Come Back to Me

Author Angie Cantinnini’s agent convinces her she must use a pseudonym if she hopes to land a contract with a mainstream publishing company—especially since the protagonist of Angie’s novels is a hard-boiled male detective. Neither Angie nor her agent anticipate the raging success of the series of books or the mountain of wealth that accompanies each new release.
As a best-selling author, Angie should be delighted with her Bohemian life in Key West, but happiness is elusive because it’s her alter-ego, Zach England, who’s receiving the accolades, while Angie is relegated to anonymity.
Meryl McClain, the recently hired book review editor at the prestigious New York Banner, wants to make a strong first impression with her readers, so she picks Zach England’s latest novel for her debut column. She offers a scathing critique, unaware the real author behind the pseudonym is her long-lost true love, Angie. Heartrending choices separated the lovers eleven years earlier.
Seeing Meryl’s review overwhelms Angie with feelings she thought she’d laid to rest years ago. This stroke of fate beckons them to reunite, but Angie’s secret identity and Meryl’s struggle with a childhood trauma conspire to keep them apart.
Torn from a shared moment in their past, the words Come Back to Me have haunted the two women for more than a decade. Is it too late for Angie and Meryl to choose love again?

Chapter 1

Chicago, Winter 2002

“Let’s give this a try. It sure as hell can’t hurt.”

Angie glared at her agent from across the table. “I think it’s selling out, Sally.”

Sally returned the scowl. “The major publishers shy away from lesbian authors who try to change genres. How many times do we have to go over this? And they don’t think a woman can write the hard-ass stuff and be taken seriously.”

“What about Agatha Christie? She had male detectives who—”

“Stop. Right. There. Did Agatha Christie ever write anything remotely like, ‘He knew from the moment he saw her that he wanted to get her between the sheets’? This detective of yours is a man’s man, and you’re obviously a woman.”

Sally attempted to stop the waitress who breezed by, her arms loaded down with a tray full of glasses. “Crap, they’re too damn fast here.” She faced Angie again.

“In addition to the lesbian genre writing thing, it’s rare for major publishers to accept a woman writing a down and dirty novel where the main character’s a fun-loving, heavy-drinking, hell-raising male detective. Especially a male detective who engages in sexual dalliances. That’s how you want to write him, and that’s fine. But trust me, they’ll see it as a gimmick. If Angelina Cantinnini appears under the title of your manuscripts, I’ll never get them past the acquisitions editors. These are damn good novels, Angie, and they’ll sell, but not with your name on them.”

Angie peered through the large window next to their table. She felt like she was one of the passersby, trying to avoid stepping in some big mud puddle and ruining not only her new shoes, but her chance at the career she’d always dreamed of. What could it hurt? She’d published three moderately successful lesbian mysteries with a small publishing company, but she wanted to branch out and try new things. Expand her horizons. Test her imagination. She laughed at herself. Who are you trying to fool, Angie? You want to make money.

Sally cut through her thoughts. “If you want to swim with the big boys, you’ll have to become one of them.”

“Jesus, who are you, Sal? The devil? Because I feel like I’m making a deal that’ll cost me my soul.” Angie finished the last of her vodka collins. She raised her hand to catch the attention of their server and motioned to the two empty glasses.

“Oh please. Don’t try that Catholic guilt on me now. You haven’t attended Mass in years.”

Angie’s temper flared at the smug look that came over Sally’s face.

“What?”

The fake look of innocence on Sally’s face annoyed Angie all the more. “You can say anything you want, but don’t make fun of my faith.” She held up her hand before Sally could interrupt. “And don’t say ‘what faith?’ It’s been difficult enough with my family—”

“I’m sorry. I was only joking. I know that’s a sore spot with you.”

“When my mother tells me not to come home again until I’m cured of this sickness, yeah, it can be a bit of a sore spot.” Angie heard the catch in her voice, but hoped it went unnoticed. Seven years, and it still felt like yesterday.

The waitress set their drinks down and winked at Angie before leaving their table.

Sally glanced over her shoulder. The waitress walked to the bar, turned, and gave Angie a lopsided grin. “That Italian charm of yours is still there. I guess I’m not of the right persuasion to fetch us drinks.”

At least the flirtatious moment had lightened the mood. Angie rubbed her forehead with her thumb, forcing her thoughts back to their discussion.

“Okay, let’s say we do this. How will it work?”

Sally’s smile was hard to categorize—somewhere between delighted and demonic. With just a little effort, Angie could almost see tiny horns sprouting from Sally’s head and her swizzle stick turning into a pitchfork.

“Leave it all up to me…”

Chapter 2

Key West, Florida, Spring 2010

The Pride of Youngstown rocked gently in the shallow waters off the island of Key West. A warm breeze swept across the bow of the boat where Angie lay on a beach towel with her head propped up on a life preserver. She gripped the newspaper in her hands a little tighter to prevent a sudden gust from launching it into the blue-green water.

The wind pushed Angie’s bangs into her eyes. Annoyed, she brushed them back. She usually kept her dark, almost black, hair short, but let it grow out a little in the winter months. It was March, and time for a cut.

She pulled out the book review section of the Sunday New York Banner and noticed a familiar name in a small article announcing the recent hiring of the new book review editor.

“Oh my God.” She sat up and almost knocked her life preserver into the water.

It was a small black-and-white photo, but that didn’t hide Meryl McClain’s beauty. Her hair, which had been well past her shoulders when Angie last saw her eleven years ago, fell just below the collar of her blouse. She stared into the camera with confidence and self assurance. The black-and-white photo didn’t do justice to the mesmerizing, cyan blue eyes that Angie remembered so well.

“You haven’t changed,” Angie whispered.

She scanned Meryl’s short bio. The article concluded by directing the reader to Meryl’s first book review on an inside page.

Angie fumbled with the paper as she fought against the wind and her own nerves. She said a few curse words and opened to the review. Her stomach dropped when she read the headline, “Zach England’s Newest Installment in the Barker Series Lacks Imagination.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said under her breath, jumping down to the lead:

“Zach England’s Dying to Meet You is a disappointment from his earlier work. Beginning with Murder So Dear, England’s writing has deteriorated into formulaic tripe that appears to be hammered out only to appease his adoring fans who clamor for each new release.”

At first, Angie thought the swaying of the boat caused the print to jiggle, but then she noticed her shaking hands. The only encouraging words were compliments of England’s earlier work in the series. According to Meryl’s review, England’s writing began to suffer in the fifth installment of the Derek Barker detective series. Dying to Meet You was the eighth book.

Angie folded the newspaper, walked along the leeward side of the boat to the stern, and carried the paper into the cabin below—away from the wind and away from the impulse to read the review again. After plunking the paper on the table, she returned to the wooden deck and gazed through her Ray-Bans at the water where the Gulf of Mexico merged into the Atlantic.

She and Sally had given birth to “Zach England” that cold and rainy Chicago day eight years ago. Sally had vowed it would be temporary. But fate had other plans.

At Sally’s suggestion, Angie rewrote the books, switching from third person narrative to first person and changing the name of the main character. Stanley & Schilling, the first major publisher that hadn’t seen her earlier detective manuscript submitted under her own name, scooped it up, and Sally had an offer within weeks of a reading.

Once she’d had the verbal commitment from S & S, Sally sprung the news on them that Zach England was a pen name for a female author. The big bosses at Stanley & Schilling had been shocked, but they’d also been shrewd. They thought they had a runaway bestseller on their hands. But they also thought readers wouldn’t accept that a woman could write a character like Derek Barker. They not only wanted her to use a pseudonym, they insisted she do so.

Seven number one best sellers later, Angie still wondered if she’d done the right thing. Her bank account screamed she had, but her conscience told her she’d lost herself along the way, drifting like a dinghy snapped free from its anchor. Sure, she was a famous author. Sure, she had the money and the ease to live wherever she wanted on the planet. But who did she share it all with? Sally?

“Yeah, I share it all right,” she muttered, “fifteen percent with each publication. And I damn well paid for that penthouse of hers in Chicago.”

And now—of all people—Meryl had reentered her life with a review of her latest work.

She heard the familiar chirp of her cell phone in the cabin below and hurried down the stairs again. She flopped into one of the cushioned chairs after seeing the number on the display. This wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation.

“Yeah, Sal, I read it.”

“Who the fuck is this woman? It’s her first review, for fuck’s sake, and what does she do? She rakes your ass over the fucking coals.”

Angie wished she had one of those handheld counters for occasions like this so she could click it each time Sally hurled a “fuck” at her. She’d often said Sally cussed like a sailor, except Angie didn’t know any sailors who could get quite as descriptive as Sally.

“I mean, seriously, who the fuck is she? Have you ever fucking heard of her? And did her first review have to be of your novel? It’s the only poor review you’ve gotten on this one.”

She noticed that Sally hadn’t mentioned all of the rave reviews she received, but that this was the only poor review and that it was pointedly “this one.” Her last two Barker novels received lukewarm reviews as well.

“And another thing—”

“Maybe she’s right,” Angie said, propping her feet up on the worn leather ottoman in front of her. She glanced around the wooden cabin, contemplating what her wealth had bought her. This boat was an indulgence, but she’d wanted one ever since she’d attended an antique wooden boat show in Miami. Technically, the forty-footer was a yacht, but she couldn’t bring herself to call it that.

The shrill voice on the other end of the line abruptly brought her back to the present.

”What?”

Angie held the phone away from her ear. “I said maybe she’s right.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Angie went to the refrigerator for a Corona. She pulled out a lime and sliced it on the nearby counter while cradling the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She shoved a section into the lip of the bottle, leaned her back against the counter, and crossed her legs at the ankle before taking a long drink.

“Hey, I know the last couple of books haven’t been your best stuff, but still.”

“But still, hell. I deserved it even though I didn’t like reading it.” And I don’t like the memories that name brings to me, Angie silently added. “I’m thirty-two, and I feel like I have no life, Sally. I never go on any press junkets or readings of my novels, and God forbid I do a public appearance for book signings.”

“We’ve been over all of this. Stanley & Schilling still insists that you keep the pseudonym. Your character is too macho for readers to believe a woman could create him. Remember, we’re locked into your third three-book contract with the stipulation that you maintain your anonymity. Besides, it works. You’re making money, right?”

“You know the answer to that. And the operative words are we’re making money. I’m very aware I could go the rest of my life without selling one more book and still live comfortably off my royalties. And I’m just as aware the multimillion-dollar deal that you cut with NBC to produce the Derek Barker series doesn’t hurt, either.”

“And the problem is…”

“The problem is no one knows who I am. I feel like I’m suffocating down here, and it’s not from the heat. I get tired of having the title of ‘reclusive best-selling author.’ It’s affected my writing. I’m bored, and it shows.”

“Listen to me, Angie. Yes, you may be in a bit of a rut. It doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. You only need to recharge your batteries.”

“Where the hell else am I supposed to go to recharge my batteries? I live in the capital of laid-back living, for God’s sake.”

For the next twenty minutes, Sally ranted on about Angie’s strengths as an author. Into Angie’s third beer, Sally wound down enough to say, “It’ll be okay. We have some other advance reviews we can slap on the back cover. Fuck the New York Banner.”

Angie lay stretched out on her couch. She held the cold Corona bottle to her forehead. “Sally Copelman, I cannot believe you just said ‘fuck the New York Banner.’ It’s the goddamn New York Banner. We’re not talking about a newspaper in some Podunk town.”

“Don’t you worry about this. Like I said, I’ll get those other advance reviews for your back cover.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t let one of them be from some newspaper in Butte, Montana, okay?”

Angie snapped her phone shut and tossed it to the foot of the couch. She took one more drink of her beer and set it on the table. Now that she’d gotten Sally off the phone, she could reflect on what was really messing with her self-esteem. Meryl’s reentrance into her life left her feeling unsettled. They’d met in a creative writing class her sophomore year at Lehigh University. Meryl’s first critique was of a short story Angie had written about a disastrous Thanksgiving dinner. The memory of the ill-fated holiday rushed back, mocking her attempt to forget the past.

Chapter 3

Youngstown, Ohio, Thanksgiving 1995

Angie’s mother trailed behind her father as he brought the platter of turkey to the dining room table.

“Angie, help your sister get the vegetables ready, will you?” her mother said. It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

Angie went to the kitchen and stood beside Jan. She stared at the pattern of the countertop, ignoring what her sister was doing.

“Mom said to help, not just stand there.” Jan swatted her head playfully.

“Oh, right.” Angie took the bowls down from the cabinets above and set them on the counter. Jan was still at the stove, stirring the green beans.

“Angie?” Jan held out her hand. “Hello? Bowl?”

Angie brought a large bowl over to Jan, who poured the beans into it.

Jan furrowed her brow. “Is everything all right with you? You act like you’re in a whole other world.”

“I’m fine.” Angie was far from fine, but she couldn’t tell Jan why. She should’ve been able to talk to Jan about this. Jan was five years older and everything a big sister should be—annoying, loving, and overprotective. More than anything, she was Angie’s best friend. But Angie made the decision to tell the whole family at once. Today was the day. Thanksgiving. They couldn’t throw her out on Thanksgiving Day, could they?

Jan let it drop. “Take this and the stuffing out to the table.”

Angie carried the bowls into the dining room. Her father paused in the carving of the turkey and gave her an adoring look. She only hoped he’d see her in the same light after her announcement.

They took their customary seats: her father to her left at one end of the table, her sister beside her, Lou, her older brother, across from her, and her mother at the opposite end, facing her father. Her father said grace. They gave the sign of the cross. Everyone but Angie reached for a bowl of food.

“I have something I want to tell you.”

Her family paused, each with an outstretched hand frozen in the air. It reminded Angie of a freeze-frame from her film appreciation course at Lehigh University. She felt the stares of her family, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

“What?” Lou asked. “We’re hungry.”

Angie hesitated.

“Well, Angie? What is it?” Maria Cantinnini already appeared annoyed.

“I’m gay,” Angie blurted out.

There was dead silence at the table. The ticking clock in the living room sounded like claps of thunder.

“You’re what?” her father asked. Confusion played across his face.

“I…” Angie cleared her throat. “I’m a lesbian.”

“You’re a dyke?” Lou asked with a smirk.

“Lou, shut up!” Jan shouted.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. She’s the one who’s the freak,” Lou yelled back at her.

“I swear, Lou, if you don’t shut up.” Jan made a move toward their brother. Angie put her hand on Jan’s leg to keep her from going across the table.

Suddenly, their mother slammed her palm onto the table causing the china and glasses to rattle. “Basta!”

Oh God, she’s lapsed into Italian.

“Angelina, look at me,” her mother said.

She met her mother’s eyes.

“Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“You mean you prefer girls?” her father asked.

“It’s not a preference, Daddy. It’s who I am. I was born this way.”

“Don’t you say that.” Her mother’s voice was a verbal slap. “Don’t you dare say that. God did not make you this way.” She shook her head, and her dark, graying curls bounced violently. “We’ll go to Father Mark tomorrow. He’ll help you with this. He’ll help you fight these urges.”

“They’re not urges. It’s who I am.” Angie pressed her palm over her chest to encompass what she felt. “And no one, not even a priest, will miraculously make this go away.”

“I won’t hear of it.” Maria folded her arms.

“I didn’t say this for your approval. Whatever you think of me from this point on is up to you. I won’t change. I hope you can still accept me—”

“Accept you?” A vein pulsed in Maria’s left temple. “Accept you?”

“Mom, calm down,” Jan said and reached across the table to grab their mother’s hand.

Maria snatched her hand away as if Jan had scalded it with her touch. “Don’t you tell me to calm down, Janice.” She turned to Angie. “Angelina Marie Cantinnini, get out.”

Angie had heard that tone many times over her eighteen years, and it meant there was no room for discussion.

Her father, who’d kept his head lowered during the exchange, spoke up.

“Maria, please, it’s Thanksgiving and—”

“Anthony, quiet!”

Her father’s jaw twitched.

“Out. Now. Go to your bedroom, pack your things, and I mean all your things, and get out.”

“Mom, you can’t mean this,” Jan said. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Maria stood up, tipping over her glass of wine with the motion. “Look. Look at what you’ve made me do.” She blotted the red wine with her napkin, causing the stain to spread farther. “And on my mother’s antique tablecloth.” She threw the napkin down and lurched around the table, grabbed Angie by the shoulders, and yanked her to her feet. She shook her finger inches from Angie’s face. “I mean it, Angelina. Now!” She pointed toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Tears trickled down Angie’s cheeks. She wrenched free from her mother’s biting grip and angrily wiped them away.

Jan jumped to her feet to stand beside Angie. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Maria snapped.

“Mother, I’m twenty-three-years old. I’ll do as I goddamn please.”

“Janice!” Maria shouted. “I’ll not have you using the Lord’s name in vain in my house.”

“Which is why I’m leaving with my sister.” Jan turned to their father. “I can’t believe you’re allowing this to happen.”

He looked away from Jan. Angie felt sorry for him, despite the turmoil and tension swirling around them. “I love you, Daddy,” she said softly.

Tears filled his eyes, but he remained silent. That hurt even more than her mother’s rejection and her brother’s spiteful comments. Angie glanced across the table at Lou who still sported his evil grin. She made her way to the bedroom. She felt Jan’s hand on her shoulder as they walked down the hallway.

“I’ll take you to my apartment.” Jan helped Angie gather her things. “But what’ll you do after that? You still have school. How will you manage?”

“I’ll get by.” Angie hoped her voice didn’t give away her fear.

Jan hugged her. “I’ll do anything I can to help you. I love you. You’re still my little sister, and that hasn’t changed.”

Angie squeezed Jan tight. She pulled away when she felt she’d lose her composure. She wouldn’t turn into a blubbering mess in their parents’ home. She picked up some of her belongings and walked to the front door. Jan took their coats and boots out of the closet.

Angie and Jan made several trips to haul her things to Jan’s car. Maria met them at the door as they came inside for one final look to make sure they had everything. The contempt for Angie was frozen on her mother’s face like a grotesque Halloween mask.

“Don’t bother to return until you rid yourself of this sickness.” Her mother spat the words.

“Then I guess this is good-bye forever, because that’ll never happen.”

Angie didn’t see the blow coming. Her mother slapped her across the cheek with such force that Angie staggered back a step. It was a shock, not because it stung, but because her mother had never struck her before.

“Mom!” Jan screamed.

Angie rubbed the side of her face. “It’s okay, Jan. She’s made herself clear.”

Angie tried to hold her head high while opening the door and stepping out into the bitter November cold. Jan trudged beside her in the snow.

“Stay with me for the rest of the break,” Jan said as she got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive you back to Lehigh.”

“I can take a bus like I did to get home.”

“You’re not taking a bus. Leave your extra things with me until they allow you guys to get an apartment in a couple of years. I can store it for you.” She gently touched Angie’s left cheek.

Angie flinched. “Let’s just go.”

Angie stared out at the snow-shrouded scenery. She felt as cold as the winter view that drifted past her window on the drive to her sister’s place. They stopped in front of Jan’s apartment and sat, unspeaking, in the frigid car. Angie could see her breath. Still, she couldn’t move.

Jan rubbed Angie’s shoulder. “Grab your duffel bag, and we’ll worry about the rest of this in the morning. I’ll make us some coffee.”

She followed Jan inside and dropped her bag by the door. Jan tugged off her coat and took Angie’s.

“Pull those boots off. My slippers should still fit you unless your feet have grown this past semester.”

Angie sat down in the overstuffed chair by the door. She leaned over to unlace her boots. A sob rose in her throat. Through her tears, she didn’t see Jan approach, but felt her sister’s arms slip around her.

“Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Jan dropped to her knees in front of the chair. She held Angie and rocked her.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare apologize. Jesus. After what you’ve just gone through?”

Angie pulled out of the embrace.

Jan’s eyes shimmered in the lamplight. She wiped away another stray tear from Angie’s cheek. “Let me make that coffee and then maybe we can talk.”

“Okay.”

Jan left for the kitchen. Angie pulled off her boots. She rested her head on the recliner and closed her eyes. In a few minutes, the strong aroma of coffee wafted to her, and she opened her eyes. Jan stood in front of her with two mugs and offered her one.

“Thanks.” Angie took a cautious taste of the steaming brew.

Jan sat down in the chair across from her, sipped her coffee, and peered at Angie over her mug.

“I guess you’re wondering when this all started.” Angie set her cup down on the table by the chair and placed her hands in her lap, intertwining her fingers. She didn’t notice she was twiddling her thumbs until Jan’s gaze dropped to her hands.

“You don’t have to be nervous. Remember, I love you no matter what.”

“It was in high school. On the basketball team, there was—”

“Tiffany Schottheim.”

Angie jerked. “You knew?”

“I don’t think I was the only one who suspected there was something there. I noticed Mom’s reaction whenever you brought her around.”

“Do you think Mom knew then?”

It was Jan’s turn to set her cup down. She blew out a breath, causing her dark bangs to fly up off her forehead. “Who knows what she thought? She wasn’t very approving of anyone we brought home. Can you remember her liking any of my dates?”

“No, now that you mention it.” A rugged face came to Angie’s mind. “God, I think even I was in love with that Chad guy you dated.”

Jan laughed. “But do you know what Mom thought of him?”

“I wasn’t around when she talked to you.”

“She said, ‘He’s not Catholic, Janice. You need to forget about him.’ When I informed her that he was Catholic, she hopped on the fact he wasn’t Italian.”

“Do you think we can ever please her?” Angie stopped herself. “I’ll never be who she wants me to be. I don’t even know why I asked that.”

Jan crossed the room and knelt in front of her again. She held Angie’s face in her hands. “You be who you are, Angie. Love who you want to love. Like I told you, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, and that includes sending you money when I have it. You still have your full scholarship to Lehigh. Keep up your grades, and go on and live your life. Screw what Mom and Lou think.”

“And Dad?”

Jan smiled sadly and brushed her fingers through Angie’s hair. “Let me work on Dad. Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I can’t see Mom letting that happen.” Angie began crying again.

Jan hugged her. “You never know.” She rose to her feet. “Come on. Why don’t you take a hot shower, slip on your flannels, and I’ll order us a pizza.”

“On Thanksgiving?”

“Sure. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that Mario’s is open on Thanksgiving Day.”

The phone rang, but Jan made no move to get it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Angie asked.

“Nope.”

It clicked over to the answering machine after the fifth ring. “Janice, I know you’re there,” their mother said. “Don’t ignore me. Call back immediately.” The dial tone echoed in the apartment.

Jan pointed at the answering machine. “And that’s why.” She stood up and pulled Angie to her feet, then smacked her on her butt. “Come on, little sis. Shower, and I’ll order the pizza. My bunny slippers are in the bedroom. We’ll stay up late watching some of my old movies.”

Angie made it a few feet down the hall, but then stopped. “Jan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Go on before I start Casablanca without you.”

Chapter 4

New York City, Present Day

Meryl McClain stood at her office window on the forty-second floor, gazing down at the Manhattan traffic. The swirling snow made it difficult to see, but she could still make out the colorful yellow and orange taxis inching along Eighth Avenue. The forecasters predicted ten inches. One TV channel called it a late winter clipper, while another called it an early spring storm. By either definition, the snow was snarling traffic and causing delays and cancellations at the airports.

She hugged her body when a chill ran through her, even though her office thermostat was set at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. It was late and dark enough that she could make out her reflection in the glass. As always, her blonde hair was immaculate, but she wasn’t quite used to her new, shorter style. The chill had been prompted by the haunted expression that stared back at her.

Her mother’s phone call had shaken her. She’d shut her door when she saw the number on the caller ID.

“Meryl?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I thought you’d like to know your father’s condition.”

Meryl didn’t respond.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, and I made it clear to you I have no interest in his well-being.”

“He’s your father.” The desperation was clear in her mother’s voice. “Despite anything that’s happened in the past, you can’t ignore that.”

“I can’t forgive him.”

“He knows he was wrong to push you into that marriage. I thought the two of you worked through all of that. At least come to the hospital to see him.”

Meryl slammed her eyes shut when a throbbing pain shot through her temples. “Please quit asking me to do this.”

“He’s dying, Meryl.” Her mother’s voice broke.

“I can’t deal with this, Mother. I’m hanging up now.”

She’d ended the call over an hour ago and hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since. Another chill coursed down her spine.

Her father was dying, and she didn’t care.

What did that say about her? She’d heard once that the opposite of love was indifference. She didn’t love her father, and she didn’t care if he died. Her therapist would probably tell her she was healing. Then why did she feel so horrible?

The ringing phone startled her. She checked the caller ID, relieved to see her best friend’s number pop up.

“Rhonda, I’m so glad it’s you.” Meryl sat down in her leather chair and swiveled to face the window.

“Missed your best friend that much?”

Rhonda’s husky voice warmed her.

“Yes, I have.”

“Let me guess. Your mother?”

“You’re too astute, my friend.”

“Isn’t that why you keep me around?” There was a pause. “She’s still on you to reconcile with your father?”

“Yes. I’m sure I seem like a cold-hearted bitch.”

“You’ll never get any criticism from me when it comes to him. Remember, I’ve seen him in action. To me, that’s your decision to make.”

Meryl felt a sudden need to see her friend. She stood and grabbed her briefcase. She flung it onto her desk and gathered her paperwork for home. “This might sound crazy with the weather, but do you want to meet tonight for a couple of drinks?”

“Oh, what the hell. How about O’Malley’s? We can both walk there without getting ourselves killed in the process. Did you bring your trusty boots today?”

“You’re talking to a Pittsburgh gal. Do you even need to ask?”

“And you’re talking to a Tampa gal who wouldn’t know a boot if it bit her in the butt.”

“I’ll see you there in about an hour.”

“I’ll meet you at our booth in the back.”

Meryl reached behind her for the chair and eased into it. Her audible gasp surprised her.

“Meryl? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little dizzy there for a minute.”

“Are you sure you want to get together? Maybe your mom’s phone call shook you up more than you’re admitting. Why don’t you—”

“No, I’m fine. It passed. I’ll see you in about a half an hour.”

Meryl replaced the receiver. She held her head in her hands and stared at the phone before thrusting the rest of her paperwork into her leather briefcase. She switched her high heels for her boots and made her way to the elevators. The soft sound of her boots pushing into the plush carpet barely broke the silence of the hallway that lined the now-darkened New York Banner offices.

The red digits in the elevator registered her rapid descent to the lobby. The doors hissed open, and she stepped out. Her boots clacked on the tiled floor on her way to the entrance. She waved at the security guard and heard the buzz to open the secure door that led outside.

“Good night, Ms. McClain, and be safe. It’s really nasty out there.”

“Good night, Don. Thank you. You be careful when you head home, too.”

It took Meryl thirty minutes to traverse the eight blocks to O’Malley’s. She fought the harsh wind and biting snow every step of the way. Some might question her sanity in suggesting drinks on a night like this, but the walk invigorated her. She stomped the snow off her boots as she entered the bar. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the contrast between the dim bar and the blinding white outside. A hand waving in the rear of the room caught her attention.

Meryl approached the booth and returned Rhonda’s bright smile. Rhonda was wearing her typical power suit. The soft cream shell under her navy suit jacket contrasted with her beautiful mocha-colored skin. She was about a head shorter than Meryl’s five-ten height, but usually compensated by wearing Prada shoes with killer heels. Meryl often teased her about it. Rhonda would retort that the heels came in handy for self defense.

She stood to give Meryl a hug. “You look fantastic.”

“You’re so full of it. I saw my reflection in my office window before I left. I look like crap. You’re the one who looks fantastic.”

They slid in across from each other in the booth.

“Okay, you do appear a bit haggard.”

“You’re supposed to argue with me a little on that one.”

“You told me once you loved my honesty. If I recall, it was the third day in our investigative reporting class in grad school at Columbia. I think I said something about you needing to get to the bare bones in your writing, that it was too flowery.”

“You must’ve missed my dirty look when I thanked you for your constructive criticism.”

The waiter arrived at their table.

“A dry martini,” Rhonda said. “Shaken, not stirred. I’d give you my best James Bond imitation, but I’m too damn tired.”

“And for you, ma’am?” the waiter asked Meryl.

“Chivas on the rocks.”

The waiter hustled away.

“How are you really?” Rhonda asked.

“Better, now that I can talk to you.”

“So, your mother’s still trying to get you home to Pittsburgh?”

Meryl nodded.

“What’d she say when you said no?”

Meryl liked that Rhonda didn’t even question what her answer would be. “She tried the guilt thing.”

“Which didn’t work.”

“It never does.”

Meryl murmured a thank-you to the waiter when he brought their drinks. The Scotch felt smooth easing down her throat. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor and the slight burning sensation. When she opened them, Rhonda was giving her an intense look.

“Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here for you, hon. You know that, don’t you?”

Tears came to Meryl’s eyes. “I know.”

“Because I think this is more than your father ending your relationship with Angie. I’m not even sure you’re aware you’ve let it slip that you’ve been seeing your therapist more often these past few months. In the years I’ve known you, you only scheduled more appointments when something major was troubling you.”

Rhonda spoke gently, but Meryl still felt a jolt hit her body with the words.

Rhonda squeezed Meryl’s hand. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

The waiter returned. “Did you want to order anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” Meryl said. “Rhonda?”

“Maybe another martini in a few.”

Rhonda asked after he left, “How’s work? I caught your review in yesterday morning’s paper. Girl, I’m sure glad my name’s not Zach England.”

“If the man would write like he’s capable of writing, he wouldn’t find reviews like mine in his morning paper.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Do you read his books?”

“I plead guilty. I like indulging in a little debauchery.”

“There’s solid writing there under the surface. Despite all the sex and violence, the stories were good ones, until these last two. It’s almost like he’s only going through the motions.”

“You kind of pointed that out,” Rhonda said, deadpan.

“It’s my job.”

“And your first review, too. Nothing like putting it all out there from the get-go that you’re a tough broad.”

They nursed their drinks. Meryl watched the Knicks game on the plasma TV above the bar.

“Earlier, did I say something that upset you?” Rhonda said.

Meryl turned away from the TV. “What?”

“On the phone. You sounded a little shook up.”

“Oh.” Meryl stared down at the ice in her drink.

“Meryl?”

“Angie used to say that at Lehigh. You used her exact words. ‘I’ll meet you at our booth in the back.’ We’d get together some nights at the pizza parlor by the campus.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve never told you this because I never wanted to freak you out or anything.”

“You’re madly in love with me and want to whisk me away to your apartment?”

Meryl laughed. The fact that Rhonda was as straight as the Empire State Building was tall made it a totally outrageous statement. “No. It’s your voice. You sound a lot like her.”

“I do?”

“Mmm hmm. So, when you said what you did over the phone, I was twenty again.”

“Have you tried any recent searches for her?”

Meryl shook her head. “I’ve pretty much given up on that.”

They each ordered another drink. The conversation drifted to other topics.

Meryl glanced at her watch. “It’s late. I’d better get home.”

The snow had tapered off by the time they exited the bar.

“Looks like they may have been wrong about the accumulation,” Rhonda said while flipping her scarf around her neck.

Meryl gazed up past the lights to the darkened sky and blinked away the flakes that hit her eyelashes. “I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet.”

“Spoken like a true Pittsburgher.”

“You’ll be okay getting home?”

“We’re both about the same distance away from here. I think I’ll be fine. After all, it’s not the first time we’ve gone out on a night like this, right?”

“Be careful. Call me when you get there so I don’t worry.”

“Tell you what. If you don’t hear from me before the hour is up, send out the sled dogs.”

“Deal.”

They hugged and walked in opposite directions to their apartments.

Meryl tried to clear her head while maneuvering through the slushy snow, but her mind was on another trek across an icy sidewalk and the phone call that preceded it.

Chapter 5

Lehigh University, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, January 1997

“No, Father, I haven’t returned Stan Alberson’s call. I told you, with my studies, I really don’t have time to date.”

“You surely have time to at least have coffee with him. He’s expecting to hear from you.” Channing McClain’s deep baritone rumbled in her ear.

It was the third week of her sophomore spring semester and the fourth of these annoying phone calls.

Meryl bit back a sigh. If her father was anything, it was persistent. It served him well as the head of McClain Steel, and he didn’t let it stop there. He rarely, if ever, took no for an answer, especially if it involved his daughter and what he felt was in her best interest.

Not this time. Not if she could help it.

“I have to go. My creative writing class meets in forty minutes, and it’s across campus. I’ll talk to you later.”

“We’re not through discussing this.”

“Bye, Father.”

She hung up, hurried to her desk, and gathered her books into her backpack.

“Where’s that short story?” Rifling through some papers, she found it between the pages of the school newspaper. She shoved it in with her books. With her scarf wrapped around her neck, she snatched up her knit cap from the bedpost and pulled it over her head before leaving her dorm.

She dodged the icy spots on the sidewalk and attempted to keep her mind off her father and his meddling ways. Maybe this class would help. Her critique of the short story would at least be a distraction.

Meryl slowed her pace. It allowed her time to ponder why she had no interest in calling Stan—or any guy, for that matter. She’d dated in high school, but had gone out only a couple of times since starting at Lehigh. The guys she’d dated were interested in one thing, which she wasn’t willing to give up. So, she endured the tongue probes and briefly endured the fumbled groping. But it never stopped there. Once they pushed her to go further, that ended any future dates.

Her solitude became her father’s obsession. He seemed determined to match her with the perfect future husband. In Stan Alberson’s case, it had everything to do with the fact he was heir to the Alberson Shipping fortune. Meryl wouldn’t have cared if he were the damn Prince of Wales.

She stomped up the steps leading into Drown Hall and to the second floor classroom where the class met twice a week. Meryl unfurled her scarf and pulled off her cap. Running her fingers through her hair, she hoped she didn’t have a serious case of cap head. She took her customary seat in the second row of desks arranged in a semicircle and glanced around, searching out who’d written the story. It was her first critique of this particular author, Angie Cantinnini. Her gaze stopped on the dark-haired woman seated across from her in the front row.

She sure can write. And she sure is cute.

The instructor entered the room before Meryl could analyze that last thought.

Faye Evers missed the sixties by about ten years. She might have been born in that decade, but Meryl was sure she was too young to march in protests or participate in sit-ins. It didn’t mean the woman had given up the whole flower child persona, however. Her brown hair was wild and long, almost to her waist. She wore large hoop earrings and a tie-dyed skirt. Her knit shawl draped over a blouse that looked suspiciously like burlap.

“Okay, everybody, let’s settle down.” Faye perched on the edge of the desk in front of the semicircle. “Let me remind you to take note of what’s offered in the critiques of your stories.” She slid on her reading glasses that hung from a thin gold chain around her neck and scanned her legal pad. “We begin today with Kim Calbers’s story about living in rural West Virginia. Where’s John Franklin?”

A beefy redhead raised his hand.

“We’ll let you give your critique first.”

While John droned on, Meryl stole multiple, and she hoped furtive, glances at Angie. Her hair was short and feathered away from her face. She wore a Lehigh sweatshirt with “Women’s Softball” scrawled across the front, and faded jeans. Her left knee poked through a hole partially covered by thin white denim strips. Slightly disheveled, she seemed at ease with her appearance. She flipped a red pencil on the tablet of paper on her desk, keeping her head down during three more critiques.

“Now, let’s discuss Angie Cantinnini’s story, ‘A Thanksgiving Day Surprise,’ about a young woman coming out to her family on the holiday.”

The pencil flipping stopped, and Angie straightened in her chair.

“Brett Mooreland? Give us your assessment.”

Meryl continued observing Angie while Brett offered up an uncomfortable homophobic response to the story. Angie’s knuckles whitened as they gripped the pencil. Meryl was sure it would snap at any moment. Angie looked alternately from Brett to the eraser tip and back to Brett until he finished his harsh critique.

Idiot.

