife died.”
That was shocking enough. It seemed pointless to keep talking about Jack, so she clammed up until he finished. She wondered if her silence made him uncomfortable. He finally got the hint.
“Enough of Jack.”
“Would you like to meet my son? I have to check in with the nanny to make sure she knows I’m aware of what she’s doing. She’s apt to let the other nannies take over. I hear all the dirt from my sister-in-law.”
“Who’s your sister-in-law?”
“Lisa, but not really.”
He was confused but figured he would get the story eventually. There seemed to be so much brewing under the surface, and the mystery attracted him.
Letting Sandra lead the way, Andy followed her to the water’s edge where a little blond boy, slender and frail appearing, ran to her from the surf, and she ran away from his soaking wet embrace, laughing out loud, begging him not to get her wet.
Eventually, she relented and let him hug her legs, and she bent down and kissed his forehead.
“Brent, this is Mr. Roman.”
The little boy smiled up at Andy, dimples and all. Later, he’d think that the smile captured something he had been longing for. The innocence of a child would help wash away all the horror of the past year.
“Hi, Brent,” Andy said, crouching down. “Can you swim?”
“I can. My mom made me take swimming lessons.”
“Is the water cold?”
“It’s freezing!”
Scratching his cheek, Andy looked out to sea. “I guess I have to go in.”
Sandra looked at him, grimacing. “You brought a bathing suit?”
“Yes! You get an invitation to a beach party; you bring a suit. Why? Didn’t you?”
