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“Mark, you’re a grown man. If you choose to run around without a warm jacket, that’s your problem. I’ll be right down.”
I wondered if my neighbors had enjoyed our conversation as I wound a warm scarf around my neck. Just to be nice, I grabbed one that wasn’t too feminine for Mark to use.
He was outside on the stoop, looking miserable when I got down there, wearing a puffy jacket and gloves. Just his head looked cold, so I gave him the extra scarf.
“Thank you,” he said, winding it around his neck so it covered his ears. “I’ll probably drool all over it, so I’ll get it cleaned for you.”
I laughed. It was the perfect comment to defuse my annoyance. “Don’t beg to come in at my door again,” I said.
“I won’t. I should have called.” He offered his arm as he moved down the steps, but I ignored it.
“What’s so pressing?”
“I know your boyfriend,” he said.
“He’s no longer my boyfriend, thanks to you. He claimed I’d set him up when you so rudely pulled up to the curb.”
“Oh, well, that’s probably for the best. Do you want to hear or not?”
“I know he was wrongly accused of rape.”
“This is true. But the guy is a reprobate, Laura. He’s in love with his sister. Anyone he dates is nothing more than a beard, or maybe he’s using her to try to forget his sister. But trust me, he’s trouble.”
“Do you mean Lisa?”
“Yes. Jack and Pam Smith’s daughter.”
Yet another stunning pronouncement.
“And how do you know this?”
“One of the detectives I work with is a good friend of the family. He used to live with the woman who accused Maddox of rape.”
Sandra Benson. “Who’s the guy?”
“Tom Adams. He knows all the players.”
I took a deep breath. “That’s disgusting. It’s a breach of privacy.”
“I’m sorry. I was shocked when I saw you with Maddox. I knew he was your co-host on the series, but I didn’t think you were involved.”
“We weren’t until recently. Now it’s over.”
“Oh, God, I’m really sorry.”
We walked toward the river, not talking. The winter air was so cold, it hurt my lungs. The stars were out, a profusion of twinkling lights against the inky black sky. A memory of childhood floated through my brain. My mother had wanted to walk to the corner store and bundled me up, strapping me in a sled. The snow fell while she walked, pulling me behind her. For the first time in months, I missed my mother and needed to let her know I appreciated the sacrifices she had made for me. I’d call her later.
A sob caught in my throat, and I stifled it, but not before Mark heard and looked over at me.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching for my hand. I let him take it, needing human interaction at that moment.
“I’m okay, just remembering. Where’d you grow up?”
“Here,” he said. “Well, Brooklyn. Bensonhurst. My family has been there since the turn of the century. I mean last century. Both sets of grandparents are still alive.”
“Wow, I can’t even imagine. I had my mother growing up, and that’s it. I have my father now, too, but I’m his only child. No grandparents. I guess your folks expect you to marry an Italian woman.”
He looked at me with such desire, it made my skin crawl. “I’ll marry who I love, regardless of her nationality.”