A cocky grin creased his lips, but the grin faltered, and his predatory expression slid from his face after he caught Meryl’s glare. He had flirted with her during the course, and she’d ignored him.

“Next up is Meryl McClain. What did you think, Meryl?” Meryl thought Faye’s expression was pleading with her for compassion.

Meryl met Angie’s eyes and offered her a reassuring smile before she began her critique.

“First, I think Angie’s writing is phenomenal.” She glanced over again at Angie and noticed that she’d relaxed in her chair.

“The story flowed and held my attention. The dialogue was crisp throughout. She did a good job of relaying the tension in the household, to the point where I felt like an intruder at a family dispute. When I finished reading the story, I felt emotionally drained. I sympathized with the main character. I can’t imagine the pain she went through…” Meryl stopped, then started again. “I mean, I thought Angie conveyed the main character’s pain very well.”

Meryl gave Angie another slight smile when she finished while Faye went on to the next student’s critique. Thankfully, it too was a positive review.

Faye took her turn commenting on Angie’s work. She reaffirmed everything Meryl had said about the story and added a few more compliments. “Angie, I don’t mean to single you out, but I can see you’re a gifted writer. I hope this is something you’ll pursue after graduation, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Angie ducked her head. “I hope to.”

“Good. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted.”

Angie kept her face averted and renewed her fascination with her pencil.

The second thirty minutes of the class seemed to drag. Faye stood up from her perch and reminded them of next week’s exam.

“Remember, I’m a stickler for precise grammar, people,” she said over the shuffling of papers and squeaking of chairs. “If you have any questions before Tuesday, don’t hesitate to call me at my campus office.”

Meryl approached Angie from behind while Angie pushed her English book into her backpack. Meryl spoke as Angie hefted the backpack onto her shoulder.

“Angie?”

Angie raised her head. “Uh… hi.”

“I admire your work. Faye’s right. I can tell already that you’re the best in the class.”

Angie’s cheeks reddened.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

Meryl glanced at the door and then at Angie. “I’d better take off. I need to get a jump on a term paper that’s due in a couple of weeks. And I know me. If I procrastinate, I’ll…” She stopped. “I’m sure you have a class to get to. I only wanted to tell you I love your writing. I’ll see you next week.”

Meryl waited a half beat longer, but Angie didn’t offer any more to the conversation, so she moved toward the door.

“Meryl.”

Meryl turned around.

“Would you mind if I walk with you? I thought we could talk about next week’s exam. I don’t know where you live, and I’m not sure you want the company, but—”

Meryl beamed. “I’d love it if you walked with me. My research material for the term paper’s in my dorm room.”

They left Drown Hall, strolling side by side. Angie moved out of the way of a threesome engrossed in their conversation and oblivious to the space they took up on the sidewalk. She stumbled into Meryl.

Meryl grabbed her elbow and held her upright. “Watch where you’re walking,” Meryl shouted after the three, who paid her no attention. “Do you think you own the sidewalk?”

“Thanks.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t see you.” Meryl frowned at the retreating students. She turned back to Angie. “What’s that funny smile for?”

“Nothing. Thank you for defending me.”

“I thought they were rude,” Meryl said in a soft voice.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. So, where are you from?’

“Pittsburgh. And you?”

“Not too far from there. Youngstown.”

“That’s not very far at all.”

“Different state, but right up the road. What’s your major?”

Meryl glanced over, saw Angie’s wide smile, and her stomach fluttered. She took a moment to catch her breath. “Journalism. I’m taking the creative writing class to get some practice at writing anything and everything. And yours?”

“I’m majoring in English, with a concentration in creative writing. A lot of students go on to teach, but I’d like to make it as an author.”

“I think you’ll do just fine.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m sure I’ll be doing something entirely different for a while after I graduate.”

“It might take you a couple of years, but there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll make it.”

Angie lowered her head.

“I’ve embarrassed you again,” Meryl said. “I have to stop doing that.”

“I’m not used to the praise, I guess. The only other person who’s read my writing and complimented me on it is my sister.”

“What about your parents?”

Angie’s steps faltered.

“Are you all right?” Meryl asked with concern.

“Yeah,” Angie said in a hushed voice. “My parents and I don’t have the best of relationships.”

Meryl wondered whether Angie’s short story was autobiographical. She slowed to a stop and placed her hand on Angie’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Me, too,” Angie replied.

Meryl’s heart pounded in her ears as she gazed into Angie’s dark brown eyes. God, what’s wrong with me?

Meryl ended the moment by resuming her walk down the sidewalk. Angie fell in beside her. “What would you like to know about me?” Meryl asked.

“What about your family? Do you get along?”

“My family.” Meryl listened to the crunching of their boots in the snow. “Where to begin? I’m an only child. I get along well with my mother. My father…”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

“No. I do. My father likes to run my life, or at least likes to try. And he’s someone who’s used to hearing ‘yes’ from everyone around him. It starts with his job, but then he thinks that should carry over into his family life.”

“What’s he do?”

“Have you heard of McClain Steel in Pittsburgh?”

“Yes. We studied it in my high school economics class because of the McClain Mill in Youngstown. It was fascinating how Channing McClain kept his company going after the downturn in steel use in the eighties. He shifted into manufacturing stainless steel and titanium without missing a beat.” Angie came to a halt. “Wait. Isn’t your last name McClain?”

Meryl nodded.

“And you’re from Pittsburgh?”

“Yes.”

“Your father is…”

“Channing McClain. The guy you’re gushing about.”

“Then that means you’re…” Angie seemed embarrassed with her reaction. “I’ve never, well, I’ve never. Shit. God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“No. It isn’t. I’m acting like an idiot.”

Meryl stared at her and made a decision. “You know what? I’m cold. Why don’t you come up to my dorm room? I have a microwave. We’ll have some hot chocolate while we talk about next week’s test. How does that sound?”

“I could stand some hot chocolate.”

Meryl felt relief and something else. The feeling had visited her at rare moments in her life. She’d grabbed hold of it when it arose, praying it wouldn’t slip through her fingers. But the feeling always dissolved, leaving her cold and alone. As they drew closer to her dorm, the long-remembered sensation settled on Meryl like a warm blanket.

Hope.

Chapter 6

Key West, Present Day

Angie stayed out on the water until late Tuesday afternoon, trying to get out of her funk. She docked her boat and finished the docking tasks. She was about to walk away, but then jumped back on board to retrieve the Banner review. She tore it from the paper and shoved it in a side pocket of her cargo shorts. She strolled along the wharf, stopped to watch the boats chugging into shore with the day’s catch, and waved at the fishermen she knew.

A brunette with a ponytail shouted to her and leapt onto the dock to tie up her boat. “What are you doing wandering around here?” the woman asked.

“Hi, Pam. Just got in, myself. How’d it go out there?” Angie approached the charter boat and helped her ex secure the ropes. Pam seemed to stay bent over a little longer than necessary. Angie admired her tight butt in her worn jeans.

Pam stood up. “Not bad.” She gestured to her catch. “It’ll get a little better in a few weeks when the waters warm up some.”

Angie said hello to the guys on Pam’s crew and to the sunburned tourists as they stepped off the boat.

Pam walked over and brushed the bangs off Angie’s forehead. It was an intimate gesture that unearthed memories of another woman and another time, but Angie didn’t pull away. They’d been together for two years and parted as friends. Pam had wanted more from Angie than she could give. But Angie hadn’t been able to offer much of her heart to any woman since Meryl.

“You need a haircut.”

“I’ve been meaning to get over to Giorgio’s, but haven’t taken the time.”

Pam stared at her. “I still miss you.”

Angie looked out at the water—anywhere but at those sad brown eyes. Yes, they were friends, but it didn’t mean that she hadn’t caused Pam pain. “I know.”

Pam touched Angie’s arm. “Ignore me. I had a long day out there. I worked my ass off for what we did catch, and I’m tired. When I’m tired, I get a little sentimental.” The corner of her mouth crooked up.

“Don’t apologize. Please.”

“Will I see you later at the CC? I know you like to go there Tuesday nights to watch Sage’s drag show.”

The “CC” was the Cozy Conch. Angie had bought the bar six years ago on a whim two years after she’d moved to Key West. It was a hobby for her, something separate from her writing—and it was a source of income to explain how she could afford to live where she lived.

“Yeah, I should be there around eight,” Angie said.

“I’ll go home and shower to wash off this wonderful smell. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I’ll buy you a drink.”

Rather than go home, Angie called her best friend, Ev, to invite her to meet for coffee. Ev answered the phone on the second ring.

“Hello?” Ev’s voice came across as breathy and exasperated.

“Rough day?”

“You have no idea. Being the only woman in a house full of boys isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes. And I emphasize boys.”

“I take it Harold’s causing you problems, too?”

“He’s like a teenager. Right now, he’s trying to beat Gregory on some PlayStation game called Mountain of Doom or Doomsday or some crap like that. I was about to fix dinner. They’ll be lucky if they get peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“Give the guy a little break, Ev. He works long hours at the Naval Station.”

“Sure. I’ll do that.” The sarcasm came through loud and clear. “This sounds horrible, but I’m so glad he’s working a twelve-hour shift tomorrow.”

Angie chuckled. “It’s not horrible if you need the break from all the testosterone in the house.”

“I hope you’re calling for our sometimes-regular Tuesday afternoon coffee chat.”

“I am. Why don’t you swing by Joe Joe’s and pick me up a cappuccino and anything your heart desires. I’ll reimburse you.”

“I hear seagulls screaming in the background. Are you at the docks?”

“Yes. Not too far from Pam’s boat. You know where her slip is, right?”

“I’ll pop a frozen pizza in the oven for these guys and be there in twenty minutes, tops.”

Angie shut her phone and took a seat on a nearby bench. She stretched her arms across the back, tilted her head, and held her face to the late afternoon sun. She was nearly dozing off when Ev’s resonant voice jolted her more fully awake.

“Must be tough being a rich author.”

Angie sat up, smiling at Ev’s teasing tone. “Sure as hell is.”

She did tell select others that she wrote novels, just not the complete truth about her pseudonym. Ev, Jan, and Sally were the only ones besides her publisher who knew she published under “Zach England.”

Ev handed her the cappuccino. Angie reached into the side pocket of her cargo shorts for her wallet.

“If you try to give me money, I’m taking my double mint latte back home to my boys. And you know how much it pains me to say that.”

Angie snapped the pocket. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ev took a seat next to her. At five-two, Ev was two inches shorter than Angie. Her bronzed skin and high cheekbones spoke of her Cherokee ancestry. She had liquid black eyes that seemed to go right through a person, almost as if she could read every thought.

Angie tested the cappuccino and decided to let it cool. She set it beside her on the bench.

“I see you’ve been working on that dark tan of yours,” Ev said.

“Guess so.”

Ev frowned. “You sound like you’ve lost your best friend, but that’s impossible since that’s me. What’s got you so pensive?” Ev turned to face Angie and tucked one jean-clad leg under her.

Angie pulled out the Banner review from her pocket and handed it to Ev.

Ev set her coffee down between them on the bench and took the clipping from Angie. She read the piece and then returned it.

“Hey, you can’t let this get you down. It’s only one review. Is there something more? Because you usually don’t let reviews bother you.”

Angie squirmed under Ev’s direct gaze that prickled her skin.

“Did I ever tell you about that girl in college?”

“You might have. Remind me.”

Angie recounted her relationship with Meryl and the heartbreak that followed. She held up the review. “This is her byline.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” Angie stuck the review back in her pocket, picked up her cappuccino, and took a sip. “Isn’t it a small world?” She snorted. “That always seemed like a stupid saying… until now.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. Isn’t this what a writer calls irony?”

“Very funny, Ev, but I guess you could say that.”

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ pretty much sums it up.”

“What does your agent say about the review?”

“There were a lot of ‘fucks’ mixed in with ‘it’s okay’ and ‘don’t worry, Angie.’”

“Leave it up to Sally to make it all better.”

“She of course has no idea who this reviewer is, and I sure as hell won’t tell her.”

“I wouldn’t think you would. All right. I’ll be your shrink for the day. How does this make you feel?”

“It brings back a lot of stuff for me.”

Ev watched Angie with an expectant look.

Angie turned away from her and stared out at the blue-green water that surrounded Key West. The color would match Meryl’s eyes perfectly.

“You’re somewhere far away,” Ev said.

Angie stood up and carried her cup to a nearby trash can. The coffee had lost its flavor. She tossed it in the bin and stood with her back to Ev.

“Have you kept up with her at all?” Ev asked.

“Not too much. I did at first, but then it was too painful. She got married the summer after graduation.” A vision of Meryl in her wedding dress passed through Angie’s mind, but she pushed it out. “I found out later the marriage ended after only two years. The last I heard, she was still teaching at Columbia’s School of Journalism, but her Banner bio said she was a book reviewer at a New York magazine before moving on to the Banner.” She returned to the bench. “And now this review.”

Ev patted the bench, and Angie took a seat.

“I’ve never asked too much about your love life, Angie. I watched as you and Pam grew apart. I should say I watched as you pulled away from her.”

Angie snapped her head around.

Ev smiled sadly. “You know it’s true.”

Angie’s eyes welled with tears. “I tried, Ev. I’d dated other women, but with Pam, I really tried. I couldn’t let Meryl go. Hell, I still can’t.”

“Quit beating yourself up. Pam’s a big girl, and so are you. And from what I’ve seen, at least you parted as friends.”

“You’re right. We’re friends, but I’ve hurt her and I hate myself for that.” Angie swiped at the tears that overflowed down her cheeks.

“I’ve never told you this, mainly because Pam told it to me in confidence. But I’m going to tell you because I think you need to hear it. Pam said she didn’t fault you in the breakup. She said she thought you were still in love with someone else, someone she couldn’t compete with, and she felt she was living with a shell of a lover. She asked me to keep watch over you because she loved you and cared about what you were going through.”

Angie cried harder.

“She told me she only hoped that whoever had broken your heart would somehow make it right. She said she wasn’t trying to be a martyr. But she cared enough about you to want to see you happy because she knew you wished her the same. Have you thought about contacting Meryl after reading this review? I mean, now you know exactly where she is.”

Angie dried her tears with her fingers. “Like I told you, I knew where she was before at Columbia. It hurt too damn much.”

“And now?”

“What am I supposed to do? Call her up and say, ‘Hey, you really nailed me in your review?’” Angie stopped herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Weariness descended on Angie, thinking about Sunday’s shock. “I think I’ll take off for home.” She rose from the bench. “Lying in my hammock sounds like a wonderful idea right about now.”

Ev stood and threw her cup in the trash can. She gave Angie a long hug. “Call me if you need to talk.”

“Thanks, Ev.”

Angie watched Ev walk away and started for home on foot, glad she’d left her old VW Beetle parked in her driveway. She did a lot of walking and jogging since the island was so small. Today was no different.

She opened the gate of the white picket fence in front of her renovated cottage. “Restored” was a better word. The previous owner had tried to adhere to the home styles of the 1930s and had sanded and varnished the pine floors. It was a two-bedroom with an airy living room, vaulted ceilings, and crown molding, all painted in white. One of the selling points for Angie had been a fireplace with an ornate mantle. It reminded her a little of home. Thank goodness the previous owner had put in an updated kitchen with granite counters and stainless steel appliances. The Jacuzzi in the patio area in the backyard added a modern touch to the home.

She’d lived in the apartment over the bar for five years, before she decided it was time to make her Key West residency permanent by purchasing a home. One of her friends was a real estate agent who knew this cottage was on the market. She tried to prepare Angie for the high price, but half-a-million dollars still shocked her. Unpretentious. Yeah. And a yacht, too.

Angie picked up her mail from the box and unlocked the front door. She turned on the overhead fan in the living room, which sat to the left of the front door. Skimming through the assortment in her hand, she spotted a postcard from her sister.

Jan, her husband, Rick, and their two kids had traveled to the Cantinnini family home in San Mango d’Aquino, Italy, a gorgeous town located in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. Angie had visited once while she was in high school and hadn’t been back since. She wasn’t sure whether she’d be accepted there following her parents’ rejection, and she didn’t want to risk any further heartbreak from her family—even from her distant relatives in Italy.

Angie read Jan’s last line on the postcard and laughed: “I would say ‘wish you were here,’ but it wouldn’t annoy you as much as it would others, and what fun is there in that?”

On her way to the backyard patio, she considered forgoing the hammock, stripping, and sinking down into the Jacuzzi. But the hammock between the two palm trees beckoned to her. She slid into the netting and folded her hands behind her head. She took in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax her mind, watching the palm fronds above her sway with each soft ocean breeze. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the emotional exhaustion pressing down on her.

Chapter 7

Lehigh University, Fall 1997

“I’ll meet you at our booth in the back.” Angie struggled to pull on her socks while balancing the telephone receiver on her shoulder.

“I can be there in about fifteen minutes,” Meryl said on the other end of the line. “Is that okay for you?”

“Yup. See you there.”

Angie hung up the phone and then stared at it.

“Does it do tricks?” Jacqueline, one of her two roommates at the house they rented together, wandered past with a bowl of popcorn. Marissa, the other roommate, was working at the movie theater that night. Jacqueline put a video in the VCR and threw herself on the couch in front of the TV.

“Huh?”

“The phone. If you stare at it long enough, does it turn somersaults or something?”

“Funny.”

Jacqueline became engrossed in Men in Black for what had to be at least the fifth time in the past couple of weeks.

“Don’t you ever get tired of Will Smith?”

“He’s so fine. Do you think I’d ever get tired of him?” Jacqueline never looked away from the TV.

Angie put on her sneakers, grabbed her jacket, and left for the pizza parlor.

A giddy feeling bubbled up inside Angie when she saw Meryl in the back booth. Meryl had her head buried in a book and was chewing on the end of a ballpoint pen, oblivious to Angie drawing nearer. Angie observed her in that unguarded moment, and Meryl raised her head and smiled at her.

Angie felt like the sun had burst through a dark cloud on the stormiest day of the year. She wanted Meryl to look at her that way forever.

“What took you so long?” Meryl asked in a teasing tone.

“Remember, you live a lot closer to this place than I do.” Angie took off her jacket and sat down opposite her in the booth.

“I’m just giving you a hard time. I took the liberty to order our usual. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

They gazed at each other until Meryl began fiddling with her straw wrapper.

“Can I ask you something, Ange?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“The short story last semester in Ms. Evers’s class. I was wondering, was that about you and your family?” Meryl’s face flushed. “You can tell me to mind my own business,” she said in a rush.

Angie searched Meryl’s eyes and saw only genuine interest with no hint of judgment.

“Yeah. That was about me and my family.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“When did you realize you were gay? And how… well…”

“How’d I know?”

Meryl nodded, staring at the balled-up straw wrapper in front of her.

“I knew my sophomore year in high school. I fell for this girl on the basketball team. As to how I knew, I just did. Guys never meant anything to me other than someone to talk sports or shoot hoops with, or play tackle football. How’d you know you were straight?”

Meryl tore the twisted-up wrapper in half and raised her head. Her face had reddened, and Angie could see the pulse in her throat beating rapidly.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Not sure of—”

“One medium pan pizza, sausage, pepperoni, extra cheese?”

The pimply faced server stood beside the table awaiting their reply.

“Yes.” Angie barely kept from snapping at him for the interruption. “Could you please bring me a Coke and a refill on hers?”

She looked at Meryl. “You’re not sure how you know you’re straight?”

“No,” Meryl answered, her voice almost a whisper. “I’m not sure anymore if I’m straight.”

“What?” Angie tried to slow her breathing.

“I mean, I’m not sure I was ever straight.” Meryl paused while the server brought their Cokes. “I think about how I never felt anything for the boys I dated. I realize now I only did what was expected of me by dating them.”

“Was there anyone steady in high school?” Angie fought to sound calm despite the knot that had formed in her stomach.

“There was. You have to remember my father’s preoccupation with everything I did. We had to maintain appearances. He insisted his daughter date the best boy in school.”

“Is your dad that controlling?”

“Yes. He learned it from his mother.” Meryl’s expression grew troubled.

“Like mother, like son?”

“Sometimes I think she’s even worse than he is. She still lives with us. Thank God the house is big enough that I can avoid her as much as possible. It probably sounds unkind talking about my grandmother like that, but…” Meryl bit her lower lip, enough that Angie thought it might start bleeding.

Angie grabbed Meryl’s hand.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re here with me now.”

Her words seemed to bring Meryl back to the present.

“You asked about my father. My father’s controlled everything about me since I was a little girl, from my preschool on up to the prep school he chose for me when I wanted to attend public school. I wanted to be normal, like other kids, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She paused, as if to recall everything else she didn’t like about her father. “He picked the dresses I wore to school, who I dated, when I dated. He insisted I date the quarterback, even though I detested him. I knew what he was like, but my dad wouldn’t listen. He finally believed me when I came home one night with my blouse torn and bruises on my wrists.”

“Jesus, Meryl, he didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t rape me. But it wasn’t from lack of trying. I was able to knee him in the groin and get out of the car fast. A carload of my friends happened to be driving by, and I caught a ride back home with them.”

Angie’s blood boiled thinking about what had happened to Meryl, but especially that her dad insisted she date this brute. “What did your dad do?”

“He did what he always does. He took care of it. Farley Preston was out of that prep school so fast, I’m sure his head’s still spinning. He had a scholarship to the University of Pittsburgh, but my dad took care of that, too. The last I heard, he was quarterback at a small college in upstate New York.”

Angie struggled to understand the family dynamics of the McClain household, but figured she couldn’t say much, considering how her own family had treated her.

“The pizza’s getting cold,” she said. “Would you like to take it over to my place? We could heat it up in the microwave and watch a video.”

“Or we could talk.”

Meryl’s face held a sadness that made Angie ache. “We can do whatever you want.”

They entered the house. Jacqueline was still ensconced on the couch. Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith were in the throes of battling the giant bug at the end of the movie.

“Gee, I wonder if they’re going to get him,” Angie said.

“Oh, shut up, Cantinnini. I need some kind of outlet from my classes. Of course it doesn’t hurt that my Will baby’s in it.”

“You remember Meryl, right?”

“Yes, I do. Good seeing you again, Meryl.” Jacqueline’s eyes remained riveted on the set.

Angie gestured for Meryl to follow her into the kitchen. She grabbed two clean plates from the dishwasher—at least she hoped they were clean. The three roommates didn’t have much dinnerware or silverware, so they’d pledged to use the dishwasher as often as necessary.

She put the pizza on the plates and heated them in the microwave.

“Want a Coke or something?”

“A Coke sounds good.”

They picked up their drinks and pizza and started for Angie’s bedroom. She stopped short. Meryl bumped into her from behind.

“Sorry, but I thought I’d better ask first. Is it okay if we watch a movie in the bedroom? I mean, normally we could watch it out there”—Angie pointed toward the living room with her Coke—”but Jacqueline will probably watch that damn thing again. If it’s a problem—”

“It’s okay, Angie.”

They passed Jacqueline’s and Marissa’s rooms on their way to Angie’s at the end of the hall. She was glad she’d cleaned her room that morning. She’d have hated for Meryl to see books and clothes strewn across the floor.

“You can have the bed if you like,” Angie said. “I’ll take the chair.” She put her plate and drink down and scanned her video collection in the bookshelf while Meryl eased onto the bed and braced her back against the headboard. “What do you feel like watching?” She didn’t get a response, so she turned to look at Meryl.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish our conversation from earlier.”

“Oh.” Angie swallowed. “Okay.”

“I mean if it’s all right with you.” Meryl’s face clouded over.

“It’s fine. I’m not sure where we left off.” Angie sat on the chair.

“I think I was in the process of telling you I don’t know if I’m straight.”

“Have you ever had any feelings toward women?”

“No.”

Angie’s heart sank.

“Not until now.” Meryl stared at Angie. “Not until I met you.”

Angie willed herself not to jump up and down with joy. Instead, she took a deep breath and thought before speaking. “Meryl, we’ve become good friends these past few months. Maybe things have been happening too fast. You might be confused—”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Meryl said sharply.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Meryl set her plate aside. “No, I should be the one apologizing. It’s that my father and grandmother always insist on telling me how I feel. When it seemed like you were doing it, too, I reacted out of habit.”

Meryl scooted so that her legs were off the end of the bed, and she sat only a few feet away from Angie. “What I feel for you is more than what I feel for a friend. Much more. It scares me. But at the same time, I don’t want to let it go. I don’t want to let you go.”

Angie leaned forward. She hadn’t trusted herself to say how she was feeling or how she felt about Meryl from the day she first met her, but it was time for honesty.

Meryl brushed Angie’s bangs out of her eyes.

“You need a haircut,” Meryl said with a smile.

Angie captured her hand.

“How do you feel about me?” Meryl asked.

Angie drew Meryl’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm. “I think I fell for you the first day I saw you.”

Meryl’s eyes filled with tears. “You did?”

“But it doesn’t mean you have to return the feeling, Meryl. It’s my issue.”

“You didn’t mean what you just said?”

“No, no, I do.”

“I don’t understand, then.”

Angie ran her thumb along Meryl’s chin. It was so soft. “I don’t want you jumping into something you’d regret later. I don’t want either of us to be hurt.”

Meryl took hold of Angie’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I’d never hurt you.” Her voice broke.

“Oh, Meryl…”

“Could you kiss me? I mean… would you?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Please?”

That single softly spoken word was Angie’s undoing. She knelt down on the floor in front of Meryl and questioned her one last time with a look before leaning forward and placing the gentlest of kisses on her lips.

With that touch, Angie lost her heart.

She pulled away, and Meryl’s eyes fluttered open.

“Can we do that again?” Meryl asked.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She brought her lips to Angie’s and ran her tongue along Angie’s lower lip. Angie stifled a moan, but opened her mouth to allow Meryl entrance. This time Angie did moan when their tongues touched. It was everything she imagined and more. She pressed closer to Meryl, lost in the dizzying sensation of falling… and falling.

Meryl ended the kiss. She pressed her forehead against Angie’s. “Wow,” she said with a smile. “That’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

Angie returned the smile. She wanted to pump her fist in the air, but remained on her knees.

“How about that movie now?” Meryl asked.

“Whatever you want to watch.”

They rose and walked to the bookshelf.

“You have Somewhere in Time. I love that movie.”

“It’s one of my favorites. I was just a kid when it came out, but one of the video clerks recommended it, and I fell in love with it.” Angie took the movie out of the box. “I’m holding out, but I haven’t been able to give up my videos yet for DVDs.”

“Videos are fine.” Meryl settled onto the bed again.

Angie switched off the light and started the movie. She turned to find Meryl holding out her hand.

“Will you join me?”

Angie sidled up next to Meryl. They sat against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder. Meryl kept hold of Angie’s hand as the opening scene played.

The old woman at Christopher Reeve’s party walked through his group of friends. She grasped Reeve’s shoulder and then held up the antique watch for him to take. She folded his hand shut, looking up at him with a haunted expression.

“Come back to me…”

The movie ended. They still were sitting on the bed, sniffling when Reeve rejoined Jane Seymour’s character in the afterlife. Angie hit the Stop button on the VCR.

Meryl wiped her cheeks. “No matter how many times I see that movie, I cry.”

Angie nodded. She’d tried to hold back her tears, but as always, lost the battle.

“It’s nice to know you’re as sentimental and romantic as I am.” Meryl used her thumb to catch a tear trailing down Angie’s cheek.

The glow from the TV screen cast Meryl’s face in a soft white light.

“It’s late. I have to get up early for my job at the bookstore,” Angie said. “I should probably walk you back to your dorm.”

“I don’t want to go.”

Angie’s pulse quickened. “Won’t you get in trouble for not making it in tonight?”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t care?” Meryl asked. “Can I stay with you tonight? I mean sleep with you. That’s all. Nothing more than sleeping.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” Angie left the bed to get a pajama shirt that was two sizes too big on her. “Here, why don’t you sleep in this? I’ll change in the bathroom. You can undress while I’m gone.”

Angie returned to the bedroom dressed in a baggy Lehigh T-shirt and boxers. Meryl had covered herself with the quilt.

“You wear the school colors well. Have I ever told you that?” Meryl said.

Angie hoped the darkened room shielded her blush. “Thanks,” she murmured. She climbed under the quilt.

“If I lay on my side, will you hold me?” Meryl asked. “No one’s ever done that for me.”

Meryl rolled to her right side. Angie brought her left arm across Meryl’s body, careful to avoid Meryl’s breasts.

Meryl tugged Angie’s arm closer and sighed. “Perfect.” Her shallow breath brushed the hairs of Angie’s arm.

How can she sleep? I feel like every cell in my body is about to rupture from the most wonderful sensation I’ve ever known. But Angie eventually drifted off and joined Meryl in sleep.

“No! No!”

Angie jerked awake. Disoriented, she had to think about who was in her arms.

“No!” Meryl cried out again.

“Meryl.” Angie gently shook her. “Meryl, wake up.”

Meryl’s whole body shook. She bolted upright. Angie hurried to do the same.

“It’s okay. You were having a bad dream,” Angie said. She put her arm around Meryl and pulled her close. “I’m here with you.”

Meryl pressed her face against Angie’s chest. Her breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Do you remember the dream? It sounded like you were in pain.”

“No,” Meryl said. “I only know I was scared.” She was still shaking.

Angie stroked Meryl’s hair with her free hand. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Meryl kept her face against Angie’s chest. Eventually, Meryl relaxed. Angie moved down in the bed and pulled Meryl with her, holding her in her arms.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Angie whispered.

Chapter 8

New York City, Present Day

“When did you first feel safe, Meryl?” Robert, Meryl’s therapist, took a sip from his mug and placed it on the table between them. Her weekly sessions with him were helping, but still weren’t providing her the quick relief that she’d hoped for.

She sighed, recalling the feeling of security with Angie’s arm wrapped around her waist.

“With Angie.”

“How did she make you feel safe?”

“We watched a movie in her bedroom, and afterwards, I didn’t want to leave. We slept together that night for the first time. And I really mean sleep. She lay behind me and put her arm around my waist. I pulled her closer, and I felt then that no one could hurt me.”

Robert placed his fingers together, creating a steeple, and brought the index fingers to his mouth. He pursed his lips.

Meryl hated that look. She was barely able to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Here came the question out of left field…

“That’s interesting you put it that way. Who did you feel could hurt you?”

“We now know who that person was, but I had no idea then.”

“And this is when the dreams began?”

“Yes, that night, if I recall. Why are you asking me this? We’ve already gone over everything.”

“No. We established that you had to feel safe for your memories to break through. These past few months, you’ve been able to do that. But you hadn’t told me when you felt safe for the first time.”

Meryl stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the parking lot below. She watched while a woman struggled to put a toddler in a car seat.

“Angie comforted me that night. She woke me up when I cried out in my sleep. I couldn’t remember why, only that I was cold with fear.”

Robert didn’t respond. Meryl knew from experience he would let her talk, exorcizing whatever demons lay buried in her psyche.

“Almost from the day I met her, I felt I could trust her. But that night, when she pulled me close and I fell asleep again in her arms, it all clicked into place. She was the one. I was barely twenty, but I just knew. I only wish…”

“You only wish…”

She turned around to face him.

“I only wish I’d had the courage to stand up to my father. You don’t know how many nights I’ve lain awake wondering where she is, what’s she’s doing, who she’s with.” Her voice cracked. “Damn it.” She returned to the couch.

“We’ve talked about why you’ve been able to piece it all together.” Robert reached behind him for the tissue box. He held it out for Meryl to take one. “We’ve gone at your pace. I may have suspected things, but you had to come to this on your own.”

“Funny it had to take me hearing my father had pancreatic cancer to find out the truth about my past.” Meryl dabbed at her eyes.

“It’s unfortunate, but it was the trigger.”

“I wish none of this were true.”

“I know, Meryl.”

It was this kindness in Robert’s voice that kept her returning each week.

“I feel bad for my mother. None of this is her fault.”

“Have you given any more thought about talking to her?”

Meryl’s insides clenched at the possibility.

“I can’t. I know I should. She needs to understand why I’m not there in Pittsburgh and that it has nothing to do with the marriage fiasco. But I can’t.”

“Have the dreams gotten any better?”

“I’ve had more besides the one very vivid one. I dream about that house almost every night. There might be different people in the dreams who were unconnected with me then, but it’s still that damn house in every dream. And locks. The locks that appeared in the initial dreams show up sometimes.”

“We’ve talked about prescription antidepressants. I can schedule an appointment for you to see Dr. Lang for that. The medication could help.”

“I know drugs can be helpful, but I want to get through this on my own, if I can. I want to work through the dreams as much as possible. Then, if I need antidepressants later, I’ll take them.”

“Fair enough. We’re out of time for this session. Let me get my book, and I’ll see what’s available for you next week.” He left the room.

Meryl laid her head back against the cushion of the couch. “God, this sucks.”

Robert reentered the room. Meryl pulled a check from her purse and handed it to him. He flipped a page in his appointment book.

“Is next Wednesday at seven good for you?”

“Yes. And thanks again for seeing me so late for these appointments.”

“It’s never an issue for me.”

“You need to learn how to accept a thank-you, Robert.”

He chuckled as he scribbled the date on the card.

Meryl unlocked the door to her loft apartment. Malachi, her eight-year-old tabby, hopped down from his place on the cat perch at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street and hurried to greet her. He weaved in and out of her legs as she set her briefcase on the couch.

“I know, I know, big guy. These late appointments are annoying, aren’t they?”

He meowed in obvious agreement. He jumped up on the couch, sat back, and raised one paw in the air.

“You’re too damn cute.” She reached down and lifted him up into her arms. He assumed his favorite position: his front legs draped over her left shoulder while she cradled his butt with one hand and stroked his neck with the other. “Can we say ‘spoiled’?”

He answered her with a harsher meow, this time as if to scold her.

“Let me give you my undivided attention. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t.” She sat down and held his face next to hers, rubbing against his cheek as a mother cat would her young. His purring, which had begun when she started stroking his neck, intensified.

“Do you know how much I love you?” What she dubbed his “Geiger counter” kicked in, and his purrs turned into loud clicks. Meryl buried her face into his fur. Without warning, the emotion she’d held in check since she left Robert’s office poured out of her. She sobbed while rocking Malachi in her arms, giving in to the pain that lay buried deep inside.

After a few minutes, she pulled her face away. Malachi ran his rough tongue over her cheeks to catch the tears.

“Your mom’s a mess, huh?” Meryl sniffed.

He jumped down and swished away with his tail in the air.

“Oh, you just realized you’re pissed at me for neglecting you?”

In answer, he walked over to his dish, sat down, and glowered at her.

“Food. God forbid I’d forget to feed you.”

Meryl went to the cabinet to scoop out his meal. He ate ravenously, causing little pieces of food to push out over the edge of the bowl and scatter onto the floor.

“Give me a break. It’s not like you’re wasting away.”

She kicked off her shoes on the way to the bedroom. After stripping down, she stepped into the shower.

Dousing her head under the spray, she let the pulsing stream run down her back. She rolled her shoulders and tried to relieve the knotted tension. As she often did when she got home, she replayed her session with Robert in her mind.

“Angie.” Meryl said the name reverently, almost like the opening of a prayer.

Lehigh University, Fall 1997

The night spent sleeping together began a new stage of intimacy between Meryl and Angie. When alone, they held hands, caressed each other’s face, and shared kisses. Meryl sensed she was on a precipice, but she wasn’t frightened. If she chose to take the next step, she felt she’d free-fall into a new life. And as long as Angie was there to catch her, she knew it would be okay.

One autumn evening, they strolled under the overhanging branches of the trees that lined the campus streets. They walked close, their shoulders brushing together with each step. Meryl longed to take hold of Angie’s hand, but seeing the other nearby students, thought better of it. The cool night air vibrated with the soothing, hypnotic song of the crickets. Meryl shivered. Angie shrugged off her Lehigh Mountain Hawks jacket and placed it around Meryl’s shoulders.

“Why don’t we go to my place and get warm?” Angie asked.

They walked several blocks to the off-campus house. Angie opened the door for Meryl.

“Jacqueline and Marissa went to visit their families for the weekend. We have the place to ourselves.” Angie walked to the thermostat. “Damn. I can’t believe they left it way down at sixty-four. It won’t take long for it to heat up.”

Meryl’s heart skipped a beat when she realized they were alone.

Angie turned around, and her dark eyes searched Meryl’s.

“I don’t know what to do with these feelings,” Meryl whispered.

“I want you to be sure, Meryl.”

Meryl stared at Angie’s mouth. She moved closer so that their bodies touched. It felt much warmer than the actual temperature in the chilly living room—so much so, Meryl was sure that if she touched Angie, the skin on her fingers would come away heated.

Angie ran her thumb along Meryl’s jaw. Meryl took in a shaky breath, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned forward.

Angie’s lips met Meryl’s. The touch was the same as the other kisses they’d shared, yet it was so different. Angie’s kiss was gentle at first, as if she knew how fragile the moment was. Then Angie opened her mouth, allowing Meryl to explore. When their tongues met, Meryl felt a rush of heat between her legs. She moaned and entwined her fingers into the hair at the nape of Angie’s neck. When she tugged Angie closer, Angie’s jacket slipped off Meryl’s shoulders and fell around her feet.

Angie pulled away. “Can we go to the bedroom?” she whispered in Meryl’s ear. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes.”

They walked into the bedroom and stood beside the bed.

“Do you mind if we stay dressed?” Meryl asked. “I mean, I know I’m being too modest, but—”

Angie silenced her words with a kiss. She gently pushed Meryl back until they lay on the bed.

Their breasts pressed together, and Meryl felt like she was on fire. Their kiss seemed never-ending. Meryl didn’t think. She acted on everything she held in her heart for Angie. She pushed her lips into Angie’s neck, moving her hands until they stopped above Angie’s breasts. Meryl brought her mouth to Angie’s ear.

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

Meryl ran her hand under Angie’s sweatshirt, edging up until she cupped Angie’s breast. “Oh,” she whispered when Angie’s nipple stiffened under her bra. “Oh, Ange.” She searched out Angie’s mouth again and plunged her tongue deep inside.

In an instant, Angie was on top of her. Angie pushed her knee between Meryl’s legs. On instinct, Meryl raised her hips to meet the thrust of Angie’s thigh. Meryl inched her hand to her own jeans. She unsnapped them and pulled down the zipper. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

Angie raised herself up on one knee and lowered her hand between them. She pulled Meryl’s jeans down enough to slip her fingers into her panties.

“God, Meryl, you’re so beautiful.”

Meryl raised her hips even more to allow Angie to go farther. She cried out at the contact.

Angie’s hand stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Meryl whimpered. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Meryl took hold of Angie’s hand and prayed she left no doubt as to what she wanted Angie to do.

“Yes,” Meryl said between her short breaths. “Yes.” Her voice was low with want. Meryl pulled Angie’s mouth to her own again. Her body hardened against Angie’s, waiting in anticipation for something she’d never experienced before. Angie swallowed Meryl’s cries when she exploded into her orgasm. The pulsing aftershocks finished rippling through Meryl’s body, and Angie withdrew her hand.

Angie lay down beside Meryl and held her in her arms.

Meryl couldn’t speak for several moments until she came down from the dizzying height of her climax. She was aware, though, that Angie’s body was tense against hers.

“Are you all right, Ange?”

“I was about to ask you that.”

Meryl looked up at Angie. “You’re not sorry are you?” She held her breath, waiting for Angie’s answer.

“No. God, no. That’s not what you think, is it?”

“Well, I didn’t know…”

Angie lifted Meryl’s chin with her fingertips. “I was worried you might be sorry.”

They lay in shadows, but the light from the living room down the hall trickled through the opened bedroom door, allowing Meryl to make out Angie’s dark brown eyes searching hers for an answer.

Meryl leaned up on an elbow and kissed Angie, hoping she conveyed everything she held in her heart. She traced her finger along Angie’s lips.

“I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt so loved. How could I ever be sorry for something so beautiful?”

Angie kissed Meryl, a long, soul-rending kiss that promised of more to follow. She held Meryl in her arms again.

As Meryl’s eyes grew heavy, she smiled in contentment. This was what it was all about.

Chapter 9

Key West, Present Day

Angie arrived at the Cozy Conch at eight. A line of women waited outside, and she pushed her way to the front. Most of the women didn’t make much of an effort to let her through. In fact, a few made a point of rubbing their bodies against hers while she struggled toward the door. It wasn’t the first time she’d received a pass at her bar, but it still annoyed her.

Someone shouted from the end of the line. “Hey! How come that bitch gets to crash the door?”

“Sherri, that bitch is the owner. Now shut up, okay?”

It didn’t appease the woman’s girlfriend.

“I told you we needed to get here an hour earlier, Carla, but would you listen? Noooo.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

Angie pretended she hadn’t overheard the exchange and mumbled more “excuse me’s” until she entered the bar. She waved at friends who shouted their greetings.

The bar was small, but Angie didn’t intend to add on to it. The more crowded and difficult it was to get in, the more the place gained in popularity. She’d learned that lesson from her aunt’s restaurant in Youngstown. Her aunt had added on to her Italian restaurant, and almost immediately, the clientele began to diminish. Nope, she wasn’t going to mess with success.

She loved the decor of the bar. Fishnets hung from the ceiling and draped over the patrons. Other fishing and boating paraphernalia were scattered throughout. A huge marlin mounted on a slab of wood hung on the wall behind the worn but beautiful oak bar. Underneath, a sign read: “No, we didn’t catch it, but who gives a shit? It fits in, doesn’t it?” That always brought chuckles from any new customers.

“Well, hello, gorgeous!”

Angie heard Tim Redfield’s voice cut through the din.

“I never can get over how beautiful your legs are,” Angie said, as she drew nearer to Tim, better known to everyone as “Sage Starr.” She motioned to the bar’s manager. “How about a Corona, Christi?” Angie stood between Sage’s stool and the one beside him. He’d dressed in a pair of white shorts and a baggy navy T-shirt, a total departure from what he’d transform into later in the evening.

Christi grabbed a bottle out of the cooler full of ice. She sliced up a lime while Angie continued her conversation with Sage.

“Check out those legs, girl. How do you keep so toned?” she asked him.

“Clean living and hard work, darling.”

“Okay. I get the hard work part. But clean living?” Angie nodded her thanks to Christi and took a sip of her beer.

Sage slapped her on the arm. “Shut up. I’m not that bad.”

“If you say so.”

“Speaking of which, give me a mimosa, Christi, and don’t be shy with the champagne.”

“There. You’ve proven my point.”

“Don’t even go there, oh Queen of Coronas.”

Angie choked and sputtered on her beer.

Sage pounded her on the back. “There, there. The truth’s hard to swallow, isn’t it?”

“You’re a bitch,” she said. The stool next to her cleared. “Is she returning?” Angie asked the woman on the other side.

“Not if I can help it,” the soft butch answered with a scowl.

Angie didn’t even want to know. She sat down.

Christi handed Sage his drink.

“Thank you, sweetie.” He took a sip and held it up in the air. “Love, you never disappoint me with your bartending skills. I hope Grumpy Gus here’s paying you enough.” He pointed to Angie’s bare legs. “You aren’t so bad yourself. You’re in such great shape from all the jogging you do on the beach. Christ, every time you pass my cottage, I expect to hear an orchestra playing the theme to Chariots of Fire.”

Christi, who was taking a beer to the other end of the bar, laughed. “Good one, Sage.”

“Please don’t encourage him, Christi.”

“Let me feel the muscles in those tan legs of yours.” He squeezed Angie’s thigh right above her knee.

“Hey!” she yelped. “You know I’m ticklish.”

“Oh, poo. Quit trying to avoid the subject. You have to use a stick to beat back every lesbian who comes into this place, thinking they have a shot at you. Unbeknownst to them, you’re saving yourself for God knows what.” Sage flung his head as if he were flipping his short-cropped, bleached blond hair over his shoulder. “What’s your problem today?” He waved at the air around Angie. “From your aura, I sense some impending doom.”

“A name from my past popped up out of nowhere and kind of threw me for a loop.”

Sage peered at her from under his penciled eyebrows. “And…” He moved his hand in a circular motion.

Angie remained mute.

“Ahhh. So, that’s it. Let me guess. An old flame, an unrequited love, a love lost, a—”

“Yes! Jesus, Sage, you’re right, okay?”

“Touchy, touchy.” Sage grabbed Angie’s wrist and turned it so that the watch face was visible. “Time to go and make myself beautiful.” He finished his drink and stepped down from the stool, draping his arm around Angie. “Try not to let whoever did this get to you.”

“I’ll try.”

Sage kissed her on the cheek and left for the back room that served as a dressing room.

“I would say ‘break a leg,’” she told him as he walked away, “but I know you have those babies insured.”

“You better believe it.” Sage waved his thin, delicate fingers in the air. “Ta-ta.”

Another thirty minutes passed as Angie sipped her beer and watched the mirror behind the bar. She saw Pam enter. Angie ordered a gin and tonic, along with another Corona. She weaved around the tables until she came to the one where Pam had taken a seat.

“Here you go.” Angie handed the drink to Pam.

“You had to be reading my mind.”

“Nah. I know what it’s like to have a rough day.”

Pam’s dark hair, still damp from her shower, cascaded onto her shoulders. She wore a form-fitting tank top and khaki shorts. Angie noticed she’d also added some makeup.

“I’m cute, aren’t I?” Pam asked. “You’re asking yourself right now, ‘What had I been thinking for breaking up with her?’”

“I guess I’m clueless, huh?”

“As a matter of fact, you are.” Pam winked at her. She swirled the ice in her drink, staying focused on the glass. “You seemed a little down earlier. Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Pam raised her head. “How come I don’t believe you? I’ve heard that tone before.”

Angie didn’t want to lie, but Pam didn’t need to know the full truth. “I’m all right. I can deal with it.”

“I worry about you, Angie.”

Angie smiled. “You’re too kind to me.”

Pam squeezed Angie’s hand, then released it just as quickly. “Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I like seeing you unhappy.”

“What about you? Seeing anyone?”

“So, that’s how it is. We can talk about me, but not about you. I’ll let you get away with it this time. Yes, Leona and I’ve been dating the past couple of months.”

Leona was a mutual friend from when she and Pam had still been together. “Good for you, Pam.” And Angie meant it.

“It is. I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I do know how much I like being with her. She’ll be in later.”

Angie held up her beer and tilted it toward Pam. “I wish you only the best.”

“Thank you.”

They talked a while longer until Leona showed up. She leaned down to give Pam a brief kiss.

“Angie, how are you?”

Angie stood and held out her hand to Leona. “I’m good, and I seem to be in your seat. I’ll be going. It’s about time for Sage’s show, anyway.” She turned to Pam. “It’s been nice chatting with you. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Angie tried not to let the sight of her ex and her girlfriend appearing so happy together get to her, but it wasn’t easy. Thankfully, it was time for her to perform one of her duties as owner of the Cozy Conch. She moved through the women to step up on the stage set up in the rear of the room. She stood in front of the microphone stand. A spotlight focused on her, blinding her temporarily.

“Hi, ladies!”

“Hi, Angie!” they shouted.

“It’s nine-thirty on Tuesday night, and you know what that means. It’s time for Sage, our entertainment director, to get the show started. Would everyone please welcome Sage Starr and her wonderful supporting cast, the Starlettes!”

The spotlight switched off, and the lights stayed up enough for Angie to hop off the stage. Then everything went dark. The sound system kicked in, and Diana Ross blared, “I’m Coming Out.” Five drag queens in various bright costumes with boas strutted on stage. Sage pranced out and danced with them in time to the music. The place went wild, and everyone joined in singing along. The song ended, the Starlettes danced off stage right, and Sage stepped up to the microphone.

“How’re all you bitches doing?” he shouted.

He received various responses, all in good humor, the most memorable being, “Who you calling a ‘bitch,’ bitch?”

“Ooh, some of you haven’t gotten laid yet tonight! Testy, aren’t we?”

Laughter rang out.

“We’ll get started tonight with Ivana Mann singing her signature song, ‘Better Be Good to Me.’” He did a double twirl of his hand and pointed to the curtain. He hustled offstage, taking the microphone and stand with him. A tall African-American queen with gorgeous skin, equally gorgeous long legs, and a wild Tina Turner wig flung the curtain aside and strutted down the runway. Ivana lip-synced the lyrics with expert ease. She had all of Tina’s moves, too.

Angie faded back to stand by the bar and watch. She loved every one of the performers. Each had her own diva personality, but none compared to Sage’s. All five queens did their thing with equal aplomb over the next hour. The last performer, a dead ringer for Bette Midler, asked for the microphone.

“Ladies, you’re about to witness the amazing Cozy Conch debut performance of Ms. Liza Minnelli. Let’s give it up for Liza!”

The stage went black. The spotlight came back on, focusing on Sage’s face. A black wig now covered his blond hair, and he wore long false eyelashes that made his eyes appear larger. The spotlight slowly panned out. A red-fringed dress completed the transformation. He held a black top hat over his wig-adorned head. One black-stockinged leg leaned on the wooden chair while the other stretched out to the side. Then he proceeded to do a perfect rendition of “Cabaret.” It was so lifelike that any moment, Angie expected Joel Grey to step onstage and join in.

When Sage finished, the women in the bar came to their feet, roaring their approval, and dropping money on the stage. Angie craned her neck over the crowd and noticed there were twenties mixed in with the one-dollar bills.

After an intermission, the show ran another hour. Then they joined up again onstage to finish with RuPaul’s “It’s Raining Men,” all the while twirling umbrellas above their heads. The lights came up, and the dance mix kicked in. The women crammed onto the small dance floor at the side of the stage and began to writhe to the music.

It was close to midnight when Angie decided to head home. She said her good-byes and made her way to the door.

On her walk to her house, she thought about Pam and Leona. A pang of jealousy hit her. But it wasn’t about Pam finding a new love. It was about Angie missing an old one.

Lehigh University, Spring 1998

Angie and Meryl lay on Angie’s bed. She thought Meryl was asleep after they’d made love, but felt her stir.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Meryl whispered.

Angie didn’t say anything, trying to hold in the tears when she heard Meryl’s soft-spoken words. I’m in love with her, and it scares the hell out of me.

“Ange?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.” Meryl lay on her side to face Angie.

Fear gripped Angie’s heart even tighter. Every time they made love, she was afraid this talk would come. It was spring break, and they were alone. Angie’s roommates were once again visiting their families out of town. Angie had remained, although Jan had visited at the beginning of the week. A friend had followed her to Lehigh so that Jan could give Angie her old Ford Escort for use around campus. Meryl had gone home for a few days and then returned on Thursday to be with Angie.

Angie found her voice. “Afraid of…?” She tensed, waiting for Meryl’s answer. Everything felt so tenuous, like one wrong word or false move would shatter what they shared together.

“I’m afraid of what happens after the semester ends when I go home to Pittsburgh, and you stay here. I’m not as strong as you are.”

Angie ran her fingertips over Meryl’s cheek. “I’m not that strong.”

Meryl sat up and pulled the sheet over her bare chest. “Yes, you are. You stood up to your family. You didn’t walk away from who you are. I’m not sure I can do the same.”

“But maybe you can. Maybe your family would accept that you’re gay. Just because my parents and my brother didn’t accept me, it doesn’t mean your family wouldn’t accept you.”

“Don’t you remember what I told you about my father? I’m sure he won’t accept that I’m… that I’m…”

“A lesbian.”

“I don’t know if I can tell him.” Meryl’s voice shook.

Angie reached for Meryl’s hand. “Is there anyone else in the family who’d stand up for you if it gets ugly?”

Meryl’s expression softened. “My mother’s supportive. But where my father’s concerned, she usually gives in to keep the peace. I don’t think she’d confront him on this.”

“You mentioned your grandmother once, but it sounded like your relationship with her isn’t the best either.”

“She and my father are just alike. I’m sure she’d side with him against me.”

Angie sat up beside Meryl and held her. “Then let’s live for these moments. Let’s not worry about this summer or what follows, okay?”

Meryl didn’t respond.

Angie felt like her world was crumbling around her.

The semester ended. Meryl left for Pittsburgh the day after her last final. Before she departed, she confided in Angie she planned to come out to her family once she got home. Angie’s stomach did several turns at the thought, but she didn’t try to talk Meryl out of it.

Almost three weeks had passed and still no word from Meryl. Angie feared what that meant. Nonetheless, she decided to make the drive to Meryl’s family home in Mount Lebanon, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh. Meryl had given Angie her address before she left. Angie asked another friend from Pittsburgh how to find Meryl’s house.

Angie slowed her beat-up car to a stop near the home.

“Jesus.” The vastness of the brick mansion looming behind the black wrought iron fence made her mouth go dry.

Angie sat, momentarily paralyzed with inertia. If Meryl hadn’t jogged into view at just that moment, Angie would have been on her way. Meryl loped up to the gate. Her tank top and silky, sweat-stained jogging shorts only made her more beautiful to Angie’s eyes. The shorts hiked up on her long, lean legs.

Angie got out of the car. She was about to call to Meryl when the gate slowly swung open and a long black limousine came down the drive. The tinted window behind the driver slid down, and Meryl stopped to lean over. As she straightened and walked up the drive toward the house, Angie yelled out to her.

“Meryl!” Angie trotted over. What if that’s him in there? What will he do when he sees me? She tamped down her fear. She had to know.

Meryl smiled when she turned to Angie. As Angie got closer, she saw a mix of emotions play across Meryl’s face. Joy. Fear. Sadness. They all registered so fast that it reminded Angie of an actress going through the requisite gamut of emotions for a director’s screen test.

“Angie?”

Angie took two more steps. The limo door swung open, and there he stood. White-haired, jut-jawed Channing McClain. Well over six-feet tall, he was even more intimidating in the flesh than Meryl’s descriptions had painted him. His face reddened when he saw Angie. He strode toward her.

“No, Father, don’t!” Meryl cried when he rushed past her. She ran after him.

“You!” he shouted. He was in front of Angie in an amazing instant, pointing his bony finger in her face while he towered over her. “You stay away from my daughter.”

A thought flew through Angie’s mind. She told him. It was replaced by one far more terrifying. I’ll never see her again.

“Sir, I think your daughter has a right to talk to me if—”

He raised his hand as if to hit her. Angie flinched. Something made him stop. It might have been Meryl’s cry of anguish behind him, but more likely McClain was too smart to do something his lawyers couldn’t get him out of.

“Meryl will no longer see you, let alone talk to you. You’ve influenced her enough. If you ever come near my daughter again, I’ll have your scholarship revoked. And don’t think I can’t do it.” Each word, measured out in a slow, even pace, made it clear that he had the power.

Angie moved to the side of him to get an unobstructed view of Meryl. “Is this what you want, Meryl? Your father living your life for you?”

“Angie, I—”

“You don’t speak to her,” McClain snapped at Meryl. He turned back to Angie. “You’re filth. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing.” He grabbed Meryl by the arm and pulled her toward the car. His cold stare shot through Angie one last time. “You’ve been warned, Miss Cantinnini.”

He said her name as if it tasted like rotten meat.

Meryl continued to sob as he dragged her toward the car.

Angie realized she was crying, too.

“Angie!” Meryl screamed. Her father pushed her into the backseat. “Angie!”

Angie fell to her knees onto the pavement. The pain shot up her legs but she ignored it. The pain in her soul was the only one that mattered. Her heart felt seared as though someone had stuck a red-hot poker right through the center of it.

“Meryl!” she screamed. “I love you!” It was the first time she’d spoken the words and she was certain it would be the last. The limousine backed up the drive, and the gate clanged shut in front of her.

She stayed there, kneeling in the street. Security cameras rotated on top of the fence to focus on her. Less than a minute later, the gate swung open again. It wasn’t the limousine pulling out, or Meryl coming to her, but two burly security men. They stomped over. Angie struggled to her feet.

“It’s okay. I’m leaving.” Her voice was weak, just like she felt inside.

They stopped in their tracks but waited until she got into her car and pulled away.

Angie drove blindly through her tears. She pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and cut the ignition. She was too shook-up to risk being on the turnpike to Bethlehem, so she waited, hoping her composure would return. She squeezed the plastic steering wheel so tightly she all but rubbed her palms raw. She leaned her head on her hands and sobbed. Then she opened the car door and vomited into the gravel. She closed the door and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, tasting the bitterness of the bile in her throat.

Only one option remained. She turned the key to the ignition and drove back to Lehigh.

Chapter 10

New York City, Present Day

Meryl’s dream began as the others. She unbolted the locks that adorned the door leading to the basement, but lost count after the fourth lock. A loud click filled the close air as she pushed back the last stubborn bolt. Filled with overwhelming dread, she froze at the top of the steep stairs. She stretched to the light switch behind her and flipped it up and down, but nothing happened. Cautiously, she inched step-by-step to the bottom. Light leaked into the small cellar from the dingy ground-level windows and cast the last stair in dim illumination.

She peered through the dust particles that floated down from the low-lying ceiling. She wasn’t alone. She heard someone near the central beam that supported the floor above. She walked toward the sound and found her grandmother in front of a washer and dryer, folding laundry.

That couldn’t be right. They didn’t have a basement, and her grandmother would never do laundry. Her grandmother stared at her. Meryl’s discomfort increased with each passing minute. She needed to get out of there.

Inexplicably, the bathroom door appeared in front of her. She couldn’t recall making the climb up the stairs. Another lock greeted her. She slid the bolt back. Her hand trembled as she grasped the doorknob. Cold fear settled into the very core of her being. She didn’t want to do this. Her stomach roiled. No…

Meryl sat up with a start. Her hands gripped the covers, her fists squeezing so tightly that pain pulsed from her knuckles to her forearms. Her heart thudded in her chest. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there, blinking in the darkness. Malachi sidled up to her from his spot where her feet had been and rubbed his head against her hand.

She stroked behind his ears. “Another dream, big guy.” She reached with a shaky hand for the glass of water beside the bed. “Just another dream.” The digital clock read 5:30. “Might as well get up.”

Despite the recurrence of the dream, Meryl went about her usual morning routine of showering and then feeding the cat. She left for the subway and tried to convince herself she’d had a restful night sleep.

A warming trend had hit the city the day before, melting some of the snow. She avoided the slush and held onto the stair rail on her way into the station. Other passengers read their newspapers or reacted to her presence with vacant stares. She was content to watch the lights in the tunnel as the train lurched along.

She pushed the image of the dream out of her mind when it threatened to reappear and instead thought about her latest conversation with Rhonda. Rhonda had read Zach England’s Dying to Meet You and had called to admonish Meryl about her review. She told Meryl she needed to give it another look, if only to be more open-minded when England released his next Barker novel.

Her assistant looked up as Meryl pushed through the outer door leading into her Banner office.

“You’re here early, Wade.”

“Just trying to keep up with you, Ms. Mc—”

“Waaade…”

“Meryl. I’m just trying to keep up with you, Meryl.”

“That’s better.”

She breezed past him, placed her briefcase behind her desk, and made a beeline for the coffeemaker. She stopped in her tracks as Wade brought her a steaming cup.

“I knew there was a reason I hired you,” Meryl said with a grateful smile.

He blushed.

“Make sure you get yourself a cup, too. I know how you are in the morning.” It was only her second week of work at the newspaper, but she’d already grown fond of her assistant.

“Thanks, Ms…. er… Meryl. Will do.”

She sipped her coffee, giving herself a little downtime before starting on the task she had in mind. She set the cup aside and hit the intercom button.

“Will you please bring me the copy of Dying to Meet You? And also England’s previous seven books in the series.”

“I’ll hunt them down,” Wade replied.

Meryl cleared off the paperwork on her desk to prepare a workspace. She picked up the latest copy of a popular mystery writer. It would be her next review. Forty minutes later, Wade entered her office with the eight books loaded onto his arms. He set them in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Unless it’s an emergency, can you please hold my calls?”

He left her alone, closing the door behind him.

She picked up Dying to Meet You. “Sorry, Rhonda, but I don’t think rereading will change my opinion.” Meryl opened to the first page. Over the years, she’d acquired the art of speed reading. Her photographic memory had been both a blessing and a bane for her in her life—a blessing when reading and studying, a bane when recalling all of the intimate details of the lovemaking she’d shared with Angie. She shifted in her seat, tried to eject images of Angie’s body from her mind, and hunkered over the book.

This still wasn’t his best writing. She came upon the argument between Derek Barker and his latest girlfriend and smiled. He did know women, she’d give him that. She read deep into the book, taking notes as she progressed. The more she read, the more she noticed England’s astute observances of his girlfriend’s quirks and habits. Wait a minute. This was uncanny.

Meryl picked up the first in the Barker series, The Murdering Game, and flipped through it until she reached passages involving Barker and a woman. Even Barker’s interactions with secondary female characters showed an insight that was rare for a male author. Too rare, Meryl thought. She set the book aside and picked up the next… and the next.

She leaned back in her chair and noticed the time, shocked that it was two in the afternoon. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. She didn’t want to stop her research when she felt she was onto something. She punched her intercom button.

“Wade, I hate to do this, but I’m in the middle of something. Believe me, I know it’s not part of your job, but could you—”

“What kind of sandwich would you like from the cafeteria?” he asked.

Meryl heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll let you pick.”

She looked over her notes and revisited the page numbers she’d scribbled down. Another fifteen minutes of reading made her neck scream in protest. She stood, stretched, and went to the window to watch the traffic below. Words and phrases from the books raced through her mind.

A knock at the door interrupted her thinking. Wade looked at Meryl’s desk and then at her.

“Um…”

Meryl stepped around the desk. “Here, I’ll take it. Sorry. I seem to have made a mess.”

Wade handed her the sandwich and diet Coke.

She went to the small couch and set up her lunch. “Thanks again, Wade. I’ll probably be holed up in here the rest of the afternoon.”

“Still hold your calls?”

“Right.”

Meryl sat back in the couch. She munched on her sandwich and took a drink of her diet Coke. Frowning, she glanced over at the stack of books on her desk. I’ll be damned. Zach England might very well be a woman.

She put down her unfinished sandwich, returned to her desk, and looked through her notes again. She reread several of the passages in England’s books that had piqued her curiosity. She jumped up and strode around her office. Each passing minute convinced her that she needed to follow her hunch.

She sat down at her desk and pulled out her laptop. Full of excitement, she began an article. It might be a hell of a speculative leap, but she had a gut feeling. And nine times out of ten, her gut feelings were right.

She finished the article two hours later, at 6:10. Thom Pratters, the editor of the entertainment section of the paper and her direct boss, should still be in. She took a chance and rang his office. Blanche, his assistant, put her call through.

“Meryl, what can I do for you?” Pratters and her father had attended Harvard together. Meryl was struck yet again by the coincidence of having landed a job that put her in daily contact with someone who reminded her of the man she blamed for ruining her life. Pratters’s gruff manner and his voice made her recoil each time they spoke or met.

“I’ve just finished writing an article on Zach England,” she said.

“I’m not sure a feature would work, given we’ve just published your very negative review.”

“This wouldn’t be a feature. I have a theory about his identity. Every time we’ve talked about him, we’ve speculated that Zach England is a pseudonym.”

“Never proven, although various publications have tried. No one could nail him down, however.”

“What if England were a woman?”

“Hmm… now that would be a hell of a story.”

She explained her theory and the research she’d conducted that day. “Can I have your approval to go ahead with this article?”

“E-mail it to me. I’ll read it tonight and give you my answer tomorrow. If I think you’ve made a strong case, we’ll go with it for Thursday’s edition.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pratters.”

“Thom.”

“Of course, Thom.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Pratters hung up.

Meryl’s stomach fluttered with excitement. This was why she went to journalism school.

The next morning, Meryl checked her e-mail as soon as she entered the office. Pratters had given her the go-ahead. He’d tweaked it a little. She stood, leaning on her desk as she looked over his changes. Don’t think I would have done that, but oh well. The Banner would run the article in the Thursday morning paper.

Her phone rang.

“Mr. Pratters to speak to you,” Wade said.

“Put him through.” The line clicked.

“Meryl, fine job. This should cause quite a stir.”

“Thank you. I hope so. At least it’s something to think about.”

“Yes, it is. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How have your first few weeks gone?”

“Fine, Thom. I love my job.”

“Good, good. I’ve also wanted to ask you about your father. I’m aware of how ill he is. How is he doing?”

Meryl gripped the back of her chair. “Not well.”

“Anytime you need to take off for home, don’t hesitate to come to me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

They ended the call.

The very mention of her father’s name made her legs turn to rubber and memories crowd her mind. She stepped around her chair and sank into the leather. The memories were never good ones.

Mount Lebanon, Pennsylvania, Summer 1998

“Meryl, open this door.” A sharp knock accompanied the words.

Meryl ignored the sounds echoing through the heavy mahogany. She lay on her bed with her eyes still swollen from the previous night’s tears. She’d been in this emotional state almost constantly since her father had turned Angie away. She hadn’t spoken to him in nearly two weeks and conversed with her mother only when necessary. She also ignored any “words of advice” from her grandmother.

“If you don’t let me in this instant, I’ll break the lock.” He paused before he resumed pounding. “Open. The. Door.”

She still didn’t move. A loud crack filled the room. She stared dumbfounded at the splinters of wood scattering to the floor. The door flew open, and her father entered the room. His red face was in stark contrast with the tennis whites he wore. He stomped to her bedside.

“I want to have a discussion with you. Now. In the living room.”

Meryl remained on the bed.

“Now, Meryl.” His tone was icy.

She couldn’t avoid this confrontation forever. Leaping up from the bed, she pushed past him. She raced down the thickly carpeted stairway, rounded the corner at the landing, and made the long walk to the living room at the other end of the house. She wasn’t surprised to find her grandmother sitting in her customary high-wing chair by the large picture window.

Her grandmother colored her hair, but still made it appear to be naturally turning gray. It was almost all white. Her father had turned prematurely gray at a young age, and he’d inherited that trait from his mother. Her hair was well coiffed, and she sat in her chair like the queen she felt she was. She always wore elegant dresses, even in the comfort of her home—well, Channing’s home. She’d come to live there after her husband had died of a heart attack when Channing was in his twenties.

What did surprise Meryl was seeing her mother there, standing behind her grandmother.

Meryl favored her mother except in eye color. They shared the same hair shade, although now her mother enlisted the services of a beautician to maintain her blonde. They were of similar build—lean and tall with long legs. Her mother also wore tennis whites, but there was no evidence she’d been playing the game. Not a hair was out of place, and no beads of sweat clung to her hairline. But then sweat wouldn’t dare make an appearance on Candace McClain.

Her mother stared out the window at their manicured lawn. The lawn, like everything around her, could only be one way: perfect. Her mother wrapped her arms around herself as if awaiting some dreaded news.

“Have a seat, young lady.” Her father blustered into the room and flung himself into his leather chair.

Meryl sat across from him on the matching couch.

“Your mother and I’ve discussed this.” Her father crossed his legs. “We feel it’s best if you transfer to Wellesley for your final year of college.”

“What?” Meryl felt lightheaded. “I only have one year left.”

“It’s where you should have gone in the first place, dear,” her grandmother said.

Meryl turned to her. Her grandmother stared at Meryl with cold blue eyes, almost daring her to say something back.

“I will not transfer to Wellesley or any other school you have in mind. I chose Lehigh because I liked the journalism school and the campus. You know that, Father.” She didn’t look at her father or grandmother while she spoke but rather to her mother’s back. “Mother, you don’t think this is the right thing to do, do you?”

Her mother remained silent.

“Do you?”

She turned to face Meryl, and Meryl’s stomach dropped at the expression on her face. Resignation. Her father had won.

No, I can’t be away from Angie. No.

“You have a choice then,” her father said. “If you ever see or speak to Angelina Cantinnini again, you’ll be removed from that school and transferred to Wellesley. And if you speak to her or see her, I promise to make that phone call to the Dean’s office. Ms. Cantinnini’s scholarship won’t be worth a thing after I finish discussing her despicable behavior toward you. Do you understand?”

Meryl strained to wrap her mind around his words. If she left Lehigh, she’d not even have a chance of seeing Angie. Even if her father had forbidden contact with her, at least still being in the same school allowed her to hope she’d see her sometime, some way. Without her father’s knowledge, of course.

“I’ll have my ways of finding out, Meryl. So wipe anything from your mind that even hints at coming near this woman again.”

She jumped at his words. As usual, he’d read her perfectly.

“And one more stipulation. You’ll contact Stanley Alberson.”

“No. You cannot force me to date someone anymore. This isn’t high school.”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything. I told you. You have a choice. This is entirely up to you.”

“You’ve made it impossible for me, and you damn well know it.”

“You have a choice,” he repeated in a level tone. His jaws were tight.

A sob rose in Meryl’s throat. She tried her best to swallow it down.

“You can forget about that disgusting young woman, Meryl,” her grandmother said. Her words dripped with disdain.

Meryl jumped to her feet and balled her fists.

“She’s not disgusting,” she shouted at her grandmother. “I love her. You’ve turned something beautiful into something ugly.”

“Don’t you dare say what you did with that woman was beautiful. It was filthy! Filthy! Do you hear me?” The old woman’s face contorted with hatred.

Something in her grandmother’s voice and words made Meryl collapse inside herself. She felt like she was going to throw up.

“Why, Mother? Why let them take away the one thing in my life that’s meant something to me?”

Her mother shook her head slightly. “This is for the best, honey. You’ll see. You’re just going through a phase. You’re young—”

“Not you, too,” Meryl whispered. “Please. I’m begging you.”

Her mother turned back to the window.

Meryl looked at her grandmother’s smug expression and the set in her father’s jaw one last time. Then she bolted out of the living room to the front door.

“Meryl! Come back here!” her grandmother shouted.

Meryl flung the heavy door open and ran down the long driveway.

“Open the gate!” she yelled to the guard. “Open the gate now.”

“Yes, Ms. McClain.” The gate slowly slid open.

Meryl sprinted through it and took off down the lane. She didn’t know where she was going. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Chapter 11

Key West, Present Day

A persistent and annoying tone chirped in Angie’s ear. She tried to incorporate it into her dream, but the bird-like sound didn’t fit into the vision of a naked Meryl hovering above her.

Angie groaned. She groped for her cell phone on the bedside table. She squinted at the time: 5:45.

She flipped the phone open. “This better be good, whoever this is, because—”

“Oh, don’t you even fucking start,” Sally yelled. “Get your fucking ass out of that bed.”

Angie struggled to sit up. “Jesus, Sal, I know you’re my agent, but five-forty-five in the morning?”

“This is a fucking emergency, Angie. Get your ass up and get to your computer. Now.”

Angie untangled herself from the covers and padded into the den where she’d left her laptop. She powered it up.

“And what is so goddamn important that you couldn’t wait until a decent hour to call me?” Angie asked.

“Just tell me when you can log onto the Internet.”

The computer warmed up, and Angie clicked onto the Internet icon.

“Okay. I’m online. What the hell is it?”

“Go to the New York Banner‘s webpage.”

Angie typed in the URL. “I’m there.”

“Hit the entertainment section.”

Angie stifled a sigh. Sally was so annoying when she was like this. She clicked on the link. “I’m in. What’s the big deal?” She tried to focus on the text through bleary eyes and froze when she read the title of Meryl McClain’s article: “Zach England: Reclusive Male Author or Clever Female Opportunist?” Angie read the title again. Each word felt like a punch in the gut. “Oh my frigging God.”

“I ask you again. Who the fuck is this woman? And what is this, her third week there? How does she fucking come to this conclusion?”

Angie scanned the article and had to admire Meryl’s reasoning. “Well, she’s read all the books and noticed a pattern when—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Angie. It was a rhetorical question. I can read, too, you know.”

“What do you think this means?” Angie’s mind spun out of control.

“I think this means that you need to leave Key West for a while.”

Angie bristled. “Aw, hell no.”

“Wait. Hear me out. If she’s this fucking smart, she also might have an idea where England lives. We can’t take that chance. Stanley & Schilling wouldn’t want us taking that chance. I haven’t heard from them yet, but I’m sure I will this morning.”

“I am not, and I repeat not, leaving my home. You can tell them that from me. Yeah, I signed a contract, and I’ve lived up to it. But they can’t force me to move from here. I have a life, you know.” Angie slammed her laptop closed for emphasis.

“Listen, it wouldn’t be for long…”

“No, Sally. Absolutely not. I find it hard to believe she’d know where to find me. I’m not running.”

“All right. I can tell when you’ve dug yourself in. I’ll sniff around and see if I can find out if she has any leads. In the meantime, at least do me a favor and keep as low a profile as possible down there.”

“Do I have to remind you again that we’re talking about Key West? A lot of people move here to escape something or someone in their lives.”

“I’m well aware of that. What I’m asking you is not to call attention to yourself. Don’t talk about your writing to anyone. I know some are aware you’re an author, but don’t bring it up out of the blue. Play at your bar or go out on your boat or something.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. I’ll call you again soon.”

Angie put her phone aside and opened her laptop cover again. She hit the power button to bring the article back up on-screen. She read it slowly, still marveling at Meryl’s ability to pick up on Angie’s knowledge of women and how they worked.

You nailed me good, Meryl.

Two weeks passed and buzz in the literary world still lingered about Zach England’s identity. Other newspapers had taken Meryl’s story and run with it—especially the tabloids in New York. They had England pegged as one of the female mystery writers who’d been somewhat successful in their genre, but had no crossover bestsellers into mainstream. Sally called to remind Angie that along with the speculation of England being a woman, others had begun guessing where the author might reside. Angie reiterated that she was staying in Key West and wouldn’t run.

She took The Pride of Youngstown out for three straight days and nights following Sally’s latest call. Angie needed to be alone, and out on the water on her boat was as alone as she could hope. She stayed close to the shoreline, anchored in shallow waters. As had often been the case in the past when stress pushed her until she was physically exhausted, she got lost in her writing.

She was into the tenth chapter of her latest Barker novel by the afternoon of the third day, trying her best to keep Meryl out of her head. She shut her laptop and set it aside. It wasn’t working. Meryl had been on the mark about Angie’s writing in her review. Where was the passion she once had for her work? When had she started breezing through her books so that she could get lost in her own little world in Key West? Was it the fourth book? The fifth? The sixth?

She sank into the cushions of the couch, grabbed the laptop again, and gazed through the windows of the cabin. The mixture of pink, orange, and yellow colors of the impending sunset tinged the sky.

She opened the cover of the laptop and saved the “Barker9” file. The blank page of the computer screen seemed to beckon her to purge her inner demons. She began to write again, but it wasn’t an outline for Barker9 or any other book. It was Meryl. Thoughts and feelings from an earlier time in her life flowed from her fingertips. Tastes, touches, smells, sighs, and whispered pleas for more forced their way from her memory onto the screen.

And there was love.

She wrote about the first moment she’d seen Meryl and their eyes had met. The first touch of Meryl’s fingers on her skin was like the caress of a warm ocean breeze. In the early morning hours, they’d held their dreams close, as close as they’d held each other, always with the fear that harsh reality would soon spirit away their future.

Angie hadn’t forgotten. She’d tried to push it all away, to move on and claim a new phase of her life. But she never made it past the day she’d fallen to her knees on the street in front of the McClain mansion, crying out Meryl’s name.

Darkness enveloped the cabin, and Angie stopped typing.

Damn. Where had the hours gone? She couldn’t recall the last time that her writing captivated her. She was drained, but she also felt more alive. This bit of journaling had been more compelling than anything she’d done in longer than she could recall. She saved the file and shut the laptop. Standing and stretching, she moved her neck first one way and then the other to work out the kinks.

In the beginning, the Barker series excited her. But by the time the fifth novel shot up the New York Banner bestseller’s list for fiction, following its predecessors, she had to force herself to conjure up any energy or fondness for Derek Barker. She’d write for an hour, stop, stare at the clock, play chess or solitaire on her computer, and then force herself back into the world of her rough-and-tumble detective.

She pulled another Corona from the refrigerator. She shoved a section of the lime she’d sliced earlier down into the lip of the bottle, took a drink, and walked upstairs to the deck. A crisp breeze blew in from the east, and the flesh of her bare legs rose with goose bumps. She wore baggy cargo shorts and a long-sleeved Cleveland Browns T-shirt, but there was enough skin showing that the cool air chilled her.

A new moon hung unseen overhead. The water was calm and inky black. Angie tilted her head to the sky.

“Oh wow.” It was as if God had taken the stars in His hand and tossed them across the universe. She breathed in the salty sea air with its faint fishy smell of the ocean life that lay below the surface. Listening to the soft lapping of the waves against the hull of her boat, she was filled with peace for what felt like the first time in years.

“You want to what?”

On Friday afternoon, the peace Angie had felt Wednesday night out on The Pride of Youngstown shattered. With her cell phone pressed to her ear, she sat on a bench on the pier watching tourists walk by, listening to Sally’s exasperation while at the same time thinking of Jimmy Buffet’s line about “tourists covered with oil.” A few shapely women passed by and smiled at Angie.

“I’m almost halfway through the Barker novel, so you’ve no worries there. I’ve gotten an itch to write a lesbian novel under my own name. What harm can there be? It’s not like I haven’t published some already.”

Angie heard a horn blare on the other end of the line and then, “Asshole!”

“I take it we’re driving in Chicago traffic while talking on our cell phone? Do you think this is wise?” Angie could picture Sally in her Mercedes weaving in and out of lanes. Angie had driven with her on a few occasions and always was scared shitless by the time she left the vehicle. The slowed-down pace in Key West maybe had spoiled her, but Sally still took what Angie thought were unnecessary risks behind the wheel.

“Need I remind you that Meryl McClain’s article has reporters snooping around, hoping to be the one who hunts down the real Zach England? I told you. We don’t need you bringing anymore attention to yourself. And another thing. Stanley & Schilling won’t go for it.”

“What do you mean they won’t go for it?”

“This is one of the largest publishing companies in the world. They won’t like their number one author dallying in lesbian fiction.”

“Did you just hear what you said? How the hell will anyone else know? Don’t they have a gay-lesbian imprint? Outside the Lines Books, I think is the name of it. Why wouldn’t they let me publish my book there?”

“For one thing, why have your name out there with all this other shit going on? For another, I’m pretty damn certain they want you concentrating on Derek Barker, not a lesbian novel.”

“You’re my agent, goddammit. You’re supposed to represent me on this shit. Are you afraid I’ll never write as Zach England again?”

Sally didn’t speak.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Angie stood up and stalked across the pier, trying to curb the urge to scream. “Are you afraid you’ll miss out on more money? Like I haven’t made you enough already? Hell, you don’t even need any other clients.”

“Oh Christ, Angie, don’t go there. Hang on. I’m pulling off the Van Ryan.” A long silence passed before Sally spoke again. “I’m aware of how much money you’ve made me, but you’ve also made yourself quite a haul over these past eight years. So, don’t go getting all high and mighty on me.” Sally sighed. “I know how talented you are. The entire literary world knows how talented you are. But maybe—”

“But maybe what?” Angie snapped.

“Maybe I’m afraid that once you start down that road again, there’ll be no going back. So yeah, that’s it, I guess. You won’t have time to go back to your work as Zach England, and Stanley & Schilling won’t be pleased.”

Angie leaned her shoulder against one of the pier’s wooden piles. She watched a flock of seagulls fight over scraps of bread a tourist tossed up to them. It had to be a tourist because no local would be feeding the sea scavengers like that.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” When she received no response on the other end, she at first thought she’d spoken too low or the signal had been lost. “Hello?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re ready to give up on the Barker series because that bitch from the New York Banner got a bug up her ass about your latest. That review was weeks ago. It’s old news. Everyone has already forgotten about it. Our job now is to keep you off her radar screen until she gets tired of trying to prove you’re a woman.” Sally had obviously caught her second wind.

“She’s not a bitch. She was doing her job, which entails telling the truth.” Angie’s need to defend Meryl’s honor startled her.

“No, that’s where you’ve got it wrong. She’s giving an opinion. It’s not the truth. It’s only her version.”

“Why do we keep rehashing this Banner review? I wasn’t even talking about that. I was talking about my need to express myself as me.” Angie pounded her fist against her chest. “Angelina Cantinnini. A lesbian. Not Zach England—someone everyone assumes is a straight guy writing about a macho detective. I have to do this. I need to do this. If not, I think I’ll lose it down here.”

Again, silence.

“Sal?”

“Okay, okay.” Sally’s voice was full of resignation, but she didn’t sound happy. “As long as we have an agreement that you keep working on your Barker manuscript and meet your deadline for book nine. I’ll present it to Stanley & Schilling. I’m not sure what they’ll think. You need to be prepared for the possibility that they’ll say no.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Let me ask you this. Can you write both? Are you sure you can separate the two in your mind?”

Angie wanted to say she could write Derek Barker novels in her sleep, but refrained. “I’ll be fine. Trust me on this.”

“All right. I have to go. A cop pulled up and is getting out of his car and headed toward me. I’m sure he thinks I’m having car problems. I’m off on the shoulder.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

The last sound Angie heard was the whir of Sally’s car window and a muffled, “No, officer, I’m fine. Trying to do the safe thing and pull off while talking on this—”

The line went dead. Angie snapped her phone shut and watched the seagulls scuffle over more scraps, her mind making plans. Once she got home, she’d dedicate only so much time for Derek Barker. She’d then work on the lesbian manuscript. But the lesbian novel wouldn’t be a mystery—it’d be a romance.

She just didn’t know the ending yet.

Lehigh University, Fall 1998

“Hey, Angie, isn’t that Meryl McClain down there?”

Jacqueline’s words made Angie’s stomach drop. She avoided showing up anywhere near where she thought Meryl might be. Based on what Mr. McClain had said the one and only time Angie had seen him, she was sure he’d made it clear to Meryl to stay as far away from Angie as possible.

They were at the men’s basketball game where Lehigh battled their arch rival, Lafayette. Angie lost her concentration on the tough, physical play below them and scanned the seats in Stabler Arena.

She spotted Meryl five rows below. Dressed in the brown and white colors of Lehigh, Meryl had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed to be searching for someone in the crowd. Her head swiveled first to the left and then the right. Then, she turned in Angie’s direction. They stared at each other, and the sound of the ball hitting the floor below faded into the background.

A silent plea radiated from Meryl’s eyes. Angie sensed a current of emotion between them, but the tall, dark-haired man beside Meryl snapped the spell when he put his lips to her ear. He draped his arm around Meryl’s shoulders and pulled her close.

Angie felt faint. She couldn’t watch this. She slumped into her seat.

“Hey, you okay, Angie?”

Angie shook her head.

Jacqueline bent down. “Let’s get some air.” She helped Angie to her feet, grabbed their jackets, and led her up the stairs to the concourse above.

When they reached the top, Angie leaned against the concrete wall to catch her breath.

“I’m so sorry, Angie. I shouldn’t have pointed her out.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Angie bolted toward the exit to the outside.

“Angie! Wait. I’m sorry.”

Angie slowed to let Jacqueline catch up with her. Although it was bitter cold outside, Angie didn’t feel it despite the fact she only wore a sweatshirt and jeans.

Jacqueline held out her jacket. “Put this on.”

Angie tugged on the jacket.

“I know it’s rough. I didn’t see the guy beside her when I pointed her out.”

More fans trickled out of the arena. Lehigh had been up by seventeen when they left with five minutes remaining in the game. Apparently, some fans were getting a jump on the crowd.

Two tall figures approached them from a distance. Oh God. It was them. Angie froze. Her feet felt rooted to the spot.

Jacqueline noticed them, too. “Hey, let’s go.”

Angie couldn’t move.

The guy still had his arm draped over Meryl’s shoulders. Meryl stared at the ground while she walked, but she raised her head as they drew near. Closer and closer they came. They were within a few feet when Meryl pulled free from his arm and stopped.

“Angie,” she said. “How are you?”

“Okay. You?”

“I’m doing okay.”

The young man standing beside Meryl was handsome. Why wouldn’t he be? Hadn’t Meryl told her that her father insisted on only the best for his daughter? And Angie most certainly wasn’t it.

“This is Stan. Stan Alberson.”

Angie recognized the last name and speculated he was a direct offspring of the Alberson Shipping family from Philadelphia. Yes, only the best for Channing McClain’s daughter.

“Stan, this is my… my friend, Angie Cantinnini.” Meryl’s face flushed.

To hear Meryl stumble in her speech to refer to Angie as a “friend” was almost too much for Angie to bear.

“Hi. Very nice to meet you.” Stan extended his hand.

Angie took it. She felt like her body was there but her mind was floating away. She stumbled through her introduction of Jacqueline.

Jacqueline stared at Meryl while she shook Stan’s hand.

“Well, we’d better get going if we want to meet up with the others at the pizza parlor,” Stan said. He linked his arm with Meryl’s to lead her away. “Nice meeting you both.”

They turned to leave, but Angie spoke, more loudly than she’d intended. “Are you happy, Meryl?”

Meryl turned around. Shadows, cast from the bright overhead lights illuminating the parking lot, cloaked her face. But Angie saw the pain there.

Stan furrowed his brow at the question.

“Yes,” Meryl whispered. “I’m happy.” The look in her eyes spoke another answer, one she couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud.

The words cut through Angie like a knife. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.” She was certain her own expression said otherwise, as well.

“Are you? Happy, I mean?” Meryl asked in a shaky voice.

Angie wanted to scream at Meryl, to wake her up from the stupor she seemed to be in, to wake them both up from this horrible nightmare that now constituted their lives. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Meryl gasped and her eyes filled with tears.

Angie turned and hastened toward home. With each step, she felt a piece of her innocence slipping away.

Chapter 12

New York City, Present Day

Meryl rode the elevator up to the forty-second floor with her mind on her work and the interviews scheduled in the upcoming weeks. She’d taken down some notes of what she wanted to ask John Grisham and planned to go over them when she got into her office.

“Good morning, Wade,” she said as she passed his desk.

He hustled after her and handed her a message. “This was waiting when I arrived.”

Meryl unlocked her office door and glanced at the note. She raised her eyebrows. Thom Pratters wanted to see her at eight. She checked her watch. She had twenty minutes.

She took time to drink a cup of coffee and gather herself for the trip upstairs. Early meetings on Monday mornings were often a bad sign.

Ten minutes later, she stood outside Pratters’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in.”

Meryl entered, surprised to find a vaguely familiar woman sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of Pratters’s massive desk.

“Meryl. I’m glad you could make it on short notice,” Pratters said. He gestured to the chair beside the woman. He shook Meryl’s hand, and she took her seat.

“This is Glenda Tilden.” Pratters nodded at the petite brunette beside Meryl. “She’s with the marketing department. She’s the one who ensures we stay on good terms with author agents. This concerns Zach England. Glenda has what we’d call a scoop in our line of business. I’ll let her explain it to you. Glenda?”

“I have a source who works in Chicago in the mailroom of the office building that houses Sally Copelman’s agency.” Glenda paused for what appeared to be dramatic effect.

“Yes?”

Glenda seemed disappointed with Meryl’s reaction.

“Sally Copelman. You know? Zach England’s agent.”

“Oh, right.” Meryl mentally kicked herself for not catching the name.

Glenda brightened at Meryl’s recognition.

“My source started working there just a few months ago, but has already noticed a pattern. Sally sends and receives quite a bit of mail to and from a post office box in Key West.” Again, Glenda paused.

Just get on with it, Meryl thought.

“The last correspondence occurred right before England’s latest release.”

Meryl pieced together the implications. “You think England might live in Key West?”

“Bingo,” Pratters said. “Copelman doesn’t have many clients, and if England’s one of them, that explains why. I would think she’s made enough off of him, or her to last a lifetime.”

“That makes sense,” Meryl murmured. She had speculated England could be a woman, but an unbidden image of England sitting on a houseboat, pounding out a novel on his old Corona materialized in her imagination. He had shaggy hair, a scruffy mustache, and looked like… Jimmy Buffett? She suppressed a laugh.

“We want you to fly down there as soon possible,” Pratters said. “Rearrange whatever you have on your schedule in the near future and leave for Key West. We need to keep this hush-hush. I don’t want another paper or reporter catching wind of this. If we confirm it is England, and England’s a woman, this would hit the literary world like a firestorm.” His face lit up at the possibility.

“I do have some interviews scheduled these next couple of weeks.”

“Which you can reschedule,” he said with a note of finality.

“Yes. Which I can reschedule.”

“Good. I’ll let you return to your office to make arrangements.” Pratters stood. “Glenda, thank you for coming to me with this.”

Glenda stood and took his outstretched hand. “You’re welcome, sir.” She left.

Meryl rose to leave.

“Good luck, Meryl. You’ll have one hell of a story if this pans out. Our purchasing department will take care of your travel arrangements. Have your assistant give them a call this afternoon.”

“When are you leaving for Florida?” Rhonda asked.

“Pratters wants me down there by the end of next week.”

Meryl brought their glasses of wine to the couch and handed one to Rhonda.

“Thank you. I need this after a week of dealing with my boss at the magazine. Thank God it’s Friday.”

“Owen still being difficult?” Meryl sat down, tucked both legs under her, and leaned her elbow on the back of the couch.

“When isn’t Owen difficult? And does advertising have to be so cutthroat?”

“I think you know the answer to that one.”

“Let’s talk about you. I sure as hell don’t want to talk about the latest run-in with my twenty-six-year-old boss. Are you excited about the possibility of getting the scoop of a lifetime?”

“To tell you the truth, I never thought a scoop would be something I’d need to worry about as a book reviewer. That word conjures up Woodward and Bernstein for me, not some author hermit making millions in Key West.”

Rhonda slapped Meryl on the thigh.

“You need to accept this will create a huge buzz worldwide, not only with the Banner or your U.S. audience. I mean, can you imagine a woman being this successful writing as a man with a character like Derek Barker? You might even get a book offer out of it. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“I have no desire to write books, only to review them.”

They enjoyed their wine in silence. At length, Rhonda spoke.

“How you doing aside from work?”

“Meaning…”

“Dating. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

Meryl groaned. “I’m not into meeting anyone new these days. I just started this job—”

“Which is no excuse.” Rhonda pointed at her with the hand that held her wineglass as she brought it to her mouth.

“Okay, how about this. The last date I went out on was a disaster, and I don’t want to repeat that anytime soon.”

“Remind me. Was that Gloria the Groper?”

“Yes, it was. She had her hand halfway up my thigh, heading for the promised land. In public, mind you.”

“Oh, girl, you can’t let that one lousy date ruin someone else’s chances, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it, and I don’t want you setting me up with anyone if that’s where this is headed.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to set you up on a date?”

“Because I’ve heard this line of questioning before, and because you’re my best friend, and I have a pretty good idea how you think. I’m fine. Malachi and I are fine. We don’t need anyone else.”

At the mention of his name, Malachi moseyed over from where he’d been lying in the chair by the couch. He wasted no time in nesting in Meryl’s lap.

“You can’t give up on love,” Rhonda said. “She’s not going to ride in on her white horse and swoop you off your feet.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Damn it, Rhonda, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“This is where I play one of my best friend cards and say, yes, you do. Angie’s gone from your life. We had this discussion the other night. She’s not coming back.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up? Because you’re doing a lousy job of it.” Meryl heard the defensiveness in her voice.

“I hate to see you waste your life because you think an old flame will reenter your world.”

“She’s not an old flame. She’s the only flame.”

“How do you know, if you’re not willing to give other women a chance?”

“I have. Don’t you remember the relationship with Cheryl?”

“Hell, that wasn’t a relationship. That was a dictatorship, and you were the conquered country. That woman had you so confused, you couldn’t tell which end was up.”

“My point exactly.”

“You’re telling me you’ll let a year-long relationship, and again, I use that term loosely, with a wacko ruin your chances at love?”

“No. I’m telling you I’m happy alone.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” Meryl’s cheeks burned with anger.

“You heard me. Bullshit. No one’s happy alone unless you’re Mother Teresa. And you’re no Mother Teresa.”

“I’m not even Catholic.”

“Quit trying to wiggle out of this. I’ve watched you since Columbia. You’ll never give another woman a chance unless it’s Angie.”

Meryl drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on the coffee table, which caused Malachi to jump down with a huff.

“Drop it, Rhonda.” Meryl glared at her.

“No. I won’t drop it. We need to get this out tonight. I’m tired of dancing around the subject. You’re my best friend and—”

“You’re pushing it.”

Rhonda pursed her lips. “Oh, so now I’m not you’re best friend?”

Meryl sighed and stared at the ceiling before continuing. “Have I ever told you about my wedding day?”

Rhonda gave a quick head shake. “Where did that come from?”

“I try not to remember that day, but I want to tell you about it right now. Maybe you’ll understand a little better about my holding out for Angie.”

“All right. Hit me. This has to be one hell of a story.”

“Fine. Stan and I married in the summer of 1999.”

“Before we even get into this story of yours, remind me again why you gave in to your father’s wishes.”

Meryl looked down at her hands.

“I thought there wasn’t a chance with Angie and me after my father’s interference. Remember that. I thought there wasn’t another woman for me. And Stan? I was twenty-one, and I was tired of fighting my family.”

“But—”

Meryl raised her head. “I was young and foolish, Rhonda. Young and foolish.”

“Okay. Let’s hear about your wedding day.”

Meryl sank back into the cushions of the couch. She closed her eyes and pictured a sunny day eleven years ago that couldn’t have been any darker for her.

“Of course my parents—especially my father—insisted on a huge wedding. He wanted it to be the social event of the year for Mount Lebanon and the upper crust of Pittsburgh. The wedding dress was beyond expensive.”

“How expensive?” Rhonda leaned forward with obvious interest.

“Let’s put it this way. Giorgio Armani designed it.”

“Which doesn’t tell me much.”

“How about this. He came to our home to take measurements and go over designs.”

“Good Lord.”

“Only the best for Daddy’s little girl.” Meryl couldn’t hide her bitterness. “There were over 300 people at the church. There were members of the wedding party I’d never even met before. I felt like I was in a movie with extras.”

“That must have been bizarre.”

“The whole thing was surreal. I don’t remember saying my vows. I don’t remember the kiss. I don’t remember walking down the aisle again. I do remember the doors opening and our stepping into the bright sunshine. It was blinding at first. But after a few seconds, I adjusted to it. And that’s when I saw her.”

“She was there?”

“She was across the street about a half a block away, standing beside her car.”

“What’d you do?”

“I stopped dead in my tracks. We were about to step down the stairs into the limo, but I couldn’t move.”

“And?”

“I touched my hand to my heart and held it up to her. Unfortunately, my father had noticed her, too. He ordered the security guards over. She got into her car just as my father was pushing me into the limo. I moved to the window to try to see what was going on, but by then, Stan was in the backseat and we pulled away.”

“That was the last time you saw her?”

“Yes,” Meryl whispered.

“Oh, honey.”

Rhonda moved closer and put her arm around Meryl’s shoulders. “I wish this was some Hollywood movie where she really would arrive at your door on a big white horse. And why does it always have to be white? Can’t we have a big black horse?”

Meryl laughed.

“There. At least I got a reaction out of you. What you’ve told me makes me despise your father that much more. And I didn’t like the man in the first place because of his manipulative ways.” Rhonda ducked her head to meet Meryl’s eyes. “Do you want to tell me the rest?”

Meryl didn’t trust herself to speak, so she shook her head.

“You sure?”

“I can’t.” Meryl’s voice cracked.

“It’s all right. I understand.”

Meryl stood up and took both their glasses. “More wine?”

“Better not. You remember how it is with me. One glass is just enough. Two make me stupid.”

Meryl poured another glass for herself, filling it nearly to the top.

Rhonda watched from the couch. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Meryl took a long drink.

Rhonda stood. “I need to get home. We’re having a meeting bright and early Monday morning, and I need to get a lot of work done between now and then. Seems Owen isn’t pleased with our latest mock-ups.”

Meryl went to Rhonda and gave her a hug. She started to withdraw from the embrace, but Rhonda pulled her close again.

“I love you,” Rhonda said.

“Love you, too.”

She walked Rhonda to the door.

“Try to get some rest, Meryl. You look exhausted.”

“I will.” She leaned against the doorframe and watched Rhonda stride down the hall to the elevators. “Be safe.”

Rhonda waved in reply.

Meryl closed and locked the door. When she sat back down on the couch, Malachi jumped from the chair and into her lap. Meryl stroked his head, but it must not have been to his taste. He flounced to the other end of the couch.

She rested her head on the cushion. A suffocating loneliness enshrouded her. She wasn’t happy, and she wondered if she’d ever be again.

Rhonda was right.

Meryl hated when that happened.

Chapter 13

Angie took The Pride of Youngstown out late Sunday afternoon. She hoped to enjoy the solitude she’d heard most writers craved. The sun descended on the horizon, casting its late light across the water. She took the boat out a little farther so that the coastline was barely visible on the starboard side. She continued pointing her boat toward the setting sun as if she could enter the great ball of orange and allow the heat to swallow her.

Noise filled her head. She raised her face to the light filtering through the glass in front of the ship’s wheel. She attempted to clear out everything in her mind except for her memories. She replayed the times she and Meryl had made love, and then in her imagination, fit fleeting moments of ecstasy into the lives of her new novel’s characters.

Angie cut the engines and stepped down into the cabin to the refrigerator for a Coke. She climbed back to the deck and sank into the captain’s chair. She ran her fingers across the ship’s wheel, still pleased she’d replaced the original metal one with a wooden wheel to add to the allure of the boat. As she caressed the wheel, she formulated a new chapter in her mind. She was about to jot down her ideas in a notebook when her cell phone vibrated at her side.

“I swear to God, if that’s Sally, I’m tossing the damn thing into the water.” She unclipped it and smiled when she read the number. “Hey, Mrs. Torelli. Did you have a wonderful vacation in Italy?”

“We did,” her sister said. “It would’ve been better if we could’ve left the kids at home. The only thing we heard from them was ‘we’re sooo bored’ the entire time there.”

“But you love them and couldn’t live without them.”

Silence.

“Jan?”

“I guess you’re right,” Jan said with a sigh. Then she giggled. “You know me too well, don’t you?”

“I think I know you better than Rick does sometimes, even though that man worships the ground you walk on.”

“You may have a point.”

“But you had a good trip?”

“Yes, except we wish you could’ve made it, too.”

“We’ve been over this. I don’t think our family there would accept me any more than the ones at home do.”

“You don’t know—”

“I’m thirty-two now. I don’t want to go through that crap again. Ever.”

“Dad still asks about you.”

“He’s only called me twice in all these years. He’s made it clear he won’t go against Mom.”

“He loves you, Angie.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Angie crushed the empty Coke can in her hands.

“I’ll drop it. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You always mean well.”

“When can I come down there for a visit? I miss you.”

“It’s been a little hectic meeting this latest deadline.”

“Right. Sometimes I forget what you do for a living. Hang on a sec.” Jan sounded muffled, but Angie still made out the words. “Anthony Michael Torelli, is that where your coat goes?” There was some grumbling in the background. “I didn’t think so.”

Angie chuckled. “You do realize who you sounded like just then.”

“I’m ignoring that comment. Back to visiting you. When’s a good time? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay then. Don’t be surprised if I show up unannounced.”

Before Angie could respond, Jan’s voice rose.

“Anthony, I’m on the phone. Damn it,” Jan cursed. “I have to go, sis. Sorry.”

Angie set her cell phone aside. She turned the engines over and pointed the boat toward Key West. Thoughts of her family prevented any more forays into writing. She suddenly felt very tired.

“Is there anyone else I need to call this week to reschedule?”

Meryl glanced up at Wade sitting across from her desk. “Grisham?”

“Called his agent Friday afternoon.”

Meryl paged through her appointment book. “How about Patty Cornwell?”

“I tried Monday. I had to leave a message.”

“It’s Thursday. Please try again today. I want you to talk to someone live to avoid any mix-ups.”

Wade made a notation on his legal pad.

“Did you get in touch with purchasing? I’m assuming everything’s set?”

“Yes. You’re on a flight leaving LaGuardia at ten-fifty Saturday morning. Straight flight into Miami. You’ll arrive there a little after two. You have about a three-hour layover.” Wade looked up from his legal pad. “I apologize for that. Purchasing said it was the best they could do.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Your next flight leaves at five-ten, a commuter into Key West Airport. You should be there in a little under an hour.”

“What about hotel—”

“Done. You’re staying at the Southernmost Point Resort. You’re booked for a week, but they’re leaving the room open for an additional week if you need to stay longer.”

“What are we paying you again, Wade?”

His face reddened. “I could always use more.”

“I’ll see to it when I return.”

“Anything else I need to handle?”

“I was about to mention a rental car, but I think I’ll walk and take cabs while I’m there.”

Her phone rang. She glanced down at the caller ID and frowned.

“I need to take this.”

“Right.” He closed the door on the way out.

She picked up the receiver. “Yes, Mother?”

Soft sobs echoed over the line.

“Mother?” Meryl straightened in her chair. She gripped her pen a little tighter.

“They’re giving him three weeks,” her mother said, choking on each word.

Meryl struggled for words. “I’m sorry. Sorry for you.”

“Please don’t make me beg you to come home, Meryl.”

Meryl snapped the pen in half. Ink spread across her appointment book. “Shit.” She searched her office, trying to find something to blot up the ink.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you.” Meryl pulled open a drawer and grabbed a wad of tissues. She pressed them onto the stain. It didn’t do any good. In the process, she dipped the cuff of her blouse into the ink. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out in frustration.

“I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

Meryl let her next words escape her lips without thinking. “Maybe you didn’t, but Father and Grandmother sure did a hell of a number on me.”

“When will you let that go?”

“Never,” Meryl said.

“Meryl…”

“I’m leaving on an assignment Saturday. I’ll call you when I get back to New York.”

“It may be too late.”

“I’ll call you when I get back.” Meryl hung up the phone. She rubbed at her sleeve with the tissue, only spreading the stain. She threw the tissues in the trash. “Damn it!” She held her head in her hands and tried to choke back the tears.

A quiet knock forced her to clear her throat and wipe her face. “Yes?”

Wade opened the door a crack. “I reached Ms. Cornwell’s agent and spoke to her. We’re rescheduled for the first of next month.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Meryl smiled weakly. “Thank you for all of your work on this trip.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else?”

Meryl noticed the time. “Wade, I’m sorry. It’s six-thirty. Please go home.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me?”

“There’s nothing more for you to do. Please go and enjoy what’s left of your evening.”

He hesitated and then shut the door.

Meryl stepped over to the blinds and shut them. She pulled out her gym bag from the closet, changed into her sweats, and dropped her blouse and suit into the bag. She’d seen her therapist the night before and sure as hell didn’t want to call him again. At least she wouldn’t hurt anyone by taking out her frustration on some free weights.

“I’m so happy for you, Angie. And I’m pleased you stood up to Sally,” Ev said while she flagged down refills on their Cokes. It was lunchtime on Friday, and they were having burgers at Sloppy Joe’s. “What was your inspiration to return to lesbian fiction?”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Give me that look, knowing I could never lie to you.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Ev poured ketchup on her fries. “My mother was full-blooded Cherokee. I couldn’t keep a thing from her, either. She had this way of seeing right through me.”

“Really?” Angie asked sarcastically.

“I guess I have the gift, too.”

“If you want to call it that.”

“You’re avoiding the question. I know you don’t want me to keep staring at you, but if that’s what—”

Angie held up her hand. “No! God no.” She put her burger down and wiped her hands on her napkin.

“Uh-oh. This seems serious.” Ev put down her burger as well.

“It’s Meryl McClain.”

“Okay…”

“Which I’m sure the Native-American seer in you already sensed.”

“I didn’t need my mother’s gift to figure that one out. You’ve been out of sorts since her review hit the paper. And even more out of sorts these past few weeks after her article about Zach England’s identity.”

“You could say that.” Angie stared down at her food.

“I don’t think that burger will help you figure things out.”

“The review and the article brought up so many things for me. And I can’t keep the thoughts inside. I have to write. It’s a compulsion.”

“Maybe this will be cathartic for you.”

“I’m scared about going through the pain, too.”

“But that’s how we grow.”

Did Angie want to dredge up the most painful memory of her past? She glanced across the table at Eve, took a deep breath, and plunged ahead.

“The second semester of our senior year, I found out that Meryl was engaged. A friend who was also a journalism major mentioned it to Jacqueline within my earshot. This friend had no clue what kind of relationship Meryl and I’d shared. I found out when and where the wedding would be. I swore I wouldn’t go, but the sick part of me wanted to know. I think I needed to feel more pain.” Angie blinked away unexpected tears.

Ev gave her a reassuring look.

“I drove up there. I wasn’t sure why. I still don’t know why, other than maybe to put it all to rest. When I got there, I realized what a huge mistake I’d made. I got out of my car when the church bells rang. Meryl stepped through the door with her arm on his. In my mind’s eye, I can see her on those church steps in Mount Lebanon like it was yesterday. And then she saw me and did something I’ll never forget. She touched her hand to her heart”—Angie mimicked the action—”and raised it to me. “

“Oh.” Ev put her fingers over her mouth.

“Her father pointed in my direction, and two security guards rushed over and shoved me into my car. They told me if I ever bothered Mrs. Alberson again, I’d be arrested. I almost threw up, hearing her called that.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ev pulled out a tissue from her purse and handed it to Angie. Then she got one for herself.

Angie wiped at her eyes and balled up the tissue in her hands. “Want to hear something funny?”

“That would be wonderful right about now, although by the way you said that, I’m not sure I’ll think it is.”

“Since that day, I haven’t watched the movie, The Graduate. Want to know why?”

“I think I might know, but go ahead and tell me.”

“Every time Dustin Hoffman pounds on the glass above the chapel where Katherine Ross is getting married, screaming out her name, I remember that day eleven years ago. And I feel like such a fucking coward. I should’ve done the same thing. I should’ve marched into that church and rescued Meryl. But I didn’t. I let her go.”

“She made her own choice as to what life to live. You have to remember that.”

Angie whispered, “I still should’ve done it.”

Ev took Angie’s hand and held it until Angie looked up at her. “It’ll be okay. Writing about it should help, don’t you think?”

“We’ll see.”

Ev checked her watch. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but it’s three-thirty and I’d better leave to pick up the boys at school.” Ev turned over her bill and put her money on the table. She slid out of the booth. “Try to have some fun this weekend. Why don’t you go to the CC tomorrow night with Sage?”

“Maybe.” Angie pulled out some money to pay her bill.

“Let’s get together next week for coffee. How does Tuesday morning sound? About ten?”

“I’ll walk over to your place, and we’ll go to Joe Joe’s and make fun of everyone paying five dollars for a cup of coffee.”

“And then laugh at ourselves because we’re two of those fools?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll call you Monday.”

They left the restaurant together. Ev gave Angie a hug, got into her minivan, and pulled away. Angie walked home, keeping her head down, not wanting to have any connection to the tourists strolling along Duval.

Chapter 14

Meryl marveled at the blue-green water below as the plane drifted into its descent. Maybe this would be just what she needed: a week or so in what appeared to be a tropical paradise. Most of the time, she’d search for the elusive author. But she planned to get in some relaxation, too. Come to think of it, how do you search for someone who wants to remain unseen? Zack England, whoever he or she was, had obviously done a damn good job of remaining faceless over the years.

She picked up her laptop case and tugged down her carry-on from the overhead compartment. After exiting the airport, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver the name of the hotel. Trying to ignore the musty smell of the backseat, she took in her surroundings while he drove about ten miles over the speed limit.

Meryl checked into the hotel. Like a lot of places in Key West, it was lesbian-friendly. Before she went up to her room, she asked the desk clerk if there were any nice lesbian nightclubs in the area.

“Try the Cozy Conch about seven blocks down the street. It’s the best one in town. The owner whipped it into something special once she bought out the place a few years ago.” The woman’s gaze traveled from Meryl’s face, down her body, and back up again. “I get off work at nine. Want me to walk you down there?”

“I think if you point me in the direction, I should find it just fine.” Meryl picked up her luggage.

“Need any help with that?” The clerk gave her a crooked grin.

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

In her room, she grabbed a hot shower and a nice, cold drink. She’d venture out later to take in some of the notorious Key West night life. Meryl hoped for a relaxing time at the Cozy Conch. She’d start snooping around for Zach England tomorrow.

She took a sip of her drink and said a silent prayer. Please, God, don’t let anyone else hit on me while I’m here.

“Hey, sweetie.” Sage kissed Angie on the cheek before taking a seat next to her at the Cozy Conch bar.

“Glad you could make it. I was beginning to wonder.”

Sage raised his hand at Christi.

“Mimosa?” Christi asked.

He placed his hand on his chest in feigned indignation. “Am I that predictable?”

Angie and Christi answered “yes” at the same time.

“I should be offended, but since I love you both so much, I’ll ignore it.”

Christi brought over the drink, and he took a sip. “Perfect.”

Angie nursed her beer, and in the mirror above the bar, watched the couples behind them dance.

“See anyone you like?” Sage asked.

“Some of us aren’t sluts, you know.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Then he laughed. “Not really.”

“Dating anyone new?”

“As a matter of fact, I had a fabulous time with a fine young gentleman last night.”

“Oh yeah? What was his name?”

Sage scrunched up his face. “‘Baby,’ ‘honey,’ ‘sugar.’ Something like that.”

“Of course it was.”

“I just know he was superb.” He perked up and pointed at the mirror. “Speaking of the big hunk, there he is now.” Sage jumped off the stool and grabbed his drink. “Hate to drink and run on you, but duty calls.”

“Go on. Have some fun.” As he walked away, Angie yelled, “But be safe, okay?”

Sage waved. “Always, sweetie, always.”

Angie sat at the bar chatting with Christi. A hand brushed across her back. Then lips pressed close to her ear.

“Hey, darlin’. Fancy seeing you tonight.”

Pam slipped in beside her. She wore a tight blue tank top and a pair of hip-hugging, faded blue jeans.

“Hey.” Angie thought Pam might have already had a few drinks. “Where’s Leona?”

Pam frowned. “You had to bring that up. We decided to chill out for a while.”

Angie didn’t like Pam’s expression. She’d seen it before, and every time, it meant trouble.

“Can I get you anything, Pam?” Christi asked.

“You know, I hoped I could talk Angie into renewing our little contest.”

Pam’s meaning didn’t register at first; then it hit her. “Oh, no no no. I’m out of practice and wouldn’t last long against you.”

“Come on, sport. I know you can hold your own.” Pam motioned to Christi. “How about a bottle of Jack Daniels, two shot glasses, and what beer for you tonight, Angie? You normally drink Coronas, but it needs to be something on tap.”

“I said no—”

Pam hopped up on the stool next to Angie. “Give me your hand and help me stand up on this thing so I don’t fall.”

Angie held onto Pam’s waist while she teetered on the stool.

“Everybody!” Pam shouted. “It’s time we renew the Ellison-Cantinnini Chaser Contest, don’t you think?”

Everyone roared their approval and pushed their way toward the bar.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Angie tilted her head to peer up at her ex.

“You,” Pam pointed at Angie, “need to loosen up. And who knows where this might lead?”

Angie remembered where it had led most other times they’d had this contest—straight home to bed and a drunken tussle under the sheets. She didn’t want that.

“Help me down.”

Angie put her hands under Pam’s arms and helped her off the stool.

“What’ll it be? Pick your poison.” Pam leaned in close to Angie’s lips. “You don’t want to disappoint all of these lovely ladies now, do you?”

Angie felt a tingling in her groin. Damn. “Buds. Make it Budweiser.”

Pam shot her fist up in the air. “Yesss! Ladies, we have a contest.”

Everyone hooted and clapped. Christi put two shot glasses in front of them and two Budweisers from the tap.

“You remember the rules?” Pam asked. “It’s been a couple of years, but—”

“I remember the damn rules,” Angie said under her breath.

“For those of you who aren’t aware of the rules, it’s simple,” Pam shouted. “Each of us starts by chugging a beer and of course chasing it with a shot of Jack. We keep going until one of us can go no more, but here’s the added twist.” Pam threw her arm around Angie as she spoke. “After every shot of Jack, we each have to repeat the following: ‘She sells seashells by the seashore.’”

The crowd broke out in laughter.

Pam held up her hand to silence everyone. “I know, I know. That’s hard enough sober, but I had to come up with something new because Angie Cantinnini here never gets beat in this game by the drinking alone.” Pam turned to Angie. “Are you ready?”

In answer, Angie wrapped her fingers around the cold glass of Budweiser.

“Go!”

They both downed the beer and swooped up the shots of Jack Daniels. The whiskey burned the back of Angie’s throat, but she finished it in one gulp.

“Woo-hoo!” Angie heard Sage’s unmistakable voice in the rear. He held his drink up in the air.

“And now the added challenge.” Pam pointed at Angie, and she recited the tongue twister with ease. Pam followed with no problem. “Okay, another, barkeep.”

Christi poured the drinks. They went through the same regimen, and both recited the words again without stumbling over them.

“Hey, wait, ladies.” Sage pushed himself to the front of the spectators. “You haven’t said what the prize is for the winner.”

“Why don’t we let that be a surprise?” Pam leered at Angie.

Oh Lord, what does she have in mind?

“More drinks, Christi,” Pam shouted.

It continued. Beer. Chaser. Beer. Chaser. Angie was feeling the effects of the alcohol. They were up to their sixth beer and shot of Jack Daniels.

“I’ll start it this time.” Pam carefully enunciated each word of the tongue twister. “And now you.” She pointed at Angie.

Angie was almost through it when Pam winked at her and ran her tongue across her upper lip—which is how “seashore” became “shesore.”

“Yes!” Pam shouted.

Angie glared at Pam. She could have protested. But what would she say? My ex-girlfriend picked the opportune moment to play a dirty trick and do something that drove me wild when we were together?

The whole bar cheered. Someone started the chant, “Prize! Prize! Prize!” Soon, everyone joined in.

Angie braced herself. Pam moved closer. She spun the stool around and pushed Angie’s knees apart.

“You’re not scared of little old me, are you?” Pam asked. She moved so she snuggled in between Angie’s legs. Angie felt the familiar pulsing desire in her groin where Pam pressed into her body. Pam’s eyes flicked down to her lips. She ran her fingers to the back of Angie’s neck, captured Angie’s mouth, and thrust her tongue inside.

Initially, Angie went along with the kiss, appeasing the women who’d gathered around, whistling and clapping in unison. But then it all switched over to another place and time. She wasn’t kissing Pam Ellison, her ex of two years. It was Meryl. They were in Angie’s room at Lehigh, exploring and discovering their bodies together.

Angie pulled Pam closer. She felt Pam’s sharp intake of breath, but ignored it. She ran her hands along Pam’s sides and stopped below her breasts. Pam moaned, which snapped Angie back to reality. That was Pam’s sound of surrender—she remembered it well.

Angie withdrew from the kiss. Pam stood in front of her, flushed, her chest rising up and down. She at first smiled at Angie, but the smile slowly faded. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

Pandemonium erupted around them. Women slapped Angie on the back and jostled her. Pam appeared dazed while she accepted the congratulations of the women who pushed against them.

“I always knew you were a stud!” Sage shouted. He again raised his mimosa in the air.

Angie felt like she was in a dream, because the tall blonde standing behind him sure looked like a dead ringer for Meryl McClain.

“No, it can’t be.” Her vision cleared enough to focus on the blonde’s striking blue-green eyes. “Oh my God.”

Meryl stared at her for an instant longer and pushed her way past the women toward the door. Angie held onto the bar as she unsteadily rose to her feet.

Pam took hold of her arm. “Where you going?”

Angie ignored her. She cut a swath through the crowd. She craned her neck, trying to find Meryl. Angie shot through the door onto bustling Duval. If there was ever a time she hated the popularity of the resort town, it was now. Blondes were everywhere on the street. But then one of them turned around.

Meryl quickened her step. That couldn’t have been Angie. Not like this. Please, God, not like this.

“Meryl, wait!”

Yes. That’s her voice. Meryl glanced over her shoulder and saw Angie hurrying toward her. A man bumped into Angie, and she stumbled and fell to the pavement.

“Shit!”

Meryl turned and started back just as the man helped Angie to her feet.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m all right.” Angie brushed off her jeans. She raised her head as Meryl approached.

The man hovered nearby, but he might as well have been invisible.

“It’s okay,” Meryl told him, never looking away from Angie. “I can take care of this.”

The man touched Angie’s arm. “Again, I apologize.” He continued down the street.

Meryl felt the full force of Angie’s presence. The hair on her arms stood on end.

“Angie.” Meryl drew in a breath. She’d pictured this moment so many times in her mind, yet nothing prepared her for the electric current of emotion surging through her body.

“Meryl.” Angie swayed a little and seemed to have trouble focusing. “It’s really you.”

Meryl held out her hand to keep Angie from stumbling forward.

Angie took hold of her hand. “Still so soft,” she whispered.

Meryl pulled free from Angie’s grasp. “Can I take you home? I didn’t drive here, but I can hail us a cab. Do you live far?”

“Just a few blocks away.” Angie brought her fingertips to Meryl’s cheek. “My God, Meryl, I can’t believe you’re here.”

Meryl swallowed down the lump in her throat. She leaned into Angie’s palm, but pulled away. This was too much.

Angie dropped her hand. In a rush of words, she said, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I lost a contest. I never lose. But she… she cheated.” Angie closed her eyes as if regretting her words.

“Angie, it’s—”

“It wasn’t her I was kissing. I imagined kissing you. I’ve never forgotten you.”

Although Angie slurred the words, Meryl believed her. Standing in the middle of this street, in a town over a thousand miles away from her home, she believed her.

“Let’s not have this conversation here. Let’s get you home.” Meryl glanced around them at the onlookers.

“We can walk. I might need a little help, but like I said, it’s only a few blocks.”

“I’ll let you lead the way.”

Meryl hooked her arm in the crook of Angie’s elbow as they meandered down the street.

With each step they took, a refrain repeated itself in Angie’s mind: “I’m walking with Meryl McClain.”

They reached the gate to the white picket fence.

“This is so quaint,” Meryl said.

Angie pulled the keys out of her jeans pockets, but dropped them. She bent over to pick them up.

“Here, let me.” Meryl reached for the keys, and their fingers brushed.

Angie jumped from the contact. Meryl opened the door. Angie fumbled for the light switch.

“This is beautiful,” Meryl said as they stepped inside. “Why don’t we get you seated over there?”

Meryl guided Angie to the leather couch. She held onto her until Angie eased into the cushions.

“Are you all right?” Meryl asked.

Angie closed her eyes, but each time she opened them, Meryl still stood there. Her beauty hadn’t diminished over the years. Dressed casually, she wore a white cotton blouse tucked into a pair of black jeans. The first two buttons of her blouse were undone, and pale, freckle-adorned skin peeked out. Slight lines trailed away from Meryl’s eyes, the only evidence of the advance of years. Time had been kind to her. Very kind.

She wished she looked as good to Meryl. Angie’s bangs were still too long. She had on a faded black T-shirt with “Key West” on the chest pocket and a pair of well-worn blue jeans. The T-shirt, shrunken from its many trips through the dryer, was snug across Angie’s breasts. Her contest in the bar and her tumble in the street had left her looking anything but her best.

Meryl glanced around the living room and kitchen. “Can I fix you some coffee or something?”

“No. Please. Come sit beside me.”

Meryl complied.

“How’ve you been?” Angie hated the words the moment they left her mouth. How trite.

“I’ve been well. And you?” Meryl let out short laugh. “I can’t believe we’re just chatting like this.”

“I’ve missed you,” Angie whispered.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long, but it’s like this isn’t real.”

They stared at each other, frozen in the moment. Angie caressed Meryl’s cheek with her thumb. She watched Meryl’s pulse in her throat, beating rapidly as if she were anticipating a kiss.

Angie scooted closer until her mouth was a breath away from Meryl’s. Just before they touched lips, Meryl pulled away. Sadness etched Meryl’s face. Angie wondered if her own expression mirrored the same sorrow. She thought she could hear Meryl’s unspoken question: What about the years we’ve lost? God, what if, what if… The recriminations hung in the air between them as if Meryl had shouted the words aloud.

Meryl lowered her head. Angie raised Meryl’s chin with her fingertips. Meryl blinked away her tears.

“I… I should go.” Meryl rushed to her feet. “You’ll be okay, I think.” She hastened for the door.

Angie stood to follow her.

“Wait, Meryl.” Angie gently grabbed her arm. “I haven’t seen you in eleven years. You can’t leave like this.”

“I’m sorry. This is such a shock for me tonight. Maybe we can meet tomorrow when my head’s a little clearer and when you’re, well…”

“Sober.” Angie thought of where they could meet. “I own the bar we were at. We could meet there tomorrow.”

“You own the bar? That seems unlike you.” Meryl shook her head. “Listen to me. Who am I to say what you’re like after all these years?”

Meryl’s words waited for the braver one of the women to snatch them up and delve into the past. But neither took the chance.

“Yeah, I’ve owned it for the past six years,” Angie said. “We could meet there in the afternoon if you like.”

“All right.” They stood face-to-face for a few awkward seconds. “Well, I’ll walk back to the hotel. It’s not that far, and I feel safe walking alone here. ” Meryl moved toward the door.

Angie stopped herself from taking a step closer to Meryl. She motioned to the couch. “Are you sure you can’t stay and talk some more?”

Meryl ran her fingers across her lips. The gesture reminded Angie of the kiss they hadn’t shared. “Not tonight. This is all so… so…”

“Unbelievable.” Angie supplied the word for her.

“Yes,” Meryl said. “What time tomorrow?”

“How about three? It opens at four, but I can let you in.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Meryl stepped outside.

“Meryl?”

“Yes?”

“You look wonderful. You haven’t changed at all.”

“Thank you, Angie. That’s very kind. I can say the same about you.”

Angie watched Meryl make her way down the street toward Duval. She shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. Then she popped them open. “Oh, shit. Zach England.”

The air had turned cooler. Meryl rubbed her arms as a chill ran through her.

“Don’t try to kid yourself,” she whispered. “It’s not the air making you shiver.”

She raised her face to the night sky, straining to find some stars above. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, but it was no use. She’d tried to hold it together while she was with Angie. Now, she gave in to all the pent up emotion.

Meryl suddenly felt faint. She stumbled to a nearby bench before her shaky legs gave out. She allowed herself a good cry sitting in the shadows, hoping no one would notice her.

What had just happened? Meryl thought it’d be so easy if she ever saw Angie again. They’d pick up right where they left off as if a great hand had erased the years apart.

How could she have been so foolish?

Angie snatched the portable phone from its cradle and punched in Ev’s number.

“‘lo?” a groggy voice answered.

“Ev?”

“Angie? Is that you?”

“Something’s happened.”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Was there an accident?”

The questions came so fast that Angie didn’t have a chance to cut in.

“Stay where you are, and we’ll come get you. Harold, wake up damn it!”

“Wait. I’m all right. There wasn’t an accident.”

“Then why are you calling me so late? Have you been drinking?”

Angie ignored the last question. “It’s Meryl.”

“Who?”

“Meryl McClain.”

“Nothing’s happened to her, has it?”

“She’s here, Ev.”

“Here as in…”

“Here as in she left my house a few minutes ago.”

“Hang on a sec.” She heard Ev talking to her husband. “Go back to sleep, Harold. Everything’s okay. I’ll take this to the living room.” She came back on the line. “All right. You got my attention on that one.”

“I was at the bar. For some stupid reason, I agreed to a chaser contest with Pam.”

“Yeah, that’s a real bright thing to do there.”

“Let me finish please.” Angie opened the French doors and stepped out onto her patio. “I lost the contest.”

“You never lose those.”

“Will you please let me finish?” Angie asked. “For winning, she got to kiss me. When we kissed, I felt as if I was kissing Meryl again. Then it hit me that it was Pam. I pull out of the kiss, glance around at the crowd, and Meryl’s there.”

“Holy crap.”

“I thought I was imagining things, or I’d had too much to drink. She fled from the bar. I followed her outside, tripped and fell—”

“Which isn’t surprising considering you’re drunk.”

“Will you stop? You can lecture me some other time.”

“Sorry.”

“She came back to me. We talked. She walked me home, and we talked a little more.”

“How do you feel?”

“I wasn’t sure how I’d feel if we ever met again. I didn’t think I’d feel like this. But what if she’s here to search for Zach England?”

“Oh my God. I didn’t think of that.”

“I did, and it scares me shitless. I’ve done everything Sally’s asked of me. I’ve been quiet about my writing, I’ve hung out at the bar, I’ve gone out on my boat. Sally did ask me to leave town, but I told her I wouldn’t run.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Why do you think I called you? I’m seeing Meryl again tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t know what to do.” Angie plopped down into a lounge chair. She put the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Shit! I can’t think.”

“Listen. Why don’t you try to get some sleep and tackle this again in the morning? I can’t meet with you before you see her. We have a church dinner to attend after service. But I’ll get in touch with you in the afternoon.”

“Okay. Make it late afternoon.”

“It’s time for this old broad to go to bed. You do the same.”

“Good night.” Angie hung up.

God, Meryl, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Meryl lay in the darkness of her hotel room and wiped away more tears. She’d thought she’d finished crying, until she slipped under the covers. The entire encounter with Angie played over and over in her mind as she stared at the ceiling in the darkness. She tried to tell herself that the shock would wear off and she and Angie could reconnect. But Meryl wasn’t so certain.

Nothing felt certain.

She turned to the clock. Two in the morning. She feared sleep. Stress and uneasiness often triggered her nightmares. She tried to clear her mind of all her fears by using the relaxation technique Robert had taught her.

Eventually, she drifted off to a fitful sleep, devoid of anything but scattered memories of her past.

Chapter 15

Angie finished her third cup of coffee for the morning. It didn’t help.

Her dream of reuniting with Meryl and picking up where they left off had evaporated like so much fog on a summer morning. A nightmare replaced it, and Angie had to face the consequences of it, whether she was prepared to or not. Scattered words flew through her mind, all of them connected to Zach England: Sally, Stanley & Schilling, secret life, seclusion. Then three words stood out from the rest and burned into her consciousness: breach of contract.

Angie took her cell phone with her to her lounge chair outside. She stared at the phone. Do I tell Sally? She punched in Sally’s number, but then hung up before the second ring and tossed the phone to the nearby table. What the hell would she tell her?

The prospect of enduring the pain of losing Meryl a second time tore into Angie’s heart. If Meryl was here looking for England, and Angie could convince her he wasn’t here, would she leave again? What could Angie do to make her stay long enough to find out where she stood with her?

An idea came to her. The longer she contemplated it, the clearer it became. She tried to tell herself it was for the best. That it was the only thing to do. But it would involve lies. She held her head in her hands and tried to think of another way out. Did she want to start down that path?

She spent the next two hours agonizing over her reasoning. In the end, she returned to the original solution.

Angie’s insecurities won out over the truth.

Sage greeted Angie when she entered the Cozy Conch. “And how are we this afternoon?” He returned to his newspaper with a smug expression. Christi was busy wiping down the shelves behind the bar.

“I’m very well, thank you.” Angie’s words were a little sharper than she’d intended. The hangover headache had morphed into something approaching a migraine. It didn’t help her mood.

Sage glanced up from the paper. “Don’t go getting snitty. That’s the most I’ve seen you drink in years.”

Angie picked up a glass and poured ice water from one of the pitchers that lined the bar. “Do we have any aspirin, Christi?”

Christi reached under the counter and handed Angie the bottle. She went back to wiping down the shelves.

Angie popped two aspirins in her mouth and washed them down with water.

“Ah, we’re being wise today,” Sage said.

“Yes. Wise.”

Sage patted the stool beside him. “You left here in a hurry after that kiss. Everything okay?”

Before Angie could answer or sit down, there was a knock at the door. Christi paused in mid-swipe. “Now, who could that be?” She tossed down her rag and stepped around the bar.

Angie put her hand on Christi’s arm. “I’ll get it.”

Angie hurried to the door and unlocked it. The bright afternoon sunlight poured into the bar as Meryl stepped inside.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Angie tried to sound casual, but wasn’t sure she pulled it off.

“It’s good to see you again,” Meryl said.

Angie motioned toward the bar. “I’d like you to meet the manager of the Cozy Conch and the head of our entertainment.”

They walked to the bar.

“Christi and Sage, this is Meryl McClain.”

Meryl extended her slender hand toward them. “Very nice to meet you, Christi.” She turned to Sage. “Sage.”

“Dear God, and I thought I had the best legs in Key West.” Sage’s gaze drifted below the hem of Meryl’s shorts.

Angie slugged him in the arm.

“Ow! It’s true. Did you see her legs? They go on forever.” He rubbed his arm.

Angie’s face flushed.

“From that expression, I’d say you did.”

“Shut up. Sorry, Meryl. He usually has better manners than this.”

“Can I get you something to drink, Ms. McClain?” Christi asked.

“Only if you call me Meryl.”

“Meryl it is.”

“A ginger ale, if you have it.”

Christi poured the drink.

“Why don’t you tell me something about you two?” Sage asked Angie.

“Meryl and I were together in college. We hadn’t seen each other for eleven years. Until last night.”

“Together together. I get it. That’s why you rushed out of here.”

“Why don’t we go to one of those tables?” Angie glared at Sage and motioned Meryl to the rear of the bar. She picked up their drinks.

“Nice to meet both of you,” Meryl said over her shoulder as they walked away.

They sat down.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here in front of me,” Angie said.

“I think we’re both in shock.” Meryl didn’t meet her eyes, but looked around the bar. “Great decorations.” She cocked her head to the side. “Key West agrees with you. With that tan, you look like a native.”

“I’ve been here eight years and counting.”

Meryl opened her mouth and then shut it.

“What?” Angie asked.

“I tried to find you some years ago. I read your three lesbian mysteries.”

Angie suddenly found the tabletop fascinating. “Not some of my best stuff.”

“They were quite good. I did a search online to see if you’d written more. I contacted your publisher, but they told me your contract was up with them. I couldn’t find anything published after your last one over eight years ago. It was as if you’d dropped off the planet. I knew not to contact your family in Youngstown. I remembered you were close to your sister, but Jan Cantinnini didn’t come up in my search. I’m assuming she got married.”

Hearing that Meryl had earnestly searched for her gave Angie hope. “I kept up with you for a while—where you were, what you were doing. That you taught at Columbia after your divorce. Then I saw where the Banner hired you.”

Meryl seemed surprised. “Why didn’t you try to get in touch with me?”

“I didn’t contact you because it was too painful, Meryl. I wasn’t sure after your marriage ended what to think. Did he treat you well?”

“Stan?”

Angie nodded.

“Yes…” Meryl didn’t offer any more.

She seems so lost. Angie lightly caressed Meryl’s fingers that fidgeted with the edge of the napkin under her drink.

“You really do look like you’ve lived here for eight years,” Meryl said. “You’re so dark.” She shook her head. “Why don’t we hold off talking about us any further for now? I still have to get used to the idea that you’re sitting across from me, and you’re not some dream I conjured up.”

“We can wait if you want.” Angie hoped she hid her disappointment. She dreaded the answer she might receive to her next question, but she had to plunge ahead. “What brings you to Key West? Are you vacationing?” Please say vacationing. Please.

“It’s sort of hush-hush, but I’m here on assignment for the New York Banner. I’m searching for the author, Zach England.”

Angie gripped her water glass more tightly.

“You okay?” Meryl asked. “You’re a little pale.”

“Still getting over last night. What makes you think Zach England is in Key West?”

“We had a tip from a source. My editor thinks it’d be a big coup if I found him. Did you catch my article about England possibly being a woman?”

“Yes.” Angie took a drink of water—like that would steady her nerves.

“That’s the biggest reason I’m here. If England is indeed a woman, I’d love to be able to interview her and find out how all of this started.”

Angie looked at Meryl. Her body had a visceral reaction to Meryl’s presence, just as it had at Lehigh. Angie longed to kiss those lips and touch the skin that she’d memorized from their hours of lovemaking. She struggled with her decision one last time before she spoke. “I might be able to help you, but you may not like what I’m about to say.”

Meryl raised her eyebrows. “Oh? What is it?”

“There’s a chance that Zach England lives here. But if it’s who I think it is, he’s definitely a man. If it’s the guy you’re looking for, I mean.” God, she couldn’t even pull off the first lie and sound believable. How would she carry through with her whole plan?

Meryl sat back in her chair. She looked disappointed. “Damn. I was hoping I was onto something. Well, I’m here. I could still interview him. Maybe you could help me since you know the place so well.”

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” Angie said. There. At least that wasn’t a lie.

“But we can still try.” Meryl’s blue-green eyes pleaded with Angie’s.

“We can ask around, but don’t get your hopes up. Some people who move to Key West move here for a reason. They could be running from something or someone in their lives. Being discovered is the last thing they want.”

Meryl stared at her. “We’re still talking about Zach England, right?”

Angie realized what she’d just said. “Right.” She shifted the conversation. “I caught your review of his latest novel. Are you sure you still want to track him down?”

“I bet I’m not the first reviewer to pan one of his books. Have you read the last few? They’re not exactly Pulitzer Prize-winning material.”

Ouch. “Maybe he’s lost his passion or something,” Angie said. How pathetic that she still felt a need to defend her writing, which she herself knew had grown stale.

Meryl took a sip of her ginger ale. “Whatever the reason, he’d better get it back or move on to something else. It’s almost like he hates his own character.”

Angie inwardly winced at the astute observation.

“I’m sorry,” Meryl said. “Is he your favorite author or something?”

“No. I was just speculating as to why his writing might have fallen off lately.”

“I see. You’re a little protective because he’s a Key West resident.”

“Now, wait, I said he may live here, remember? Some have their theories—”

“What are they? And what’s his name?”

Angie sank deeper in her chair. Damn. She hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Meryl stared at her with a puzzled expression. “You do have a name, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Hal Morris.” Crap. That’s the name of a former first baseman for the Cincinnati Reds. Couldn’t she have been a little more original? And where did that come from? Angie watched Meryl’s reaction, hoping she didn’t follow major league baseball.

“At least we have a possible name. What are your theories?”

“Why don’t we start by going down to the docks and asking around? If I were a best-selling author, I’d own a boat here.”

“It’s probably too late to go out today. How about meeting in front of the bar in the morning?”

“Sounds good.”

Meryl took Angie’s hand in hers. “And we’ll talk about us. I promise.”

Feelings of hope and guilt battled within Angie. “Okay.”

Meryl stood to leave. “Thanks again for offering to help. I’d be lost on my own down here, I think.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

Angie sat alone at the table. Sage called her over to the bar.

“Is she the one?” he asked when she drew nearer.

“The one…”

“Who still has your heart?”

“How did you know?” Angie poured more water into her glass.

“Please, honey, I’m a gay man. I know angst. You’ve displayed enough of it for twenty broken-hearted souls. There had to be a woman. I can see why you fell for her. She’s gorgeous.” Sage furrowed his brow. “There’s something about her, though. She seems a little sad. And for that matter, so do you. I’d think you two would be planning the rest of your lives together.”

“It’s not that simple. A lot of not-so-good things happened between us. Then there are the eleven lost years.” And now she was compounding the problem with lies.

“I guess I can see where you’d have some trouble with that.” Sage placed a hand on her shoulder. “But don’t you let her slip away again, Angie. You should see the way you look at her.”

“I’ll try my best.” Angie’s cell phone rang. She unclipped it from her shorts. It was Ev. “I’ll see you later this week,” Angie said to Sage before she took the call outside.

“How’d it go?” Ev asked.

“I might’ve done something stupid, Ev.”

“Let’s meet at Joe Joe’s. You can tell me what you’ve done, and I’ll cast my vote for whether or not it was stupid.”

“Do I really want to hear that?”

“Stop being a chickenshit,” Ev said.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Angie arrived at Joe Joe’s. She waited at a table with her cappuccino for Ev to take a seat across from her.

“How are you feeling this afternoon?” Ev asked.

“Like shit. As expected.”

“You look like hell.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Don’t take out your hangover on me. All right then, let’s get right to it. How did it feel seeing Meryl again?”

Angie sat back in her chair. “Like my world tilted on its axis. Like my heart would leap from my chest. I felt like I did the first time I met her.”

“You told me you did something stupid. What is it?”

“When I talked to you on the phone last night, I told you I had suspicions about why she’s in Key West. I was right. Meryl’s here on assignment. She’s searching for Zach England, to find out if England’s a woman and to get an interview.”

“And you told her…”

“I said we think he might live here, and I’d take her around.”

“Angie! Why would you say that?”

“I had to come up with something, and I had to steer her away from thinking England was a woman.”

“By lying?”

“Christ, Ev, I don’t know. I’m afraid if I told her the truth, she’d get her story and waltz right out of my life again. You didn’t see how fragile she looked last night. She didn’t want to talk about us, either. And the biggest reason to withhold that I’m Zach England is that my publisher has me locked into a contract that requires me to use a pseudonym. Part of the contract, the most important part, states that I have to maintain the pseudonym. It’s a legal, binding agreement between me, my publisher, and my agent. Period.”

“Legal schmegal.”

“Oh, that’s real adult-sounding. Stanley & Schilling could sue Sally’s and my asses off if it came out who Zach England really is.”

“But this is the supposed love of your life, and you’re not going to tell her?”

“Maybe she can stay for a while. We’ll get reacquainted. And then—”

Ev threw her hands up in the air. “Stop! Do you hear yourself? You’re rationalizing this like… like… I don’t know, pick an analogy. Like a drunk tries to rationalize their next drink.”

Angie waved off the comment. “It’s not that bad. I don’t think I’m rationalizing.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you have enough faith and confidence in yourself to tell her the truth? Maybe she wouldn’t print the story. If she leaves, then stay in contact with her. Ask her to visit you here again. Go up to New York. Anything but…” Ev’s voice trailed off. “You really don’t have faith in yourself where she’s concerned, do you?”

“It’s been eleven long years.”

“Do you think Meryl will like being led on like this and she’ll miraculously fall into your arms when you admit you’ve been lying to her all along?”

“I think that after we get close it won’t matter. If—”

Ev stopped her. “You’re really out of practice where women are concerned, aren’t you, sweetie?” Her tone softened. “Because you sure as hell sound like a man right now.”

“How about some support here?”

“Okay, how about this. Why don’t you talk to Sally?”

“I thought about that, but, please. That’s the last thing I want to do. Miss Sympathetic would tell me to keep as far away from Meryl as possible. And I can’t do that.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you to do.”

“You’re not much help.”

“Hey, if you didn’t want to hear the truth, why did you agree to meet with me? I’m your best friend, not your mother. I can give you my advice, and in this case, it’d be to come clean. And if you ask me again tomorrow, I’ll tell you the same thing.” Ev’s expression darkened.

“Quit doing that voodoo shit on me.” Angie shifted in her chair, folding her arms in front of her.

“It’s not voodoo. If you want to call it anything, at least come up with something Native American. Like ‘medicine woman.’”

“‘Medicine woman’ conjures up images of Jane Seymour in her long, designer-leather coat and clothes. I love her. But God, she was so annoying on that show, I renamed it, Dr. Quinn: Meddling Woman.”

Ev mimicked Angie by crossing her arms.

Angie held up her hand. “Cut me some slack here. It’s only the second day that Meryl’s back in my life—if we can call it that. Give me a little time.”

“How do you plan on showing her around to find Zach England?” Ev emphasized the name.

“We’re meeting at the docks in the morning. I’m taking her out on my boat.”

“To check to see if there’s a rich-looking author floating around on his yacht?”

Angie squirmed in her seat.

Ev focused on something past Angie’s shoulder.

“Please don’t judge me on this,” Angie said.

Ev sighed and tapped the table with her long fingernails. She shifted forward in her chair. “I’m telling you that this can lead to nothing but trouble—for her and for you. Mark my words.”

Angie tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked cough. “Is this another medicine woman foreshadowing?”

Ev stood up. “No, it’s Ev Durham worrying that her best friend will be hurt, along with the woman she loves. And I don’t know if you or she will recover this time.” She took her cup to the trash and tossed it away. “Call me. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by the time we talk again.”

Angie watched as Ev pushed through the door of the coffee shop. She tried to think of something she could’ve said to deflect Ev’s words. She took a drink of her cappuccino and grimaced. It had grown cold. She couldn’t help but think the same thing had happened inside her.

Chapter 16

Meryl stood in front of the Cozy Conch at eight the next morning. She’d forgotten to ask Angie what kind of car she drove. She dressed in a nautical theme: khaki Capri pants and a sleeveless white cotton shirt. The sunglasses on top of her head held her hair off her face.

A bright, baby blue VW bug turned the corner and pulled up in front of the bar.

“Hey, Meryl,” Angie said through the open, passenger-side window. “Hop in, and I’ll drive us over to the docks.”

Meryl put on her sunglasses, got in, and buckled her seatbelt. “This car suits you.”

Angie grinned while shifting into first. “The new models are nice, but there’s nothing like a classic. I was driving down Highway 1 into town one day and saw it for sale. The guy selling it was probably in his sixties. Said his wife told him he needed to grow up and get a real car. He looked like he was about to cry as he handed over the keys. It took me about a year, but I restored it. I still don’t drive much with the island being as small as it is. I try to run to keep in shape.”

Meryl stared at Angie’s toned thighs. “I can definitely tell you run.”

Angie had on a pair of Cleveland Browns shorts, and her tan legs were very visible. Her muscles tightened with Meryl’s comment.

They drove to the docks. Meryl asked questions about some of the buildings and businesses along the way, and Angie gave her a short history of Key West.

Angie pulled into the parking lot. “I’ll talk to one of the fisherman I know and ask him if he can tell me if Hal Morris has a boat and if so, the name,” she said as she got out of the car.

Meryl exited the VW and watched Angie’s leg muscles ripple as she strode toward the other end of the docks. She raised her sunglasses to get a better view. Damn. She was still hot.

Angie left Meryl standing by the car while she walked across the parking lot. She knew the fisherman she’d meet. She had no idea, however, what they’d discuss. It most certainly wouldn’t be Zach England.

“Herb! How are you?”

Herb Schoenberg was a thick, stubby man who’d been fishing off Key West for thirty years. He reminded her of Popeye—if Popeye were an ex-hippy. Herb owned one of the boats that took tourists and locals out deep-sea fishing. Like Angie, his tan darkened with each passing spring day. He wore his long, thin, gray hair in a ponytail and sported a beard that was always surprisingly neat and trim.

“Cantinnini. Long time no see,” he said as he continued to coil rope from his hand to the crook of his elbow.

“How’s fishing?” Angie ventured a peek behind her at Meryl. Meryl had stepped onto the dock and was walking the other way, looking at the various boats.

“Ah, so-so,” Herb answered with his Minnesota accent. “It doesn’t pick up here until later in the month. I took a group of college kids out fishing one day last week. Now that was fun, let me tell you. Reminded me why I moved down here in the first place. Jesus H. Christ! Kids don’t have no respect these days, you know? They were bitching and moaning the minute, and I mean the minute, we anchored offshore about three miles out. And then when it came to baiting their hooks…”

It never took much to get Herb going and once he did, Angie figured it would look to Meryl like she was having a heart-to-heart as to the whereabouts of a suspected resident author. She listened to another five minutes of how sissified the men were on the fishing excursion—”hell, the women were better at doing stuff than they were!”—and then disengaged from the conversation.

“Good talking to you, Herb.”

“Isn’t it about time you joined me out there? You used to like to do that from time to time.”

“I’ll let you know,” Angie said as she started to walk away.

His voice stopped her. “Nice. Very nice.”

Angie turned and saw Meryl approaching. “You got that right,” Angie said under her breath.

Herb laughed. “Take it easy, Angie.”

“You too.” Angie hurried toward Meryl to prevent her from going any farther.

“Any luck?” Meryl asked.

“I think so. Herb said he thought Hal Morris owned a forty-footer. Maybe we can do a tour around the key to try to spot him.”

“You have a boat here?”

“Yes.”

They walked toward Angie’s boat.

“Here she is.” They stopped in front of The Pride of Youngstown.

“I wondered if it was yours because of the name.” Meryl leaned down and ran her fingers over the polished wood.

“It’s a 1967 Chris—”

“Chris-Craft Constellation. Yes, I know.” Meryl had a distant expression. “My father had one just like it. We used to take it out on Lake Erie.”

Angie’s pride immediately deflated.

Meryl touched her arm. “It’s a beautiful boat. Don’t let the fact that my father had one ruin it for you.”

Angie opted not to ask Meryl about her father. No matter. Meryl had more to say on the topic.

“I haven’t spoken to him for several months. He’s dying.”

Angie searched for a clue to Meryl’s feelings about that news, but came up empty. “I’m sorry, Meryl.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

“Want to see below before we take her out?” Angie asked.

Meryl gave her a wisp of a smile. “Okay.”

Angie raised the hinged rail, hopped onto the deck, and helped Meryl aboard before closing the rail.

“I know you’ve been on one of these, but maybe…” Angie fumbled with the words, worried she sounded too proud of her boat.

“I want to see it, Ange.”

They stepped downstairs. Angie walked ahead while Meryl gazed around the cabin.

The salon area had a definite masculine appearance with the Cleveland Browns clock on the short wall by the stairs surrounded by Cleveland Indians and Browns memorabilia. Two small watercolors sat on the end tables—one of Hemingway’s home, the other, a rendering of the Key West lighthouse.

“This is you, too,” Meryl said.

Angie motioned to the Indians and Browns memorabilia. “Can’t quite get away from home.” She pointed out the galley on the right and the head on the left and stepped down into the next compartment. “Two berths here.” She walked to the end of the room and pointed forward. “And a large V-berth here in the bow.”

“Very nice,” Meryl said. “Lots of space.”

“Ready to take her out?”

“Absolutely.”

They went back on deck. Angie pointed to the bimini top that shaded the pilot area and part of the deck. “Can you handle the sun and wind? I like to take the top off in good weather.”

“I think I’ll be okay with that.”

“I can always put it back, so let me know.” Angie unsnapped the back of the bimini top, curled it up, and fastened it above the windshields. She walked along the side of the boat to the bow and released the bow lines, pulling in the three starboard fenders on the way forward and the port ones as she came aft. Meryl took care of the stern. Angie sat down at the captain’s chair and started the engines. She steered the boat out of the slip and docking area and into the shallows. Meryl stood beside Angie and put her hand around the back of the captain’s chair with her fingertips brushing Angie’s shoulders. As they got farther out, she leaned down close to Angie’s ear.

“It really is a beautiful boat, Ange.”

Her voice was low and recalled memories of another place and time when Meryl would whisper her needs while they made love. A shiver ran the length of Angie’s body. The sunlight hit Meryl’s sunglasses at an angle that allowed Angie to make out where she was gazing—which was directly at Angie. Angie returned to her task of steering clear of any incoming boats. She began her sweep around the island.

“What’s the name of Morris’s boat?” Meryl asked, craning her neck.

”The Gulf Coast Cruiser. I think that’s what Herb said.”

They made a circuit along the shore, slowing with each sighting of any boat that appeared to be a forty-footer. They of course weren’t getting anywhere and had almost completed a full trip around Key West.

“What about that one there?” Meryl asked while cupping her hand over her sunglasses.

“I don’t know. Let’s try it out.”

They drew closer. Angie recognized the woman behind the ship’s wheel. It was Felicia, a twenty-three-year-old local who, Angie suspected, had a huge crush on her. She wore a bikini but had a towel draped over her shoulders that covered her chest.

“Hi, Felicia,” Angie shouted and waved. “Your dad on board? Or are you out on your own?”

Felicia allowed the towel to drop to the deck, giving Angie a clear view of her very ample breasts. She leaned forward and pressed them together. The move made her breasts appear even larger. “My dad’s out of town. I thought like, what the hell? It’s a great day to be on the water. How are you?”

Angie slowed the engines to pull alongside Felicia’s boat. “Doing well. You?”

Felicia tossed her long dark hair off her shoulders.

Angie felt Meryl come up behind her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Sure. Meryl, this is Felicia.”

“And I’m Donna,” a deep, raspy voice said from behind Felicia. A very butch woman appeared at the top of the cabin stairs. She ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. Angie didn’t miss the flexing of her biceps with the move.

“Hi, Donna. Very nice to meet you. I’m Meryl.”

Angie noticed Meryl’s cutting tone. Jealous? Meryl’s jealous? Angie stood up a little straighter with the knowledge.

“Have you seen Hal Morris’s boat while you’ve been out?” Meryl asked.

“Who?” Felicia creased her brow, as if Meryl had asked something in a foreign language. “I’ve never heard of him.”

Angie cut in. “That doesn’t surprise me. I heard he keeps to himself.”

Felicia shrugged her shoulders and looked bored with the turn in conversation, apparently disappointed she hadn’t been able to strut her stuff a little longer before Donna popped up on deck.

“Nice meeting you, Donna,” Angie said.

Donna nodded with her arms folded across her chest, again showing off her rather impressive muscles. Angie made quick work of starting the engines and pulling away before Felicia started putting things together and asking questions that had no answers. The last thing Angie needed was Felicia saying something like she’d lived in Key West for twenty-one years, and come to think of it, shouldn’t she know this Hal Morris, and by the way, why were they looking for him?

They cruised along in silence. Angie realized Meryl was staring at her.

“What?” Angie asked.

“You sure are popular in these parts.” Meryl took off her sunglasses. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

Angie chuckled. “Felicia’s a twenty-three-year-old kid with an unrequited crush. Nothing more.”

“You might want to tell that to her boobs. She had them pointed at you the entire time she was talking.”

“Are we jealous?” Angie glanced over at Meryl who had taken a seat in one of the other chairs on deck. Angie noticed her pensive expression.

“That’s a good question.” Meryl waved her hand to encompass the water around them. “I guess Mr. Morris isn’t out on his boat. We’re about to end up right where we started.”

Still contemplating Meryl’s possible jealousy, Angie slowed the boat as they closed in on the idle zone. She maneuvered into the slip, stern first, and cut the engines. Meryl nimbly walked the starboard side to the bow and tied the bow lines to the pilings, tossing the fenders over the sides as she walked up and back. Angie tied off the stern lines. She unfurled the bimini top and snapped it back into place.

“You seem to be at home on a boat,” Angie said while she helped Meryl step onto the dock.

“Angie, I don’t know if anyone has managed to break this to you, but The Pride of Youngstown is a yacht. And, yes, I did go out a lot with my dad when I was younger.”

Angie hopped onto the dock. “I choose to refer to her as a boat.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Angie laughed. “Anything to make myself feel better.”

“I think I’ll do some research on Hal Morris online on my laptop when I get back to the hotel,” Meryl said as they walked to Angie’s car. “There has to be something on him, even if there are a lot of Hal Morrises out there. I’m hoping one might show up in Key West.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Angie kept a blank expression.

They pulled up to Meryl’s hotel a little before noon.

“Can I treat you to lunch?” Angie asked.

“No. I’d better get going on this research stuff.” Meryl opened the car door.

Angie touched her arm. “Meryl, we really do need to talk.”

Meryl stopped. “Dinner. How about dinner at your place?”

“Tonight?”

“If I recall, you make a mean spaghetti and meatballs with some drop-dead homemade tomato sauce.”

“It’s one Italian dish I can’t screw up.”

“I can get to your place from here.”

“Let me give you my cell number just in case.”

“Good idea. I’ll give you mine, too.”

They punched one another’s number into their phones.

“How about seven?” Meryl said.

“Seven’s perfect. That’ll give me time to go grocery shopping and then allow the sauce to cook down.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Angie watched her walk away. “Dinner. I’m having dinner tonight with Meryl McClain at my place.” She pulled away from the curb. When guilt over her deceptions about Zach England stabbed at her on the drive to the grocery store, she shoved it away just as hard as it pushed against her conscience.

Chapter 17

Meryl smoothed out the cotton blouse she’d tucked into a pair of black slacks. She put on her favorite pair of silver earrings and tried to ignore her shaking hands. She finished adding a touch of makeup, then ran a brush through her hair.

“Not bad for thirty-two.”

She spritzed a dab of perfume on one wrist and rubbed it into the other. She turned the collar up on her shirt and fiddled with it for a few seconds. No use pretending. This was a date. A real date with the only woman she’d ever loved.

Angie stirred the sauce for what felt like the fiftieth time. It had thickened to the consistency she wanted, but it had to be perfect. She’d made the meatballs, dabbled some sauce on them, and placed them in the oven to bake, along with the loaf of bread to warm. The pasta could wait until Meryl arrived. She’d almost bought spaghetti at the store, but remembered at the last minute that Meryl preferred rigatoni.

Angie lit the three candles on the mantle and hustled to the bedroom. She stopped in front of the mirror and debated whether she’d made the right choice with her attire of jeans and a red denim shirt.

The doorbell rang.

She ran her fingers through her hair one last time before leaving the bedroom. Okay, be cool, be cool. Angie opened the door—and gripped the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white.

Angie’s dumbstruck expression was all Meryl needed to see to know she’d been successful with her appearance.

“I stopped on the way over and bought us some wine. I hope that’s okay,” Meryl said.

Angie’s mouth hung agape.

“Ange? Wine?” Meryl waved the bottle in front of Angie. “And may I come in?”

“Uh yeah. Sorry.” Angie stepped aside to allow Meryl to enter. “I’ll take the wine.”

Angie grabbed the bottle and took it to the kitchen. Meryl followed.

Angie set the wine on the refrigerator shelf. She took another long look at Meryl, then braced her hands against the countertop.

Yes, it was worth the prep time, Meryl thought as she watched Angie’s actions. “I was hoping we’d have a glass of that now, if that’s all right with you.”

Angie jumped at the sound of Meryl’s voice.

Meryl crossed her arms and propped her shoulder against the arched entryway that led into the kitchen. She smiled. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Angie pulled down two wineglasses from the cabinet above the sink. She retrieved the wine and dug around in a drawer for a corkscrew. She fumbled with the wrapping on the bottle. “Shit.”

Meryl moved behind her.

“Here. Why don’t you let me do that?” Meryl pressed against Angie and placed her hand on top of hers to take the corkscrew. Meryl trembled. The feel of Angie’s body against hers was intoxicating. “You kind of have to let go for me to do this.”

Angie released her hold on the corkscrew and stepped away. “I’ll start the rigatoni.”

Meryl smiled as she twisted the foil off the bottle. “You remembered.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Angie turned the burner on for the water while Meryl loosened the cork on the wine and poured two glasses.

Angie lifted the meatballs and bread out of the oven and set them on top of two empty burners. She stirred the sauce once more before turning off the stove.

“Why don’t we take our wine into the living room while the water boils?” Meryl said.

She offered a glass to Angie, and they sat on the couch.

Angie took a sip. “Nice. I’m usually not a wine drinker, but this is nice.”

“It’s a California zinfandel I discovered on a trip to Modesto. I was pleased that Pete’s Liquor and Bait Store down the road carried it.” Meryl tried to keep a straight face.

Angie chuckled. “Old Pete would surprise you. He’s quite the wine connoisseur.”

Meryl swirled the wine in her glass. “I did an Internet search for Hal Morris and didn’t have any luck. Unless you want to count one Hal Morris, a former first baseman for the Cincinnati Reds.” Meryl stared at the ceiling and tapped her forehead with her finger, racking her brain for his stats. “He was a member of their 1990 World Series Championship team and retired with a .304 batting average. I could tell you anything you’d want to know about him.”

Angie took a big gulp of wine.

“Gosh, you really do like it.” Meryl swirled hers again and took another drink. “I think I’ll nose about town tomorrow. Do you have anything going on, or can you take me around?”

“I can do that.”

Angie carried her wineglass to the dining room table. “I’ll check on the water and get the rigatoni going. Why don’t you come on into the dining room? It won’t be long.”

Meryl set her glass onto the table and then stood in the entryway to the kitchen. She watched Angie drop the rigatoni in the water, sprinkle parmesan on the meatballs, and pour some of the sauce into a bowl. “A master at work.”

Angie smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far. Want to help bring things to the table while the pasta boils?”

Meryl picked up the bowl of meatballs and took it to the table.

“This smells wonderful. It brings back memories, too.”

Angie set the sauce next to the meatballs. “The third night you stayed over at the house.”

Meryl blushed. “I remember that night.”

“If I recall, we were starved after making love for hours,” Angie said as she took her seat across from Meryl. “You didn’t believe I could cook.”

“And to prove it, you threw on your robe, marched into the kitchen, and whipped up your rigatoni and meatballs.”

“I also remember you asking me, ‘Where’s the jar of Ragu?’ I about died.”

Meryl giggled. “I believe your exact words were, ‘Never ask an Italian for Ragu sauce.’”

“We consider it an insult. Let me check on the rigatoni again. I hate overdone pasta.”

While Angie went into the kitchen, Meryl stepped over to the French doors facing out at the small backyard. Solar lights illuminated the patio area.

“Like my huge backyard?” Angie asked when she returned to the table with the pasta.

Meryl joined her. “I love the hammock touch. I said it before—you’ve adapted well to the Key West lifestyle.”

“It’s easy to do, believe me.” Angie pointed to the pasta. “Eat.”

Meryl loaded her plate up with food. She took her first bite.

“Oh… my… God, Angie. This is out of this world.” She waved her fork in the air. “You most certainly haven’t lost your touch.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Angie took a bite. “Maybe I could have let the pasta go a little longer, though.”

“You’re crazy.” Meryl continued to shovel food into her mouth. “I most certainly won’t be ladylike eating this, either.”

The only words spoken for the next several minutes were, “Can you pass the rigatoni?” or “May I have more bread, please?”

They finished, and Angie started to clear the table. Meryl hopped up before she had a chance. “I’ll take care of this.”

“I won’t argue.” Angie poured another glass of wine and walked over to the stereo. “How about some music?”

“I’d love it,” Meryl said as she rinsed off their plates.

“Anyone in particular?” Angie’s raised voice drifted into the kitchen.

“I think you remember what kind of music I like.” Meryl placed the dishes in the dishwasher. “Soap?”

“Under the sink.”

Meryl poured the soap in the compartment on the door of the dishwasher. She heard the smooth sound of Diana Krall emerging from the speakers. She went to the dining room table, poured more wine into her glass, and joined Angie.

“Nice choice. I love her music.” Meryl sat down next to Angie on the couch.

They faced straight ahead and sipped their wine.

Angie broke the silence.

“You may not be ready yet, Meryl, and you said we could put it off. But I can’t help it—”

“You want to talk about the past.” Meryl stared into her wine. “To talk about me, I have to talk about you. I lost track of you after my…” She cleared her throat. “After my divorce.”

She ventured a glance over at Angie and saw the hurt there. Meryl stood up, taking her wine with her to the mantle.

“You ever use the fireplace? I guess you would in the winter.” Meryl gathered her courage before turning around. “I’m sure it seems I’m avoiding this part of my past. But you deserve the truth. It was all arranged by my father. I didn’t know what else to do, Ange. I was young, and I was scared. The summer following our junior year, when I told him about you… about us, he lost it. I’d never seen him so angry. Two weeks after you came there, he threatened again to have your scholarship revoked if I saw you. My father was powerful enough to do it, too.”

“I suspected as much.”

“There was more to it. I also had to date Stan Alberson. I was afraid for you. You were there on scholarship and you…” Meryl’s voice trailed off.

“Didn’t have money like you.” Angie finished Meryl’s sentence.

“I went along with what he wanted for me like always. I dated Stan, and I married him.” Meryl almost choked on the words. “I saw you the day of the wedding. I wanted to go to you like the day in front of the house when my father pushed me into the car. That day when you came to the house? I watched you from the backseat.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Ange. I wanted to run to you. To get out of the car and run to you. But he stopped me from opening the door.”

Angie kept her head down, turning the glass of wine repeatedly in her hands.

“At the church the day of my wedding…” Meryl stopped and thought back. “A part of me died when I saw you standing by your car.” She relived the moment from eleven years ago in Mount Lebanon. “I didn’t love him, Angie,” she whispered. “He was a good man, well, is a good man. He remarried about a year after our divorce to a tall blonde from a well-connected family.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I guess I was his type. But two years into the marriage, I was tired of living a lie. My father, of course, was horrified. This time, I didn’t give in, and my mother supported me. My father still had a difficult time going against my mother once she had her mind made up about something.” Meryl smiled. “She asked if you were the reason I couldn’t stay married to Stan.”

Angie looked up.

“I told her I was a lesbian, that being married to Stan for two years only reinforced those feelings and made them that much stronger.”

Meryl returned to the couch and sat down. She brushed her fingertips against Angie’s hand as she continued. “I told her I was in love with you and that would never change.”

“Oh, Meryl.”

“The cop-out is to say it was hell living with Stan, but he was always good to me. The truth is, it was more like living in prison. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t think about you. I served time those two years, punishment for making the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t stand up to my father when it counted the most.” She chose her next words with care. “When I began my search for you, my mother even helped, believe it or not. She said she only wanted me to be happy. We didn’t tell my father, although he might have suspected. He never wanted to believe his daughter was a lesbian, and he certainly didn’t want to believe I was still in love with you.”

Meryl stared at Angie to convey her conviction. “I searched for you for months, but then accepted I’d lost you. That’s when I went back to school, tried freelance for a while, and taught at Columbia. Like I told you before, the only glimpse I had of you all those years was when I discovered you’d written those three novels. I read them, if only to feel connected to you through your writing.”

Angie blushed. “I still can’t believe you liked them.”

“I loved every word. What about you? And your family? Do they—”

“No,” Angie said sharply. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I understand.”

“It still hurts, even after almost fifteen years. Jan and I are close. Other than that, I’ve only shared a couple of phone calls with my father. He chose to go along with my mother’s wishes.”

“I’m sorry, Ange.” Meryl held Angie’s hand a little tighter.

“I try not to think about it. I worked as an editor after graduation. I started writing my first novel during that time and signed a contract with a lesbian publishing company. They published my first book and the next two.”

“Have you published anything else? Please tell me you haven’t given up on writing.”

“Uh… uh… no.”

“Something secretive you’re working on?”

The color drained from Angie’s face.

“I’m sorry. Did I upset you? If you don’t want to—”

“No no. It’s not that. I published the three books. By then, I’d moved here.”

Meryl ran her fingers through Angie’s bangs. “And adopted the Hemingway starving author look?”

Angie barely smiled.

“You sure I haven’t upset you?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you working on anything now?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess. You don’t want to talk about it. I remember how you were at school when you worked on your short stories for your courses. Am I right?”

“Pretty close.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about the rest of your time. Your bar seems to do well. That boat, as you call it, isn’t cheap. And I imagine this house isn’t either.”

“You’re right. The Cozy Conch does a very nice business and brings in a lot of money.”

Meryl feared the answer to her next question. “Anyone in your life now? The woman at the bar seemed to be still interested.”

“Pam and I lasted a little over two years, but we’re not together. There’s no one. What about you?”

“No. I didn’t see anyone for the longest time after I divorced. The one relationship I did have lasted only a year. Remember, I tried to find you. You said how painful it was for you, but I wish you’d tried to contact me.”

“I couldn’t. I lost so much of myself when I saw you on those steps at the church.” Angie’s voice shook.

Meryl touched Angie’s cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The CD player clicked to the soundtrack to Somewhere in Time.

Meryl smiled. “I remember this well.”

Angie brought Meryl to her feet.

They maintained eye contact as they swayed to the music. Meryl was lost, transported to another place and time. As one selection on the CD segued to the next, Meryl had to ask the question.

“How do you feel about us now?”

Angie pulled Meryl closer. “The reason it never worked out with Pam was because I was waiting for someone else to come back to me, even though it seemed impossible.”

“Waiting for someone?” Meryl held her breath, hoping and praying for the words she wanted to hear.

“Yes.” Angie trailed her fingertips along Meryl’s cheek. “But she’s here now.”

Angie pressed her mouth against Meryl’s. It was a tentative kiss at first, one that spoke of their years apart. But then Meryl parted Angie’s lips with her tongue. She drew even closer and put her fingers to the back of Angie’s neck.

The kiss forged a bridge to the present from the years they’d lost between them. It was everything Meryl experienced in the nights when Angie haunted her dreams. The taste, Angie’s body against hers, her fingers entwined in Angie’s thick, dark hair—everything was the same, yet not the same. Because Angie was here in the flesh.

Angie pulled her mouth away and trailed her tongue along Meryl’s neck to the hollow of her throat. Meryl trembled, and her knees weakened.

“Ange, I’ve missed you… I’ve missed you… I’ve missed you.”

Angie took Meryl by the hand. She extinguished two of the candles, lifted the remaining lit candle from the mantle, and led Meryl down the hallway to the bedroom. She put the candle on her bedside table and turned around to Meryl.

“I want to make love to you,” Angie whispered as she drew nearer. She brought her fingers to the top button of Meryl’s blouse. “May I?”

Meryl could only nod.

Angie slowly undid each button and pulled the blouse below Meryl’s shoulders. Meryl tugged the sleeves down to free herself from the garment.

Angie ran her fingertips across Meryl’s shoulders, dipped them to her stomach and then brushed Meryl’s lace-covered breasts with the back of her hands.

Meryl arched into her touch and her breath caught in her throat. Without turning away from Angie’s gaze, Meryl undressed.

Angie watched until she was done and then removed her clothing. She gently pushed Meryl toward the bed.

Meryl moaned when Angie pressed her body against hers. She accepted Angie’s kisses that started at her neck and descended to her breasts. Relishing Angie’s touch, she willingly opened herself up to love again. She pushed her hips against Angie’s hand, soaring with each gentle caress of Angie’s fingers. Meryl cried out when Angie’s touch took her to that place she’d thought was lost to her.

Angie collapsed on top of Meryl. Meryl draped one arm over Angie’s back and the other across her own face. Angie slid beside her.

Meryl’s shoulders shook with sobs.

“Meryl? Did I do something wrong?” Angie pulled Meryl’s arm away from her face. “Oh, baby. Let me hold you.” Angie took Meryl into her arms. “Baby, please don’t cry.”

Meryl pushed into her shoulder. Angie stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

“It’s never been like this with anyone else,” Meryl said. “Never. Only with you.”

“I feel the same. I’ve been lost without you these past years.”

“Do you remember the first time we made love?”

“How could I forget? I wanted to touch you so many times since I’d met you, and when I did that night, it was everything I dreamed it would be.”

“You have my heart, Ange. You always have.” Meryl looked up at Angie to find her wiping her eyes.

“I saved my heart for you,” Angie whispered.

Meryl shifted closer. Angie caressed her back until Meryl felt herself slipping into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Angie was in the midst of a wonderful dream. Soft lips touched her shoulders and continued their feather-light journey to her breasts. Her nipple came to life as the lips encircled it. It was Meryl again. Angie tried not to awaken, because when she did at each appearance of her past love’s apparition, she awoke lost and alone. The lips left light kisses on Angie’s stomach, and she tightened her legs together as her center throbbed with desire.

Fingertips trailed inch by inch to her calves and moved up again to her thighs. A whisper of “wake up, my love” drifted into Angie’s unconsciousness.

Angie hated to leave the dream, but she stirred from her sleep when lips kissed their way up from her ankles to the inside of her thighs. Her eyes fluttered open and she lifted her head. Meryl knelt on the foot of the bed, smiling shyly.

“Let me love you,” Meryl said, moving her lips higher.

Angie gripped the sheets beside her as the pleasure mounted. Meryl entwined her fingers with Angie’s; Angie grabbed hold as if they were a lifeline.

Angie flew upward to a higher place, a place she’d only reached with the woman who was making love to her now. She was on the edge and held there as long as she could, savoring the anticipation of falling over. She let go and flew headlong into her orgasm, crying out Meryl’s name as every muscle in her body tensed.

Angie slowly came down from her last throbbing moments. She released the tight grasp she had on Meryl’s hands. “Lie next to me.”

They faced each other.

Meryl caressed Angie’s cheek and then touched her lips to Angie’s for a tender kiss. Angie tasted the remnants of their lovemaking.

“Hey,” Angie said.

“Hey.”

“You don’t know how many nights we’ve made love in my dreams. But it never compared to that.”

Meryl’s lips curled into a smile. “Really?”

Angie nodded and brushed the back of her hand against Meryl’s cheek. “Yeah, really. Will you hold me?”

“Always.” Meryl moved so she was lying on the pillow. She pulled Angie close to rest her head on Meryl’s chest.

Angie fell asleep with the sound of Meryl’s steady heart beating in her ear.

Chapter 18

Meryl padded around the kitchen, humming as she stood over the burner, flipping the two omelets in the frying pan. She’d slipped out of bed while Angie lay sleeping and had taken one of Angie’s T-shirts from the closet. That and her panties made up her morning ensemble. The shirt had a faded sun and palm tree on the front with, “It’s More Fun Under the Sun” scrawled across the chest.

She’d awakened ravenous and watched Angie sleep for several minutes, then she’d decided to make breakfast. She’d foraged in the refrigerator and found all the ingredients she needed.

She turned the omelets one last time. She buttered the toast and poured juice into two glasses. Successful in her earlier search for a lap tray, she placed everything on it and carried the loaded tray to the bedroom.

Meryl stood in the doorway, admiring Angie sprawled out on the bed. A tanned leg stuck out from the sheet, and her dark hair fell across her forehead.

“If you’re dressed like that, you can bring breakfast to me anytime.”

Angie’s husky voice had the same effect on her as when they were in college. Meryl felt it reverberate all the way to her toes.

She brought the food to the bed, but her step faltered when Angie sat up and briefly bared her body before wrapping herself in the sheet. Angie leaned against the headboard. “I thought you could use some sustenance after last night,” Meryl said.

Angie took the tray, and Meryl sat down cross-legged in front of her.

“You don’t mind if I share your tray, do you?” Meryl asked.

“Not at all.” Angie took a bite of her omelet. “Yum,” she said while holding up her fork.

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

Meryl munched happily on her toast. She felt so domesticated, like she could do this for the rest of her life and never tire of it. The feeling bubbled up inside of her like a fountain.

“This does feel right, doesn’t it?” Angie asked, as if reading her mind.

“Yes. It does.”

They shared a smile before resuming eating.

“What’s the next plan of action for finding Hal Morris?” Meryl asked.

Angie coughed on her toast. She reached for her juice and drained the glass.

“Do you need me to get you some more juice?” Meryl asked.

“No. This was enough. My toast just went down the wrong pipe.” Angie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Uh, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I already searched your white pages. Hal Morris isn’t listed. But maybe we can ask around town.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound sure. If it’s a problem taking me around… I mean, you have a bar to run and—”

“No. I have the time.” Angie finished the last of her omelet.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower and go back to my hotel.”

“You go ahead. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

Meryl walked toward the bathroom.

“Towels and washcloths are on your left there in the closet.”

“Thanks.”

What? You thought she’d let it drop? Angie cursed herself for letting a bad situation get worse by leaps and bounds. She pondered the mess she was in before rising and carrying the tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen.

She talked to the plates and silverware as she tossed them in the dishwasher. “Maybe if I show her around for the rest of the week, she’ll give up, and I can pretend that she was never here searching for Zach England. She just popped up out of nowhere and reentered my life. All of this searching for Zach England stuff needs to end. She’s not going to find him anyway.”

Angie put the last fork in the dishwasher. “My God, listen to me. I’m delusional and I’m talking to household furnishings.”

“Did you say something?”

Angie swiveled around.

Meryl stood in the entryway between the kitchen and dining room. She was wearing Angie’s robe, which was about a size too small.

“Ange? Did you say something?” Meryl repeated. She tilted her head to the side and twisted the ends of her hair with the towel.

“I was thinking out loud. Why don’t you go to your hotel and change clothes? I’ll take a shower and pick you up in, what, an hour or so?”

“It’s nine-thirty. How about eleven in front of the hotel? You can take me around, and I can do some more searching. Then we can have a late lunch or early dinner somewhere in town.” Meryl walked over to Angie and gave her a soulful kiss. “Mmm. I could do that forever. Last night was incredible, by the way, although I wouldn’t think I had to tell you that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s still nice to hear.”

“I can say it as many times as you like.” Meryl kissed her again. “I’ll dress and walk back to the hotel while you’re getting ready.”

After Meryl left, Angie stood under the hot spray of the shower, doing her best to rid her mind of any guilt. She was drying off when her cell phone rang in the bedroom. She walked to the dresser and picked it up.

“Hi, Sally.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled to hear from me.” Sally crunched down on something.

“Please don’t let me get in the way of your snack.”

“Hey, I have to take what I can get anytime I can. Today it happens to be Fritos.” Another loud crunch. “I guess you figured out why I’m calling.”

“What does S & S want now?”

“A simple update on where you are on your ninth Derek Barker installment.”

“This week isn’t a good one for me to write.”

“To write, period? Or just the Barker book?”

Angie caught the edge to Sally’s voice.

“I haven’t written anything the past couple of days, but I’ll start writing Barker again next week. I’ve never been late on a deadline, and I won’t start now.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on that’s more important than writing?”

“No.”

Another loud crunch assaulted Angie’s eardrum.

“I guess I have to trust you on this,” Sally said.

“Thank you.”

“Keep me posted where you’re at next week.”

“Will do.”

Angie clicked the phone off, trying to remember why she needed an agent.

Angie picked up Meryl in front of the hotel at eleven. She took her to the restaurants and bars that lined Duval. About three-thirty, they stopped for a late lunch.

They took their seats at a small seafood restaurant off the beaten path. Angie had dined there on occasion to reminisce about the times she spent with her dad at a similar restaurant in Youngstown. Her father would tell her that it was a secret place only the two of them knew about. It seemed like ages ago.

Angie stared out the window, lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Meryl asked.

“Sometimes when I come here, I find myself thinking about home.”

A look of sympathy crossed Meryl’s face.

“You said you’re still close to Jan, though, right?”

“Thank goodness. In fact, she called recently and asked when she can come to visit.”

“I’m not keeping her from coming, am I?”

“Not at all. I’ve been working on my writing, and I told her I had a dead—” Angie stopped in mid-sentence.

“Yes? You’re with a publisher then?”

“Yeah.” Angie fumbled with the cloth napkin in her lap.

“May I ask who?”

Angie blurted out the name of the lesbian publishing house that had published her three books.

“That’s who you were with previously, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll do well there again. You’re a gifted author. From what I saw in your novels, you still have the talent I was so impressed by when we were in college. I can’t wait to read this next one. Is it a mystery?”

“No. More of a romance this time.”

“Now I really want to read it,” Meryl said with a smile.

The waiter served their food.

“What brought you to Key West?” Meryl asked while squirting a lemon wedge onto her fish.

“For one thing, it’s 1200 miles away from my family.”

“Ah, okay.”

“I also love it because it’s so gay-friendly here, and it’s a good place to hone my writing. As you said, I’ve adopted the brooding writer in Key West thing.”

“Don’t hold that comment against me. I was teasing,” Meryl said. “Sort of.”

“It’s true.”

“You’ve cultivated the perfect writer look in your years here.” Meryl’s tone was light. “So, you’ve been writing all along, but up until now, you’ve had no luck getting published, other than those three mystery novels, right?”

“Right. I was working on manuscripts, but just recently managed to get this one accepted for publication.” And the lies kept slipping off her tongue like melted butter.

“As long as you’re writing, then this is the place for you.”

“And you?”

Meryl paused in bringing her fork to her mouth. “What about me?”

“How’s your relationship with your dad?”

Meryl’s face turned ashen-white. She dropped her fork onto her plate.

Angie grabbed her hand. “Forgive me for bringing it up, Meryl.”

“No. It’s all right.”

“If you don’t want to talk—”

Meryl squeezed her hand. “My father’s dying of pancreatic cancer. I haven’t seen or talked to him in several months. Not too long after I found out he was sick.”

“Is this about the marriage?”

“It goes deeper than that. I’ll tell you sometime, Angie, just not right now.”

Angie held her hand a little tighter. “In your time.” She noticed the boats tied at the nearby docks. “Hey, want to hear about my early exploits at piloting a boat? It wasn’t pretty. Let’s just say the other captains around here gave me a wide berth until I’d gotten a better handle on it.”

Meryl laughed. “I can just picture you out there as a novice. You didn’t wear one of those silly captain’s hats did you?”

“Now that you mention it…”

Chapter 19

The rest of the week flew by. They searched for Zach England’s nonexistent alter ego during the day—either on land or on Angie’s boat. Angie was so lost in Meryl that she’d almost convinced herself there really was a Hal Morris.

On Friday, Angie took Meryl out again on The Pride of Youngstown.

“We can make another pass to the south,” Angie shouted over the drone of the engines.

Meryl crossed the deck and stood beside Angie. She leaned down so that her mouth was by Angie’s ear. “It’s all right. We’re not going to find him.”

Angie tried to hide her surprise. “Meryl, don’t give up.”

“No. You thought it might be Hal Morris, but I’m convinced it’s not him. Either that or the people in this town are protecting him. Which is fine. I’m sure that’s how he wants it. It still would have been nice to get an interview even if my theory about him being a woman was wrong. I need to call my editor and tell him I’ve hit a dead end.”

Dozens of feelings bombarded Angie at hearing those words, and relief was one of them. Immense relief. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help,” she said.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Would you like to stay out here tonight?” Angie asked.

“We could do that?” Meryl’s face lit up.

“Yeah.” Angie shifted the boat down to idle and shut off the engines. “How about we anchor here for the evening?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Angie dropped the anchors. Meryl stepped out from under the bimini top to join her.

“What a beautiful sunset.” Meryl stared out over the water.

Angie marveled as Meryl’s face glowed with the last golden rays of the late afternoon sun. “What a beautiful woman.”

Meryl turned to her. “Hmm?”

“Why don’t we go below?”

They stepped downstairs.

“Would you like a drink?” Angie asked.

“What do you have?” Meryl stood behind Angie at the bar, perusing the array of liquor. “Chivas on the rocks?”

“You got it.”

Angie dropped some ice in a tumbler and poured the Scotch into the glass. She handed it to Meryl.

“Thanks.” Meryl took a sip and peered at Angie over her glass. “If you love me, you’ll let me cut your hair.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not afraid to let a femme cut your hair, are you?”

“Well, no, it’s that—”

“It’s that you’re as particular now who you deem worthy to cut your hair as you were when we were at Lehigh. I take it you don’t trust me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then where are your scissors and comb? I’m certain you have a comb on your person as we speak.” Meryl set her drink down. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Fork it over.”

Angie sighed. She took her small comb from the side pocket of her cargo shorts and handed it to Meryl.

“Now all we need are a pair of scissors.” Meryl went to the galley counter and rifled through the drawers.

Angie knew when she was beat. “The top drawer on the left.”

Meryl pulled out a large pair of scissors. “Perfect.” She reopened a few drawers. “Towel?”

“Bath towels are stowed in the locker in the hall.”

“Ooh, how nautical. I’ll let you go first so you can douse your head in the sink.”

Meryl followed Angie down the short hallway. Angie dipped her head under the water from the tap.

Meryl handed her the towel to drape over her head. She grabbed Angie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s do this on the deck where we can clean up the hair more easily.”

“Jesus, Meryl, how much are you cutting?”

“Stop being a baby.”

Meryl pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Angie dropped into the vinyl seat.

Meryl pulled the towel from Angie’s head and draped it around her shoulders. “How much should I cut?”

Angie glanced up at Meryl and noticed her playful grin. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“Yes, I am.” She leaned over and Angie could see the swell of her breasts in the V-opening of her tank top. “But the prospect of cutting your hair is incredibly sexy.”

Angie tingled at Meryl’s words. “About an inch.” She held the wet bangs off her forehead. “Make sure to cut these back.”

Meryl began snipping. Angie tried not to squirm as she watched the black hair fall at her feet. She glanced up at Meryl while she worked on the bangs.

Meryl pursed her lips.

Angie giggled.

“What?” Meryl asked.

“You’re as intense as an artist painting a masterpiece.”

Meryl waved the scissors in front of Angie. “Have you forgotten I still have these?”

Angie held up her hand in defense. “I was only joking.”

Meryl started cutting again. A few more minutes passed. Meryl did one more snip with a flourish. “Voila!”

Angie tried to judge the length in the back. It felt right.

“I know, I know,” Meryl said as she gathered the fallen hair and tossed it into the water. “You want a mirror.”

Angie doffed the towel, jumped up, and sprinted down the stairs. Meryl’s laughter followed her into the cabin. Angie hurried to the head and looked in the mirror. She ran her fingers through the wet strands. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

Meryl came in beside her and put her arm around her shoulder. “So?”

“You can now be my official hairdresser.”

Meryl ruffled what Angie had just smoothed down.

“Hey!” Angie said in mock anger. She smoothed it back into place.

“Oh, please!” Meryl ruffled her hair again.

Angie took hold of Meryl’s hand and pulled her to her body. “You like it messed up, do you?”

Meryl brought her mouth to Angie’s and locked her in a long, intense kiss. “I think you need to get a shower to get rid of this hair.” She plucked a wet strand from Angie’s shoulder and held it up.

“Why don’t you go into the sleeping berth?” Angie pointed to the left. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Twin or queen?” Meryl asked from around the corner.

“I think either would do given the way we sleep together, don’t you?”

Angie cranked on the water in the shower. She made short work rinsing off the loose hair clippings. She didn’t bother dressing before entering the sleeping berth.

Meryl lay in the queen bed with the sheet covering her breasts.

Angie joined her on the bed. She took her time kissing every inch of Meryl’s body, lingering in her most intimate places until Meryl cried out her name. Angie moved onto her back and held Meryl in her arms.

“I love you,” Meryl said as she trailed her fingers between Angie’s breasts. “I never stopped loving you.” She rose up on her elbow and kissed Angie.

Angie pulled her even closer to deepen the kiss. “I love you, too.”

They made love until exhaustion overtook them. Angie curled up next to Meryl as the gentle sway of the boat nudged her into a deep slumber.

Meryl stood in front of the locked bathroom door at her parents’ house. She lifted her hand to the top bolt. Fear stabbed her with its piercing knife. She inched back the lock. There were two more to unlock. She pushed each one to the left and reached for the doorknob.

She didn’t want to go in there. But she opened the door.

Suddenly, she was in the bathtub. Tepid, dingy water surrounded her. She felt pain. Intense pain.

She looked up. There was the angry face of her grandmother hovering over her.

“Filthy. You’re filthy,” her grandmother growled as she scrubbed hard between Meryl’s legs.

“No!” Meryl cried out. “That hurts.”

But her grandmother wouldn’t stop. Her face transformed even further into a visage of evil. She increased the pressure, causing Meryl to sob and shake uncontrollably.

The bathroom door creaked open. Meryl turned to see who was there. Maybe they would help her.

It was her father. Meryl tried to focus on his face through her tears.

“Daddy!” she cried.

He stood very still in the doorway as his expression morphed from worry to acquiescence. Then he pulled the door to with a quiet click.

“No!” Meryl slammed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth in her pain. She tried to block it out. Tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But it was no use. The pain was still there. She pushed her grandmother’s twisted face into the dark recesses of her mind.

She cried until she felt there was nothing left.

But no one came. No one rescued her.

“Meryl! Meryl. Wake up.”

A hand gripped her shoulder. Meryl awakened and shrank in fear to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s me. Angie.” Angie moved closer, her face full of concern. It was dark in the sleeping berth, but moonlight streamed through the small porthole beside the bed.

Meryl took shallow, ragged breaths. She felt as though she’d hyperventilate.

“You were having a nightmare.” Angie stroked Meryl’s cheek.

“Hold me, Ange. Please hold me.”

Angie sat up in the bed and took Meryl into her arms.

“Shh. I’m with you now.” Angie rocked her gently and began humming a soft tune that comforted Meryl with its soothing melody.

Meryl kept her cheek pressed to Angie’s chest, letting the sound vibrate in her ear. She held onto Angie even tighter.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Angie whispered. “Never again.”

Meryl’s breathing returned to normal—enough so she could sit up next to Angie.

Angie took hold of her hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I… I’ve been having nightmares about when I was a child. Something happened then.”

Angie tensed beside her.

“The first time I had one of the nightmares, I was with you. It was the first night we’d slept together after watching Somewhere in Time.”

“I remember. You cried out a few times in your sleep. Not just then, but other times when we were in bed.”

“My therapist told me it was because I felt safe with you. If we’d stayed together, I think this would’ve become much clearer years ago. But we didn’t, and the nightmares disappeared for a long time. They returned full force when I found out my father was dying of pancreatic cancer and had only months to live.”

“He didn’t…” Angie gripped her hand.

“No. He didn’t physically do anything to me.”

“But someone else did?”

“My grandmother. My evil bitch of a grandmother.” As soon as the words left Meryl’s mouth, she began crying again.

Angie tightened her embrace.

“She did it in the bathroom. I’m still not sure how old I was. I think I was old enough I didn’t need someone giving me baths. But my father knew what was happening.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“I was in the bathtub. My grandmother was scrubbing me… down there.” Meryl knew she sounded like a small child with her description. “And it hurt. It hurt so much. I asked her to stop. I did. I told her, ‘Grammy, it hurts.’ But she didn’t listen. She told me I was filthy. She kept repeating the word. And scrubbed even harder.” Meryl sobbed.

“What else do you remember?” Angie asked in a soft voice.

“The bathroom door opened. My father stood there watching. I asked him to make her stop, but he just stood there. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything. Then he turned and shut the door behind him.” Meryl wiped at her tears. “My therapist said my grandmother probably thought I was displaying lesbian tendencies. In her own sick and perverted way, she was trying to rid me of the feelings at a young age. It might be difficult to believe now, but when I was a kid, I was a tomboy. I had a girlfriend named Tully. We’d play army together. I can still see my grandmother at the picture window, glaring out at us while we tumbled around in the front yard.”

Angie waited for Meryl to continue.

“My grandmother would always talk down to me and shattered my self-confidence every opportunity she could. Later, she insisted my parents send me to charm school. She was determined I’d become more ladylike. My therapist asked me once if I ever felt like a child or if I’d always felt older. I’ve felt like an adult for as long as I can remember.”

Meryl ran her hand across her nose and sniffed. “Things came to me while discussing this with him, like acting out sexually with dolls. It happened when I was in third grade. My grandmother caught me. She told me at the time to stop and that it wasn’t appropriate. He said today, the psychiatric community sees the acting out as a possible sign of sexual abuse. I never talked to my mother about it because I was ashamed.” Meryl laughed derisively. “Now that I’ve worked on this in therapy, I understand why my reaction when my grandmother died was to go to a movie that night with Tully.”

“Did you ever confront your dad?” Angie asked.

Meryl clenched her jaws in anger. “After the therapy session where I realized what had happened to me as a child, I flew home. They’d already diagnosed the cancer. My mother was at a golf outing with her friends that day. I stormed into the house. He acted pleased to see me until he saw my expression.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him the details of the dream. At first, he denied it. I kept on him until he admitted it. And then he laughed at me.” Meryl’s eyes burned with tears again, but this time, tears of anger. “He fucking laughed at me. He said it had been in my best interest. My grandmother had told him what she suspected. He thought my grandmother’s ‘solution’ would help. He didn’t want his daughter growing up to be a pervert. The bastard.”

“I wish I could have been there. I’d have cold-cocked him,” Angie said, her voice low with anger.

“I slapped him. He rubbed his jaw and sneered at me. He said at least he’d kept me away from that woman.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“That infuriated me even more. I told him I hoped he rotted in hell next to his mother. I left and haven’t been home since.”

“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Meryl. God, that sounds so inadequate after what you’ve told me. I only wish I could take away your pain.”

“Being in your arms… it’s enough. I feel so safe.” Then the image of her father standing in the doorway of the bathroom flashed into Meryl’s mind. “Why? Why, Angie?” Meryl pushed her face into Angie’s chest as she cried. “Why wouldn’t he save me? I’m his daughter.”

Angie hugged her closer. “I don’t know, sweetie. Just believe none of it was your fault. None of it. You were an innocent. He and your grandmother took away your childhood.”

Meryl allowed Angie to rock her until her crying subsided and then she turned onto her side. Angie tucked in behind her, draping her arm around her waist. Meryl tugged Angie closer.

“I love you, Ange.” At first, Meryl thought Angie hadn’t heard her.

“I love you, too,” Angie whispered into her ear.

Meryl drifted off into the most peaceful sleep she’d had in months.

Meryl’s measured breathing told Angie she’d fallen asleep. Her mind reeled with Meryl’s revelation and her own deceit.

In the morning. I have to tell her the truth. In the morning.

Chapter 20

Meryl opened her eyes. A golden light from the rising sun filled the small sleeping berth. She stretched and reached beside her to run her fingers across the cool sheets. The shower was running a few feet away. She rose and dressed. As she buttoned her shorts, she peered out the small porthole and took in the mixture of colors in the morning sky. Her mood matched the tranquil glow reflecting off the calm water.

She paused at the opened door to the head on her way to the front of the cabin. When she poked her head in, the outline of Angie’s nude body greeted her, but she resisted the urge to strip and join her. She needed some moments to herself.

“I’m going up above,” Meryl said loudly.

“Okay. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Don’t hurry. Do you mind if I start a pot of coffee? I thought I saw a coffeemaker in the galley.”

“Help yourself.”

In the small galley, she put the coffee on and took the few steps to the sitting area. She flopped down onto the couch to wait for the coffee. She glanced around the room. It was tidy except for some stacks of paper on the floor beside the coffee table. Assuming it was one of Angie’s manuscripts, she leaned forward to read the typed title.

The papers faced away, so she turned the stack toward her. Dying to Meet You jumped off the page. Meryl hesitated, but then picked up the papers. She turned the first page back, then the next. Red ink marked up each page. Words had been crossed out, other words inserted in their place. Comments filled the margins. All of it resembled Angie’s handwriting.

Meryl continued turning the pages. This was an original, edited manuscript.

“Sorry it took me so long.”

Meryl raised her head to see Angie combing back her wet hair. The comb stopped in mid-stroke, and Angie paled.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy, but I couldn’t help but notice.” Meryl held up the papers. “This looks like an original manuscript.”

“Uh…” Angie rubbed her hand over her face. “It is.”

“Are you… did you…” Meryl swallowed. “Are you Zach England’s editor?”

Angie walked toward her. “I’ve wanted to tell you for days. I’d planned to tell you this morning.”

“Tell me what?” Meryl had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Angie sat beside her on the couch and took her hand.

“I wrote the book. I wrote all of the books.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wrote them under a pseudonym.”

“Wait. You’re Zach England?”

“I can explain—”

“You lied to me.” Meryl yanked her hand from Angie’s grasp.

“I was going to tell you. You have to believe me. I was afraid if I told you right away, that you’d—”

“That I’d what? What, Angie? Tell me why you lied to me.”

“That you’d leave. That you’d take the story and leave. I was afraid I’d lose you again. It might sound irrational to you. And there was another reason—”

“You’ve been lying to me this whole week. And I believed you.” Tears sprang to Meryl’s eyes. “I bared my soul to you last night, and… and…”

“I’m so sorry. I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I trusted you. I trusted you enough to tell you about what happened to me as a child. Do you realize you’re the only person besides my therapist who knows about the sexual abuse? That’s how much I trusted you. And now this?”

Meryl couldn’t breathe. She needed to get out of there. To get off the boat. She jumped to her feet.

“Wait.” Angie grabbed her arm.

Meryl wrenched free. “Don’t touch me.”

Meryl saw the hurt on Angie’s face. She didn’t care. She wanted to go home. As far away from Key West and Angie as possible.

Meryl climbed the stairs to the deck.

Angie followed her. “Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“Talk? What the hell is there to talk about? You’ve made a fool of me this week. I thought you loved me.” She laughed contemptuously. “And I thought I loved you, too.” She glowered and jutted her jaw. “There’s nothing more to discuss.” A horrible thought crossed her mind. “I suppose you lied to me to get me into bed.”

“No. God no.”

“It doesn’t matter. Take me back to shore.” Meryl crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Meryl…”

“Now, Angie!”

Angie’s shoulders slumped. She pulled up the anchors, started the engines, and turned the boat toward port. Meryl ignored Angie all the way to the marina. She jumped off and helped secure the boat, but as soon as that was accomplished, she walked away.

“Wait!” Angie shouted.

Meryl heard Angie’s footsteps behind her.

“I’ll find a taxi to take me to the hotel. You don’t need to worry about it.” Meryl clenched and unclenched her fists as she walked. She stormed across the parking lot to the street. A taxi rounded the corner, and she raised her hand. The cab screeched to a stop at the curb in front of her.

Angie grabbed her elbow from behind. “I’m so sorry, Meryl. You have to believe me. You can’t leave like this. Please. Not like this.”

Meryl jerked free and sat down in the backseat. She looked up at Angie.

“And who the hell is Hal Morris, by the way?”

Angie stared at her feet.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Where to, miss?” the cabbie asked.

“Southernmost Point Resort.” Meryl reached for the door handle, but Angie stopped her from shutting the door. “I swear, if you don’t let go, I’ll slam this on your hand.”

Angie released her grip.

“Good-bye, Angie.” Meryl pulled the door closed with a loud thud. She turned to the driver. “Go.”

Angie ran alongside the cab, pounding on the window.

The cabbie looked at Meryl in the rearview mirror.

“Keep going,” she said, choking out the words, “the faster the better. There’s nothing for me here.”

Angie leaned over with her hands on her thighs and gasped for breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

She rose and watched the taxi make the turn on the street leading to the hotel. The scene was too familiar, too loud an echo from her past. The only difference was that this time she wasn’t down on her knees and it was a taxi, not a limo.

She walked back to her car. Her hands shook as she took her keys out of her pocket. She unlocked the door and sank into the driver’s seat.

Holding onto the steering wheel, she pressed her forehead against her hands and cried.

Meryl gathered her things into her small suitcase in a matter of minutes and left for the airport. She had booked a ten o’clock flight to Miami.

She sat in the Miami airport, waiting for her departure to New York and trying not to break down in front of strangers. Her cell phone had rung nonstop since she’d left Key West. She had no desire to talk to Angie, so she turned it off.

The attendant announced boarding for first-class passengers. Meryl put her laptop case and bag in the overhead compartment and buckled her seatbelt. The attendant came around for drink requests when they reached cruising altitude.

Meryl ordered a Chivas, poured it over the ice, and took a sip. Normally, the liquor smoothed away her troubles, if only for a moment. This time, it failed to do the job. She set the drink down on the tray in front of her and gazed out the window to the clouds below.

I can’t believe I allowed myself to trust someone again.

She lifted the cup to her lips and finished off the rest of the drink, welcoming the slow burn down her throat.

What am I going to do? Lie to my editor? Or reveal that I was right and Zach England’s a woman? A woman I love. Or is it loved?

She handed her empty cup and bottle to the flight attendant, pushed her tray upright, and hit the button to lower the seat. Closing her eyes, she prayed she could make it through the next few hours without having a nightmare.

Or worse, dreaming of the love she’d made with Angie.

Chapter 21

Angie labored with her breathing until the muscles in her legs tightened, but she kept on going, her heels kicking up the sand beneath her feet. Shit. This is what you get when you’ve neglected running for several weeks. And you deserve the pain.

It was Monday morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet over the water. A mixture of purple and pinks blended in with the indigo sky. She tried to appreciate the beauty. Any other day, any other time in her life, she would have sighed with contentment and thankfulness that God could create something so stunning. But she wasn’t content or thankful. She was sad. More than that, she was angry at herself.

She stopped when she came to the lighthouse that marked the turnaround spot in her run. She bent over at the waist, grabbing at the stitch in her side. She thought about all the unreturned messages she’d left on Meryl’s cell phone. She’d long since lost count and thought she was probably bordering on harassment. Time for the last resort.

“I’ll call her at work.” Angie started back home. “And enough of this running crap.”

Angie took a cold shower. She stood in her open bathrobe under the living room ceiling fan and waited for the main switchboard at the New York Banner to pick up.

“Hello. Could you please connect me to Meryl McClain’s office?”

“Hold the line, please.”

She heard a couple of clicks.

“Meryl McClain’s office, Wade speaking.”

“Uh, yes, may I please speak with Ms. McClain?”

“May I tell her who’s calling?”

Should she lie? Like I haven’t done enough of that already.

“Hello. May I tell her who’s calling, please?”

“Angie. Angie Cantinnini.”

“One moment.”

Another click. While on hold, Angie listened to Barry Manilow croon “Mandy.” It segued into Neil Diamond’s “Love on the Rocks.” Angie reflected on the irony of the lyrics. She realized she’d been on hold for over five minutes. Was that good or bad?

“Ms. Cantinnini?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Ms. McClain’s unable to take your call.”

“Okay. Can you take a message please?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” He cleared his throat. “She’s asked me to tell you not to call here again.”

Angie’s face warmed with embarrassment. “All right. Thank you.”

She snapped her phone shut.

“Damn it.” She sat down in the leather couch and rested her head on the cushion. She watched the ceiling fan as it circulated above her, and began counting the revolutions. She was up to twenty-three when she cocked her arm to throw the phone across the room, but stopped. Instead, she placed the phone on the coffee table. Catching a whiff of Meryl’s scent from the bathrobe, Angie pushed her nose into the terrycloth sleeve and inhaled. Rather than start crying, she walked to the bedroom.

She pulled on a pair of shorts and slipped on a T-shirt. It was time to visit her best friend and face the music.

Ev agreed to meet Angie at the Cozy Conch. As Angie entered the bar, the girls were rehearsing their routine on the stage. They all appeared to be either hung-over, bored, or both. Sage had his back to her. He wore khaki shorts that showed off his shaved, tan, and toned legs. His white tank top clung to his lithe body. It was odd to see the queens going through their gyrations in baggy shorts, T-shirts, and no makeup or wigs.

“Goddammit! Let’s at least have some enthusiasm, ladies!” Sage clapped his hands to the beat.

Angie sat down at one of the tables farthest away from the speakers.

Ev entered the bar about five minutes later. She glanced around the room and found Angie.

Angie stood up to give her a hug. At times when Ev embraced her, Angie felt a warm energy source that she experienced with no one else. And it always occurred when she needed it most. Some of her sadness slipped away as Ev tightened her hold. Ev released her, and Angie almost staggered backward at the change in the air that surrounded her. She felt like a deflated balloon.

“How’ve you been?” Ev asked as they took their seats. “I’m assuming that all is well with Meryl.”

Angie looked away.

“Angie?”

Angie couldn’t bear to look at her, so she stared at the Miller Lite poster behind Ev.

Ev touched Angie’s hand. “Please look at me.”

At last, Angie met her gaze and felt like Ev was probing her thoughts like some sort of Vulcan mind meld. But even Mr. Spock wasn’t as good as Ev.

“What happened?”

“She’s obviously not here with me. She flew back to New York.”

“And I take it not just to return to work?”

Angie shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know what else to say except you were so right.”

Ev didn’t respond.

“Well? Where’s the ‘I told you so’?” Angie didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic and regretted the words as soon as she spoke them.

“I think you know me well enough to know I’d never say that to you.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I gather she found out about the infamous Zach England?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her or did—”

Angie interrupted her with a humorless laugh. “No. That would make too much sense, right? No, she had to discover it by finding my marked-up manuscript of Dying to Meet You.”

“What did she say?”

“It wasn’t even so much what she said. I saw the pain in her eyes. I’d betrayed her. I tried to apologize and explain myself. Listening to my words as they left my mouth, I would’ve walked out on me, too, but we were out on my boat. She asked me to get her back to shore.”

“Have you talked to her since?”

“I’ve left I don’t know how many voicemail messages on her cell phone.”

“Did you try her at work?”

“I got a flat out ‘don’t call me anymore’ relayed from her assistant.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.” Angie grew quiet.

“Do you love her?”

“Yeah, I do, Ev,” she whispered.

“And does she love you?”

“She did love me. She told me so when she was here. What’s really devastating is that she shared some profound details about her past with me and told me how much she trusted me when she shared it.” Angie squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “And now she thinks I’m nothing but a liar and someone she can never trust again.”

“I won’t ask what it is, but it sounds like it was pretty important.”

“Very.”

“Which makes this even more upsetting to her.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Ev clasped Angie’s hand again. “I’m sure you do. But the question is whether you can regain that trust and get another chance with her.”

“Funny thing is, I thought this was our second chance.”

“It’s up to you if there’s going to be a third chance. And if you get this chance, Angie, don’t ever let her doubt your love or her trust in you again. What will you do?”

“I have no idea. My brilliant plan before coming in here to talk to you was to get drunk every night so I could forget.” She held up her hand to cut off Ev’s reply. “I’m very aware you wouldn’t let me get away with that.”

“You got that right, kiddo.”

“I think I’ll give her a little time.”

“Do you think she’ll come forward with an article about the real Zach England?”

“At this point, I don’t care. And please don’t remind me about the irony of the whole damn thing.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you’d want to hear it.”

Angie stood. “One thing I need to do is touch base with Sally, something I’m not looking forward to at all.” She stretched. She hadn’t slept well the past two nights and didn’t anticipate getting a good night’s sleep in the near future. Her body ached. “I need to meet my first deadline for the Barker novel.”

Ev rose from her chair. “And your other writing?”

“I don’t know…”

“Please don’t let this deter you from returning to your other writing. Value yourself.”

“That’s kind of tough these days, and who knows if Stanley & Schilling will consider the manuscript for their gay and lesbian imprint. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“Don’t give it up, Angie.”

Angie embraced Ev in another hug. “Thank you, Ev.”

Sage’s voice stopped them as they were leaving the bar. “You’re leaving without a hug from me?” He stood in front of the stage wiping his face with a towel. The performers had already dispersed.

They hastened over. Ev hugged him. “Sorry, you handsome young thing. I never want you to think I’m ignoring you.” She kissed his cheek. “Well, I need to get home to the boys.”

“Wish I could say that,” Sage said.

“You’re too much, Sage.” Ev waved at Angie and left.

He held out his arms for Angie. “Trying to leave without saying hello or good-bye. What am I going to do with you?”

“I’ve been a bit distracted.”

His thin arms enveloped her. He pulled away and held Angie’s face in his hands.

“You’re not sleeping, love. You have more bags under your eyes than I do, and trust me, that’s not good.”

“Like I said, a lot’s going on.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“You can’t fix this one, Sage.” She patted him on the arm. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Do you understand?”

“It’s okay, dear heart. You’ll talk to me when you’re ready.”

Angie started toward the door again.

“And no drinking to drown whatever sorrow that woman laid at your feet!” he shouted.

Meryl sat on a bench in Central Park in the late afternoon. She tossed the remainder of her bread to the ducks in the pond. They swam over in formation, quacking all the way. Normally, this diversion helped her relax. She often drew comfort from the mother duck’s constant watch over her young. Today, it left her feeling empty.

She pulled up the collar on her leather jacket and glanced at her watch. Damn. Time to leave for Robert’s office. She sighed and stood up, but had to sidestep three kids running toward the water.

“Mom! Can we feed the ducks?”

A harried-looking woman rushed to catch up with them.

“Not so close to the water.” The woman turned to Meryl. “I apologize for their enthusiasm. They don’t watch where they’re going when they have their minds made up.”

“It’s okay,” Meryl said with a smile. “I remember what it was like.”

As Meryl walked away, she wondered why she had said that. She never did fun things with her parents like going to the park to feed the ducks. Her mood darkened even further.

“Coffee?” Robert asked while she took her customary seat on the couch.

“Yes. Please.”

He carried over two steaming mugs, handed her one, and sat across from her in his chair. “How was your trip? I believe you said you had to go on assignment?”

“It was okay.” Meryl didn’t meet his eyes.

As always, he waited for her to continue.

“It started out with a shock.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I ran into Angie.”

He raised his eyebrows and set down his mug. “And what did you say to her?”

“Like I told you, I was in shock. It was at a bar she owns. I walked in while she was in a lip-lock with a woman I found out later was her ex.” Meryl waited for his reaction.

“Go on.”

“Angie followed me out of the bar after she saw me in the crowd. We talked. I helped her get home. She’d had a little too much to drink.”

“What happened at her place?”

“We didn’t tear each other’s clothes off, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Robert smiled. “That’s not what I was getting at.”

“She wanted to delve into everything from our past. It was too much for me. I had to leave. But before I did, we agreed to meet up at the bar again to talk. I told her I was there on assignment to find Zach England. Robert, I realize I don’t need to say this, but I’ll say it anyway. What I’m about to tell you has to stay here. I haven’t even shared this with my editor.”

“You’re right. You don’t need to tell me, but I understand your concern, considering what you do for a living.”

“Let me give you some background. I went to Key West to follow up on a hunch of mine that I pitched to my boss at The Banner. We suspected England lives there and writes under a pseudonym. My job was to find out if he was a she. Did you read my article about England possibly being a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Angie said that there were rumors England might be this man called Hal Morris. She agreed to take me around town and out on her boat. For the past week, she did just that. We had no luck. Last Friday, I told her we could stop searching. It was obvious he didn’t want to be found.”

“And how were you both during the week?”

Meryl shifted in her seat. “This is where I tell you that fairly early on, we ripped our clothes off and made love. The entire week.”

“How did you feel?”

Meryl smiled sadly. “It was fantastic. It was everything I’d dreamed of and hoped for over the years when I’d imagine seeing Angie again. We even said how much we loved each other.” She stopped.

“Something happened to change all of that?”

“It all ended Saturday morning. We were anchored out on her boat a long way from the dock.” Meryl stared down at her coffee mug. She set it on the table in front of her. She didn’t meet Robert’s eyes, but plucked at a piece of lint on her linen pants. “The speculation about Zach England being a pseudonym for a woman was right.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I found an original manuscript of England’s latest novel in the cabin of Angie’s boat.”

“Did she explain how it got there?”

“She’s Zach England.”

Robert’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, big shock for me, too.”

“She’d told you she thought it might be this Hal Morris person?”

“She’d been lying to me for the entire week. And the worst thing? The worst thing was the night before I discovered the manuscript, I told her about the sexual abuse.” Without warning, tears began rolling down Meryl’s cheeks.

“What did you say to her?” Robert asked.

“I confronted her. She said she’d planned to tell me that morning. How convenient,” Meryl said bitterly. “I pretty much lost it and told her to take me to shore. She tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to hear any of her excuses. I flew home later that morning.”

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Why should I? She lied to me. I trusted her with my heart, and she lied. She’s left messages on my cell phone. I’ve ignored them. Then she called me at work on Monday. I had my assistant tell her never to call there again.”

Robert did the steeple thing with his hands and brought the index fingers to his mouth.

“That fucking annoys the shit out of me when you do that!” Meryl said. “Do you know how many damn gestures you have? And I hate that one the most. I feel like I’m being analyzed like a bug.”

Robert kept his hands in place and continued to observe Meryl, but made no comment regarding her outburst. He pulled his hands away from his face.

“Why are you so angry?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t I be angry?” She sat up straighter on the couch.

“I understand your being angry about the deceit. I think this is about more than that.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me what that is?”

“I think you already know.”

Meryl stared at him. “I stripped my soul bare with the one woman I trusted most in this world, only to find she’d been deceiving me for a week.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe she was about to tell you?”

“I’m saying it’s a damn convenient thing to come up with after I confronted her with the truth.”

Robert crossed his legs. “Has she changed?”

The question threw Meryl. “What?”

“Angie. Has she changed from the woman you loved from college? The one you’d talk about to me in these sessions. Has she changed?”

“Aside from the fact that she lied to me?”

“Did you ask her why she needed to use a pseudonym?”

“No. I was too angry.” Meryl thought back. “She was about to tell me something.”

“But you didn’t give her a chance to explain. Meryl, I realize this is upsetting to you, but to me, your reaction stems from the fact you’d shared something very revealing to her, and you felt she’d betrayed you.”

“Damn right I—”

“Please let me finish.”

Meryl closed her mouth.

“Let’s separate the two, if you can. Your revelation of your childhood sexual abuse”—Robert held out one hand, palm up—”and Angie withholding the information about being Zach England.” He held out his other hand, also palm up.

“That’s kind of difficult to do, don’t you think?”

“I believe if you hadn’t told her the night before about the abuse, you might have stayed to listen to her side of the story regarding her deceit.”

Meryl sat there stunned. “You’re taking her side. You’re my therapist, and you’re taking her side.”

“Meryl…”

She jumped to her feet. “You know what? Fuck you!” Meryl stomped out of his office to the waiting area outside.

Robert followed. “Meryl, wait. We should discuss this.”

Meryl kept going. She ran past the elevator to the stairwell and raced down the ten flights. She reached the ground floor and pushed through the revolving doors. It had started raining while she was in Robert’s office. A taxi slowed in front of her, but she waved him on.

Rain stung her eyes and pattered her leather jacket as she made her way home.

Chapter 22

“Hey, Sal.”

“Angie, how you doing?”

It was Friday, and Angie lay on the couch in the cabin of her boat, finishing up on her latest chapter for the Zach England manuscript. Derek Barker had fought with his girlfriend about his frequent dalliances and lies.

She hit Control S and shut the laptop. “I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking.”

She leaned over to take a sip of her Corona. It was only eleven in the morning. She had a vague recollection of a novel where the main character defended his drinking by saying that as long as he waited until after “noon,” he didn’t qualify as an alcoholic. What did that make her?

“I’ve finished four more chapters since Monday. I should meet our deadline.”

“You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you? I told Eric you might be a little late.”

“No, it’s flowing for me right now.”

She thought it was her best Zach England writing in some time. Angie heard a phone ring on the other end.

“Hang on a sec, Angie. I need to pick that up. It’s New York.”

Angie’s stomach dropped. There was a long wait in which Angie imagined all sorts of scenarios, the main one being that her publisher was calling Sally, wondering how in the hell a New York Banner book editor had found out about Zach England’s true identity.

Sally came back on the line. “Okay. I was waiting to hear back from a publisher regarding one of my other clients.”

Thank God. “Good news?”

“Yes. She’s a very promising author. Children’s books. They’re interested after hearing my pitch and reading the manuscript.”

“That’s good.” Angie was debating how she’d get to the real reason she’d phoned Sally. She stared at the Cleveland Browns clock and watched it tick five seconds before she spoke again. “Uh, Sally, I need to tell you some things.”

“Please don’t let one of them be you’re ready to give up on Derek Barker.”

“No. At least not yet anyway.”

Sally sighed on the other end. “You’ve hit a little rough patch with your writing, but you can get through this.”

“Meryl McClain knows about Zach England.” There. All out in the open now. Angie waited for Sally’s outburst. There was silence, which was worse than if Sally had started shouting at her.

“Could you please repeat that?”

“I said Meryl McClain knows that I’m Zach England.”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up,” Sally said, enunciating each word. “But I’ll call right back. Do… you… understand?”

“Do I have to answer the phone?”

The line went dead. Two seconds later, Angie’s cell rang. She tapped her foot until one more ring would send it to voicemail. She hit the talk button.

“How the fuck did she find out, Angie?”

“Well…” Angie felt her face warm. “She found an original Derek Barker manuscript in the cabin of my boat. The Banner got a tip that Zach England might reside in Key West. They sent her here to investigate.”

“You didn’t call me when she showed up? What were you fucking thinking? And wait a minute. How did she get on your fucking boat?”

Angie took a deep drink of her Corona and, this time, waited ten seconds before speaking.

“Sally, there’s something I didn’t tell you because I never thought I’d have to.”

“You mean there’s something worse than a New York Banner book editor knowing the true identity of Zach England?”

Angie ignored her comment. “Meryl McClain and I were lovers twelve years ago in college.”

There was another vintage Sally Copelman pause on the line. Angie decided to wait it out.

“You didn’t think this was something you should share with your agent?”

Angie caught the shaking in Sally’s voice.

“It was very personal to me. She was the love of my life. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again, even though I always held out hope. Then, when I read an article about the Banner naming her the book review editor, I couldn’t believe it. The Banner review and the other article with her argument about Zach England being a woman? Those were cherries on the cake.”

“It’s either ‘cherry on the sundae’ or ‘icing on the cake.’ Pick one or the other. Christ! What is with some authors and mixed metaphors?”

Angie chuckled, but sobered when Sally shouted in her ear.

“Do you think this is fucking funny?”

“You’re right. It’s not funny at all.” Angie drank the last of her beer. She walked to the liquor cabinet, took down the bottle of Johnny Walker, and poured herself a tumbler. She sat back down on the couch.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the two of you. I could have insisted you leave Key West instead of merely suggesting it.” A string of expletives followed. “And why did you have to tell her? You could have lied and said you collected original manuscripts or something. People do that shit all the time now. Did you just blurt out in the heat of passion you wrote as Zach England?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Don’t you even talk to me about fair. Fair is letting your agent know you were lovers with a woman who just wrote an article speculating about England’s true identity. Goddammit, Angie!”

Angie had imagined the conversation going badly, but not this badly—which was scary. She tried to defend herself. “She’s had this information since last Saturday, and there hasn’t been anything in the Banner, has there?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. For all we know, she could be taking her time planning a three-part series on how one woman deceived the literary world for eight years.”

“I didn’t tell her right away. She didn’t find out until Saturday morning after being with me a week. I lied to her initially. I made up something about a Hal Morris possibly being England.”

Sally huffed on the far end of the line. “At least I have to give you that, I guess.”

“I should have told her, Sally.”

“Come again? This is your livelihood. This is my livelihood. And if you haven’t forgotten, you signed a confidentiality agreement and it’s written in your contract about keeping your identity secret.”

“Because of who she was in my life—who I hoped she might still be—she deserved to know. We could have then worked out if or how to release the information to the world.”

“I don’t even want to ask how your convoluted reasoning came to that conclusion, but it wouldn’t have worked. Especially since you’re under contract to Stanley & Schilling. Do I have to remind you that they have a lot of power? As in, we can get our fucking asses sued?”

“I can’t un-tell her.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“She won’t take my calls. I lied to her, Sally.” Angie thought about the other reason Meryl was so upset, but tried to shut it out from her mind. “We’re lovers.” Angie stopped herself. “Or were lovers, and I lied to her. If you were Meryl, would you be talking to me right now? Especially on something that involved your job as a reporter?”

“No, I guess not.” The phone rang again in the background. “I need to take this call. Do me a favor. Don’t do anything rash. Stay low. Continue to write. I’ll do a little investigating of my own and find out if there’s been any inkling of a major story about to hit the press.”

Angie gripped the phone tighter. She was so tired of deception.

“Angie?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay quiet.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you soon.” Sally let out another stream of profanity that Angie probably wasn’t supposed to hear before the line went dead.

Angie set the phone down on the table and returned to the liquor cabinet to pour another glass of Johnny Walker. This time she added ice and sat down again, replaying the phone conversation in her head.

She swirled the ice in the glass. “This isn’t the answer to my problems.”

Angie went to the sink and threw the rest of the Scotch down the drain. She took out a coffee filter from the cabinet and began brewing a pot. While waiting for the coffee to drip, she went to her laptop, opened the cover, and reread her last couple of chapters. She was right. This was good.

She poured a cup of fresh coffee and began pounding on the keys again.

Several hours later, she stopped, and went up on deck. Clouds had gathered. It smelled like rain. She inhaled and remembered how thunderstorms would roll into Youngstown. They always frightened Angie as a child, and her big sister knew it. Angie would tap on Jan’s door as a heavy rumble shook the house. Jan’s voice would call out for her to come in. She’d run into Jan’s room, jump on her bed, and Jan would hold Angie, telling her nothing could hurt her.

A thunderclap rang out overhead.

Jan had been wrong. Life’s circumstances and people could hurt her. And they had over the years. But this time, Angie had done the hurting.

Large raindrops fell from a thunderhead above her.

Angie needed to make it right with Meryl and thought she knew how.

She at least had to try.

Meryl doodled on her legal pad. She knew she should be paying attention to the conversation at the production meeting with the heads of the entertainment sections of the paper, but her earlier phone conversation still lingered with her. As she’d promised her mother, she phoned when she returned from Key West. She refused to inquire about her father’s health and only asked how her mother was holding up. For her part, her mother said nothing about herself, but she did tell Meryl that the doctors were amazed her father was still hanging on.

She scribbled some more on her notepad. Her mind drifted to her last session with Robert. She’d never stormed out of his office, not even when they’d delved into the nightmares and their meaning. Maybe she should start over with a new therapist. Better yet, maybe she should stop seeing one altogether.

“…which brings us to Meryl’s recent trip to Key West.”

Meryl looked at what she’d drawn. It was the sun rising over the water, like she’d seen it do in Key West.

“Meryl?”

“Pardon?”

Thom Pratters bunched his gray eyebrows together. “We’d like a report of your trip to Key West.”

Meryl glanced around the conference table. Expectant faces awaited.

“It was a dead end. As I reported to you when I was there, either Zach England doesn’t want anyone to find him, or he’s not even in Key West. The townspeople are very close-mouthed. It’s part of the nature of the Conch Republic.”

She’d decided before the meeting to keep Angie’s secret safe. Meryl was hurt and angry, but she could find no reason to betray Angie.

“Conch Republic?”

Meryl turned toward Zelda Landers, the head of the Movie and Arts Department.

“It’s what the locals call Key West. The history of the name dates back many, many years.”

“No luck, huh?” Zelda peered over her half-glasses with a smug expression.

“Right. No luck.”

“At least you gave it your best shot,” Pratters said. He glanced down at his notebook. “What’s next on our agenda?”

Their voices faded in the background. Meryl recalled Robert’s words in their session about her anger having more to do with the sexual abuse suffered at the hand of her grandmother and her father’s indifference than with Angie and her betrayal. Although she’d never been angry enough to storm out of his office, it didn’t mean he hadn’t ticked her off before. And it was normally when she knew deep down he was right.

He wasn’t right this time. She scribbled some more, pressing the pen a little harder with each stroke. She added a boat to her sketch. It bore a striking resemblance to The Pride of Youngstown.

Chapter 23

“Okay, I’m here in Miami,” Sally said. “What’s so important we couldn’t discuss it over the phone?”

Two weeks had passed since Angie had told Sally about Meryl. Angie still hadn’t had any luck reaching Meryl via cell phone. The rebuff from Meryl’s assistant had convinced her not to bother trying her office again. There’d been nothing on Zach England in the Banner, from Meryl or anyone else at the newspaper, but that didn’t mean the crisis had passed.

“Let me get you another margarita.” Angie motioned for the server.

“Plying me with alcohol won’t help.”

“Have you had a chance to get the buzz in New York?” Angie asked, ignoring the comment while the waiter set a jumbo margarita in front of Sally.

“Another vodka collins?” the server asked Angie.

“Yes, thank you.” He left the table. Angie pointed to Sally’s drink. “Why don’t you take a sip?”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Sally said before complying. “But to answer your question, as best I can tell, no one has said anything about you, Zach England, or that you’re one and the same person. Either Meryl McClain is being loyal to you, which plays in our favor, or she’s compiling a series of articles that’ll hit the paper on any given day and is keeping it quiet. I’d think she has enough to go on by now to blow the story wide open. I’m leaning toward the loyalty thing.” Sally saluted Angie with her drink. “Good for you.”

The waiter brought her drink. She waited until he was out of earshot. “I’m the one who’ll blow it wide open.”

Sally sputtered on her margarita. “What do you mean?”

“Me. I’m coming out.” Angie watched Sally’s reaction.

Sally leaned over the table. “What are you talking about? As a lesbian? Haven’t you done that already with your other novels?”

“I’m not talking about my sexuality. I’m talking about my identity as Zach England, world famous detective novelist. I want to let people know that I write the books.”

Sally leaned in even farther, getting very much in Angie’s personal space. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Obviously two jumbo margaritas hadn’t done the trick.

“I think I’ve finally found my mind. I do know with certainty that my muse has returned.” Angie reached into her leather briefcase and pulled out a memory stick. She slid it across the table in front of Sally.

“And this is?” Sally waved the stick in the air.

“It’s the ninth and last book in the Derek Barker crime series. It fulfills my final contract with Stanley & Schilling.”

“What?” Sally looked like she was about to leap across the table.

“You heard me. I’ve finished it. It’s my best work in years, and I’m giving it to you months before the deadline.”

“Do you realize how Stanley & Schilling will react to this? You expect me to march in their offices and say, ‘Hey, guys. Sorry. Angie slipped up with her lover, who happens to be the New York Banner book editor, and revealed she’s Zach England. Here’s the ninth Barker book and, oh, by the way, Angie doesn’t want to make you any more money.”

“I’ve got enough to pay them off if necessary. I quite frankly don’t give a damn how they react.”

“Well, frankly, Rhett, I do.” Sally spoke loudly enough to draw the attention of a few occupants of nearby tables. She lowered her voice. “You cannot legally do this.”

“Call them. If you need me to go with you to New York to meet with them, I’ll go. Call them, Sally, or I will.”

Sally looked out the large window beside them.

Angie followed her line of sight. The late afternoon sunlight sparkled off the Atlantic Ocean. Today, a day she was talking about ending Zach England’s career, was a stark contrast to the rainy, winter day in Chicago when they’d created him.

Sally sat mute for a long while. At length, she looked at Angie again.

“Okay, let me fly up to New York.”

“I can join—”

“No!” Sally almost shouted. “No. I don’t want you talking with them until we get this hammered out. This won’t be a one-day meeting, either. It could be several days or a week, however long it takes.” Sally stared off above Angie’s head and started nodding.

Uh-oh. Angie had seen that expression before.

Sally tapped her fingers on the tablecloth. “I’ll spin it as big publicity for their company. I’ll tell them we can boost the sales of your backlist. I can see it now: ‘Hot Crime Author, Zach England, Revealed as a Woman.’” She raised a hand and punched each word in the air like she was reading from an imaginary headline.

It reminded Angie of Perry White, Clark Kent’s editor. Whenever he did it, it was always something sensational.

Sally grinned. “Hot damn! It could work.”

Angie rapped her fist on the table to make a point. “Sally Copelman, I am not doing this for publicity or to make more money.”

Sally threw her hands up in the air. “Then why are you doing it now?”

“Because I’m tired of living a lie. Because I want to concentrate on writing as a lesbian. You talked me out of this once. Not again.”

Sally squinted at her through her trendy narrow-rimmed glasses. “And maybe you’re doing it to get a certain editor and reviewer back in your life?”

“No. It’s the right thing to do, and I want to give the story to Meryl.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Does it sound like I’m kidding? She sat on the story. I want to tell her it’s okay to go forward.”

“No no no. We’re doing this the right way after I talk to S & S. We’ll book you on the talk shows. Norah Hall will eat this shit up.”

“The hell we are, Sally!” Angie glanced around at the faces turned their way. She regained her composure. “Look, I know Norah’s the most popular host on talk television, but I can do without being the subject of one of her emotional, heartfelt grillings. We’re doing it my way. Period.”

“And this has nothing to do with trying to get Meryl back?”

“It’s too late for that.”

Sally stared at her. “I’ll call New York and tell them I need a face-to-face. We’ll go from there.”

Angie motioned for the check. “Let me know when you’ve scheduled the meeting,” she said while handing her credit card to the server.

“Remember this won’t be a quick powwow. Not at all.” Sally stood and smiled at Angie.

“What’s that look for?” Angie asked.

“You amaze me sometimes.”

“How?”

“You’re my best client, yet you’re the least egotistical out of all of them. You wanted to make money. We’ve done that. But now you’re willing to let it all go. Because you have principle.”

“I sure as hell didn’t have principle the week Meryl was down in Key West.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Angie. Most authors in your position wouldn’t risk giving up what you have, no matter what the reason.”

“Please don’t make me out to be some sort of martyr, because I’m not.”

Sally drained the last of the margarita. She pointed at Angie. “I’ll call you.”

Angie waited on the server to bring her the receipt. She signed it and left the bar. She’d wait for Sally’s call. As soon as she got the go-ahead, she’d make an appointment with Meryl. Yeah, but how would Angie get a meeting with her if she wouldn’t even take her calls?

She stopped in mid-stride as inspiration struck. That might work.

Sally called the next week to tell Angie she’d meet with Stanley & Schilling on Tuesday. Tuesday came and went. Then Wednesday. Then Thursday. By Friday, Angie had turned into a nervous wreck. She went to the Cozy Conch in hopes of distracting herself. It was already after four. On the walk down Duval, ugly scenarios played themselves out in her mind.

She joined Sage at the bar.

“Hey, you haven’t been in here in quite a while,” Christi said with evident pleasure. “That’s a compliment for how well I do my job, but I still miss seeing you. Pam’s popped in asking for you a few times.”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Doing what? Waxing your boat?” Sage asked.

Angie sat down on the stool beside him and punched him in the arm.

“Ow. You do realize I can get you for sexual harassment. This has been pointed out to you in your sensitivity training, correct?”

“What sensitivity training?” Angie asked. She nodded to Christi. “Can I get a Coke?” She teased Sage a bit more. “Do you mean the sensitivity training put on by the Key West Lesbian Bar Owners Local Number 69? Afraid I was out sick that day.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Sage said. He poured himself some ice water from the pitcher on the bar.

Angie noticed. “No mimosa?”

He pointed at the water. “I’ll have you know I’ve cut back. You haven’t witnessed it because you’ve been off waxing your boat.”

“I’ve not been waxing my boat. Jesus.”

“You two are so funny together.” Christi handed Angie her Coke.

“Glad you think so.” Angie took a drink.

Sage wouldn’t let it go. “What’ve you been doing then? Sailing down to Cuba?”

Angie glared at him. “There was a notice in the ‘Jobs Wanted’ section in Key West on the Town that someone was searching for an entertainment director position. I think I’ll go home, dig out the ad, and give the queen a call.”

Christi laughed.

“You think that’s funny?” Sage asked.

“Actually, yeah.”

“I’m so abused.”

“Good Lord, Sage. Spare me the dramatics,” Angie said.

He threw his arm around Angie and leaned his head on her shoulder. “Admit it. You love me.”

“Sure I do.”

“But you still haven’t told me what you’ve been up to these past few weeks.” He straightened and clinked the ice in his water glass.

“Writing. I’ve been writing.”

“Really? I’m aware you wrote those three novels, but you’re writing more?”

“Yes. I finished a novel this past week.”

“You know…” He swirled his finger around the outside of his glass. “I’ve never asked you this because I never wanted to pry. And because I value the paycheck you give me every week. But…”

“But what?” Angie asked.

“Those have to be the highest selling lesbian novels of all time for you to afford all that you do. I believe I know enough about lesbian publishing to say that you can’t make the money you seem to have raked in.” He nudged her elbow. “Come on. You can tell old Sage. Do you run guns for the Cubans?”

“Good grief. This isn’t the sixties, and I don’t work for the CIA.”

Christi snickered. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“Don’t encourage him, Christi.”

“Drugs?” Sage asked.

“What about them?”

“You know, do you sell drugs?” His grin was playful, but he almost appeared to believe what he was asking.

“Do I look like someone who’d sell drugs?” Angie was getting annoyed.

“That’s part of the plan, isn’t it? You’re supposed to blend in and be inconspicuous.”

“Christi, help me out.”

“Hey, I’m not sure I can on this one.” Christi stepped down to the other end of the bar to take a drink order.

“I’m an author. And yes, I do get royalties from my book sales. Your question regarding how I made my money should be answered soon.”

“That sounds rather cryptic.” He did his typical imaginary flip of his hair.

“It has to stay that way a little longer. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Sage crinkled his brow as he contemplated her words. “Hmm.”

Angie’s cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. She checked the caller ID. Sally. She held up the phone as she hopped down from the stool. “Gotta go.”

“You realize this waiting will drive me crazy, don’t you?” Sage yelled at her as she stepped outside to take the call.

Angie blew him a kiss.

“Bitch!” he shouted.

She stepped out into the heat. Was she ready to hear this? She answered the phone.

“Wait, Sal.” Angie sat down on the bench in front of another bar two doors from the Cozy Conch. “Okay.” She braced herself for whatever was to come.

“You’re sitting down?”

At least Sally didn’t sound strained, and she wasn’t shouting. “Yes.”

“They fucking love it.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not joking,” Sally said. “But this hasn’t been easy. Believe me. Ted Stein tossed around the word ‘lawsuit’ more than once. Lawyers entered the picture, of course, including ours. I’m not stupid. I went into that meeting prepared. It’s not been a fun week. You do know who Ted Stein is, don’t you?”

Angie pinched the bridge of her nose with her index fingers. “Yes, Sally. He’s the second in command there at Stanley & Schilling.”

“Then you know how fucking scared I was. Eric was there from the editorial department, and Stein called marketing into the mix. The reason it took so long this week is because marketing had to conduct research. Go figure.”

“Why would they need to do research?”

“To find out how this will play in Peoria. There was no way they’d let you come forward without conducting it. The big question was how Mr. Manly Man in some small town would react to finding out his favorite macho detective novelist is a lesbian.”

“And?”

“They love the idea. It’s the way you write your books, Angie. Mr. Manly Man found it hot that a woman could write like that, just the opposite of what Stanley & Schilling thought. Marketing thinks the fact you’ve already sold millions of copies made a huge difference. Derek Barker is a household name thanks to you and the detective series on TV.”

“What did Stein say to all of this?” Angie’s anxiety level kicked up several notches.

“His exact words were, ‘Copelman, you’re the damn agent, why didn’t you think of this before? We could’ve made millions more.’ I didn’t point out to the arrogant prick that it was their idea you use the pseudonym in the first place.”

“Sally, I’m not doing this to make more money. I told you that.”

“Please don’t rain on my little parade. When I entered that huge conference room Tuesday, I was shaking, knowing what I was about to divulge could get us sued or kicked out from under the wing of Stanley & Schilling. Or both. They were gushing about publicity by the time we finished today.”

Angie’s heart skipped a beat. She had no intention of doing this for publicity. What did they expect her to do?

“Norah Hall’s name came up a few times.”

“Goddammit! I’m not going on Norah.”

“Chill, okay?”

Angie heard horns honking and traffic noise in the background.

“Where are you?”

“I just stepped out of the building and am walking down Sixth Avenue.”

“Did you tell them this was my last book?” There was no answer. “Sally?”

“Yes. I broke down and told them when they started making plans for your new contract. I said you’d written the last Derek Barker novel.”

“And their response was?”

“This is the part you won’t like. The only way they won’t sue us is if you continue the Barker series. They’re anticipating even bigger sales on your future titles, as well as your backlist.”

“The Barker character freaking gets killed in this last book.” Angie resisted the urge to lose her lunch in the nearby bush. This wasn’t what she had in mind.

“You killed him off?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then you better resurrect him because, trust me, they’ll refuse that manuscript. I’ll lose my business, and you’ll be out of millions.”

Angie leaned over and put her elbows on her knees. She gripped the phone tighter and grabbed her hair with her other hand. “What the fuck?” she said in a whisper.

“Listen to me and think about this. You’re getting what you wanted. You’re getting your freedom to live your life as Angelina Cantinnini who happens to write as Zach England. Everyone will know now, and you won’t have to worry about hiding anymore.”

“I don’t want to have my personal space invaded by reporters out for an interview.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you made the decision to have your girlfriend interview you. You should have thought of that before you asked me to fly to New York and have the meeting of a lifetime.” Sally’s voice continued to rise. “You have a responsibility. You’re a grown-up. I’d think you would’ve figured these things out by now.”

As Angie listened to Sally rant, she kept gripping her hair and letting it go, as if the action would somehow make all of this disappear.

“Hello?”

“I’m here!” Angie shouted into the phone. “I’m here,” she added in a calmer voice.

“This may not be what you envisioned, but it’s the reality of the situation.”

Angie tapped her foot on the sidewalk and studied two ants struggling with a breadcrumb in and out of the cracks of concrete. Yeah, I know exactly how you feel, guys.

“Angie…” Sally used her gentle “I’m-going-to-get-my-way-why-don’t-you-just-accept-it?” agent voice. “You really don’t have much of a choice.” Sally sounded more chipper. “Hey, I have some news that should cheer you up.”

“Yeah? Stanley & Schilling is going under?”

“No, smart-ass. I told them you were writing a lesbian novel and had inquired about their gay and lesbian imprint, Outside the Lines Books.”

Angie straightened. “What did they say?”

“They said that they’d look at it. Even though they have the leverage of suing us, they still want you happy. Eric sounded encouraging.”

Angie sat with one arm across her chest and her hand tucked under her other arm while she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Angie?”

Feeling she was free of Derek Barker had helped her write her best Zach England book in years. Maybe this was what she needed to continue the upturn in writing. “I’ll do it. I’ll rewrite the Barker novel and sign another contract. Like you said, I don’t have much of a choice.”

“That’s my girl!”

“Don’t get carried away.”

Sally laughed.

“Two things I insist on are that Meryl gets the first interview and Stanley & Schilling stays quiet until her article appears in print. Then they can release a statement that this was at my insistence.”

“They want Norah—”

“I swear to God, Sally, if you say Norah freaking Hall’s name one more time, I’m hanging up.”

“Calm down.” The background noise vanished on Sally’s end of the line. “Hang on. I’m taking a seat in the hotel lobby… there. Okay. I have one question. If Meryl McClain isn’t taking your calls, how will you get her to see you?”

“Unfortunately, it involves deception again, but this time, it’s for a good cause. Make a call to Meryl’s office. Identify yourself as ‘Sally Copelman, agent to Pulitzer winners.’”

Sally grunted. “Yeah, right.”

“Tell Meryl you have a new up-and-coming author in the literary field that you’d like her to interview.”

“How will she agree to that?” Sally sounded skeptical.

“If you could get me to go along with this Zach England thing eight years ago, you can pull this off.”

“And who do I say is this ‘up-and-coming author’?”

“Give her the name ‘Grace Ireland.’”

“England. Ireland. I get it. Cute. Very cute.”

Angie waited nervously outside Meryl’s office at the New York Banner. Employees hurried up and down the hall. She almost expected to see reporters rush past her with copy held up high as they ran to their editors with the latest scoop. But she wasn’t in the news department and this wasn’t the movies.

Wade approached her.

“Ms. McClain will see you now.”

He led her down the hall to a glassed-in office with Meryl’s name stenciled on it in bold letters. Meryl, dressed in a deep purple linen pantsuit, had her back to the door as she shuffled through some papers.

“Ms. Ireland is here to see you, Meryl,” Wade said. He showed Angie into the room and shut the door behind him.

Meryl turned around with a smile, but then it fell from her face and her eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Meryl, let me—”

Meryl stepped out from behind her desk. She brushed past Angie to the door and started to open it. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest.

Angie put her hand against the door.

“Take your hand away now.” Meryl spoke each word distinctly.

“Please hear me out first. If you don’t want to talk to me after listening to what I have to say, you can call security to escort me from the building, and you’ll never see me again.” Angie searched Meryl’s eyes. “And you have no idea how hard it is for me to say that.”

Meryl released the doorknob. She nodded at the chair in front of her desk. Angie sat down, smoothing her black slacks.

Meryl took her seat at her desk. “Obviously, you used a fake name to get this interview, which now that I think about it seems to be an obsession with you. I take it you asked your agent to make the call?”

Angie continued running her fingers over her slacks. She seemed uncomfortable in her dress clothes. Meryl imagined she rarely ranged far from the laid-back living of Key West.

“Angie?”

“I’m sorry? My mind isn’t working. Would you mind repeating what you asked me?”

Meryl repeated the question.

“Yes. Sally can be quite persuasive, as I’m sure you found out over the phone. She’s the one who convinced me to go along with this ruse eight years ago.”

“Don’t try to put this all on her. You could have said no.”

“You’re right. I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Angie tugged on her pants some more. “I’ll answer all of your questions, but what I really want is for you to interview me. At least that part of my visit is true.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you to interview me. I want you to reveal who Zach England really is.”

Meryl had been rocking back in her chair, listening to Angie. She dropped her chair down and slapped her palms on the desk. “What did you say?”

“I want you to have the scoop. I’m not sure why you haven’t revealed my identity, but—” With a wave of her hand, Angie stopped Meryl before she could speak. “But it doesn’t matter. I want you to have the story. That is if you want it.”

Meryl stared at Angie. Then anger welled up.

“Why, Angie? More money? Don’t you have enough?”

“No. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. What I did before…” Angie’s voice shook. “What I did before was wrong and hurtful. I betrayed your trust. I’m so sorry.”

Meryl softened her expression, but then she thought of something else. “If you think this will get me back…”

“No. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. I’m afraid I’ve already lost you.” Tears welled in Angie’s eyes and rolled down her face. “Shit.” She wiped them away. “I’m saying I want you to have the story before it’s released anywhere else. I want you to break the news.”

“And your publisher?” Meryl kept her tone businesslike.

“They know. I had Sally, my agent, tell them. They wanted me on Norah. I told them no. It had to be your story first, or we weren’t doing it at all.”

Meryl watched as Angie continued to fidget in her chair.

“All right,” Meryl said. “All right.” She pulled out a small tape recorder from her briefcase. “Let’s get started. We’ll begin with my initial question—why did you do this?”

Dead silence.

“We can’t do this if you don’t answer the questions.” Meryl let her anger register.

Angie straightened in her chair.

“It started eight years ago in Chicago when I met with my agent, Sally Copelman. No, check that. It started prior to that when I was struggling to get my detective novels noticed by a mainstream publishing company…”

Two hours later, Meryl leaned over and switched off the tape recorder. Angie felt drained. She blinked a few times. White dots danced in front of her eyes from the camera flash of the photographer who Meryl had summoned. He’d told her to “keep talking as if I’m not here.” That was easy for her to do, especially since she couldn’t even see him, thanks to the dancing dots.

Angie took a sip from a bottle of water Wade had brought in during the interview. Meryl sat silent as a statue, which Angie interpreted to mean Meryl was dismissing her.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Angie said. She rose to leave.

Meryl stood behind her desk.

Angie went to the door and waited, hoping Meryl would stop her. The statue remained mute. Angie turned to face Meryl. “What I did was wrong. But I was afraid I’d lose you if you didn’t have any leads in Key West. I thought you’d take off to New York, and I wouldn’t see you again.”

Still no response.

“That may sound far-fetched. But there it is. And yes, I was worried about my contract with Stanley & Schilling.” Angie looked away to gather her courage. “But, let me ask you something. If you hadn’t told me what you did the night before, would you have at least given me a chance to explain myself?” She met Meryl’s eyes.

“You’re trying to blame me now?” Meryl snapped.

“I simply asked a question. That must have been very difficult for you to relive what happened to you as a child.”

“That’s just it, Angie. You have no clue how it felt to spill my guts to you, thinking I could trust you.”

“Give me another chance,” Angie whispered.

“Because I felt like…” Meryl looked at her incredulously. “What did you say?”

“I asked you to give me another chance.”

“Right. Sure. Let me open myself up so you can stomp on my heart again.”

Angie drew one last drop of courage. “Meryl, I’m not your father.”

The color drained from Meryl’s face.

“Get out.” Meryl came from behind her desk and pushed Angie through the door. “Now.”

“Meryl…”

“Do I have to call security?” Meryl’s jaw tightened.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Angie hurried down the hallway. She pounded on the Down button for the elevator.

“Come on! Shit!” The doors slid open. From the lobby, Angie stepped out into the bright sunshine and hailed a taxi.

“Ritz Carlton,” she said. The driver pulled away from the curb. Angie leaned her arm on the door and put her fist under her chin, watching the bustling New Yorkers pass by. She glanced at the rearview mirror where the cab driver stared at her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She waved his question off with her hand. She knew better than to trust her voice to speak without crying.

When he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel, Angie handed him a stack of twenties from her wallet. “Keep it.”

“Hey, thanks, lady!”

She pushed through the revolving doors into the opulent lobby.

As the elevator took her to her floor, she thought how she’d hoped Meryl would stay with her at least for the night. In her magical dream, Meryl forgave her, they were lovers, and the future was all theirs. She slid her key card into the slot. Now she was paying for a room she wouldn’t even use. She sure as hell wasn’t staying in New York tonight.

Chapter 24

A week later, the story broke. There was a blurb about Meryl’s article on the front page of the Sunday New York Banner directing the reader to the entertainment section.

Angie sat in the captain’s seat of The Pride of Youngstown. She’d bought the paper at a convenience store on her way to her boat slip. She opened to the article and almost fell off her chair. There was an almost half-page photo of her talking in Meryl’s office.

The headline read, “Lesbian Author Rocks Literary World Writing as Zach England.” Sally hadn’t been too far off. She’d told Meryl that identifying her as a lesbian in the article was important. Nothing like having the headline shout it out before the reader even got to the lead.

Angie scanned the copy. It had a few narrative paragraphs, giving a short biography of Angie and mentioning her other published work in the lesbian mystery genre. After that, the article followed a question-and-answer format. Angie had been honest in saying she and her agent had submitted the first manuscript under Zach England’s name because no publisher took her seriously in writing these types of male-dominated novels. Meryl had asked her if she had also done it for money.

“It would be lying if I told you that it was only for the work. Yes, I thought about the money if this would somehow become a modest success. But I never imagined the Derek Barker series would take off like it did.”

Meryl had asked if Angie thought she’d sold out and turned her back on the lesbian publishing field.

“If I’m somehow perceived as doing that, then I take full blame. I enjoyed writing my three lesbian novels. I also enjoyed bringing Derek Barker to life. Since I was Zach England, I could make him as rough and rowdy as I wanted, and that was fun for me—very freeing.

“But I grew tired of the deception, and with that, I believe my writing fell off. Your review of my latest Barker novel was spot on, as far as I’m concerned. You didn’t pull your punches, and I agree with everything you said. I did lose passion. Which is why I recently returned to writing lesbian fiction and hope to have a novel published soon.

“I lost myself in doing this work as Zach England. I hope to regain my identity and my voice—as a writer of lesbian fiction and as a detective novelist who happens to be a lesbian. I also hope the latest Barker novel I’m working on will bring back the passion for my readers they so much deserve. Revealing who I am certainly has brought back my passion to write.”

Meryl summed up the interview with, “Only time will tell if the literary world will accept Ms. Cantinnini again with open arms.”

Angie folded the paper and carried it down to the cabin. She climbed the stairs to the deck and stood behind the ship’s wheel. Turning the ignition, she gradually shifted into full throttle.

She needed to feel free from everything, if only for a few hours. She let the boat fly over the low waves. The wind blew her hair away from her face. Taking a deep breath, she let the salty smell of the ocean penetrate her senses.

She was Angie Cantinnini again, both in her private life and in her profession. Whether Meryl could forgive her, well, that was another thing.

Angie had waited eleven years. If need be, she was willing to wait for the rest of her life.

After her day on the boat, Angie stepped into her house in the early evening, ready for a shower to cool her off. Her cell phone rang, and there was no doubt who it’d be.

“What’d you think, Sally?”

“I think I love Meryl McClain.”

“If I recall, you wanted to have her fired not that long ago.”

“She kind of grows on you, doesn’t she? Of course I don’t need to be telling you that.”

Angie heard what sounded like ice clinking in a glass. Sally apparently was having a celebratory drink. Angie couldn’t blame her.

“Speaking of whom, have you heard from her?” Sally asked.

“No. I haven’t. I didn’t really expect to.”

Angie grabbed a bottled water and flopped down on the couch. “Have you heard any other feedback? I’m aware it only hit this morning, but I’m curious.”

“You of all people should know how fast the proverbial shit hits the fan in the media. Have you been online?”

“I’ve been out on the boat all day.”

“Fire up your computer, darling.” Sally slurped her drink. “And discover what your words hath wrought.”

Angie opened the cover to her laptop, switching it over to receive WiFi. She clicked on the Internet browser and typed in a major news URL. It popped up with a large photo of her and a link to the New York Banner piece.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, ain’t it, though? Go to another one. I’ll wait.”

Angie opened several other cable news and major newspaper Web sites. Her story was the lead on every one of them.

“Oh my God.”

“I told you this was big, but I don’t think you understood the magnitude.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, Ms. Cantinnini, trust me when I say you can’t stave off the Norahs and the guys on the late-night talk show circuit. You’ll have to give in.”

Angie’s stomach fluttered. “You don’t think reporters will show up down here, do you?”

That was Angie’s greatest fear. She’d been living a “Catch 22” these past eight years. She’d hated the deception, but at the same time, she’d valued her privacy.

“You might be all right unless someone down there starts talking. You’re unlisted, and no one knows where you live. Meryl didn’t mention it in her article. They might come down your way, but you can make it a hell of a lot easier on yourself if you come forward and do some major interviews.”

“Starting with?”

“Norah.”

Angie sighed. “How did I know you’d say that?”

“She’s even cuter than her picture,” Rhonda said.

Meryl carried a glass of iced tea to Rhonda where she perched on the couch and took a seat beside her.

“Yes,” Meryl said, “she’s definitely cute.”

Rhonda had shown up unannounced at Meryl’s apartment just as Angie was to make her appearance on the Norah Hall Show. Meryl invited her in, telling her Angie would be on TV soon.

Meryl had taken Friday off from work. She tried to rationalize it as needing some downtime following the big story hitting the news, but she knew that wasn’t the real reason.

Angie wore a peach jacket over a white cotton blouse that she’d tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. Meryl smiled. Angie still wasn’t giving into all the formality.

Norah threw Angie mostly softball questions during the hour. That is until Norah pushed her long dark hair behind her ear, shifted in her seat, and leaned toward Angie.

Uh-oh. Here it comes, Meryl thought. She’d seen that body language before.

“Is there anything you’ve regretted over the years in choosing this life of Zach England?” Norah asked, tilting her head to the side.

Angie blushed under her dark tan. No one else may have noticed, but Meryl caught it.

Angie’s eyes became moist. “I never meant to hurt the ones I love with my lies. They might not believe me. But the only thing I can do from this point on is say I’m sorry. I’ll live my life in the open, as an author and as a lesbian.”

“Well, Angie, I believe your interview with the New York Banner and joining us today are steps in the right direction. Thank you for coming on the show.”

As the words left Norah’s mouth, the audience gave Angie a standing ovation. Angie ducked her head. Norah rose and pulled Angie to her feet to give her a big hug as the credits rolled.

“She’s beyond cute,” Rhonda said. “She’s adorable.”

Meryl switched off the TV.

“You can’t tell me you’re not still attracted to her. For God’s sake, you sat in the same room with her while you interviewed her. And yet you—”

“There’s something I left out when telling you how that interview came about.”

“All right. Tell me about it.”

“Remember my trip to Key West in search of Zach England?” Meryl told Rhonda about meeting Angie there, Angie’s deception, and then finding out the truth that Saturday morning. She didn’t tell Rhonda about her confession to Angie about her grandmother sexually abusing her.

“And you didn’t talk it out?” Rhonda asked.

“No, we didn’t. I was so angry, I left Key West that day.”

“Girl, you need to get over your damn self and call that woman.”

“You still don’t know the whole story.”

“Well, since you’re not telling me everything, I’ll go on what I can see with my very own eyes. And what I see is that you’re still in love with her.”

“Rhonda…”

“Let me finish. I watched you more than I watched that interview. And what I see is a woman still very much in love with the woman of her dreams. This is where I say she rode in on her damn white horse, honey. Jump on up there and ride off into the sunset.”

Meryl said nothing.

“That’s right. You don’t have an answer to that, do you?” Rhonda flipped her wrist around to check her watch. “Okay. Gotta go.” She set her glass down and stood up. “Come on, at least give your best friend a hug.”

Meryl embraced her.

“I’ll talk to you over the weekend,” Rhonda said as she was leaving. “Maybe we can go shopping. That always cheers you up.”

“Shopping might not be such a bad idea.”

Meryl shut the door behind Rhonda and locked the deadbolt. Malachi chose that moment to saunter in from the bedroom.

“Quiet now, hmm, boy?”

He rubbed against her leg.

Meryl picked him up, cradling his butt with her arm. She walked over to her loft window and watched as Rhonda hailed a taxi.

“What do you think, Malachi?” She rubbed her cheek against his. “Am I being unfair to Angie?”

He meowed.

“Sometimes, I’m really glad you can’t talk.”

Chapter 25

A whirlwind week of interviews followed Angie’s appearance on the Norah Hall Show. She flew home to Key West and planned to take it easy. A trip out on her boat sounded like heaven. She arrived in town late in the evening, and Ev met her at the airport.

“How’s the world-famous Angelina Zach Cantinnini England these days?” Ev asked.

“Tired as hell,” Angie said with a huff, dropping her luggage into Ev’s minivan as they climbed in. “I want to go home and reacquaint myself with my bed.”

Ev pulled out of the airport parking lot. “I’m taking you straight there. I know it’s been rough on you.”

Angie laid her head against the headrest. She had to fight to stay awake. “I can’t remember the last time I was this exhausted.”

“We’ll get you home, and I’ll tuck you into bed. How’s that sound?”

“Can I have a cookie and some milk, too, Mom?”

Ev grinned. “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?”

They arrived at Angie’s house. Ev helped Angie take her luggage inside.

“Thanks for picking me up. I think I’ll hit the hay.”

Ev gave her a hug. The energy source from the embrace seemed to take all of the kinks out of Angie’s sore muscles.

“You really need to bottle that stuff,” Angie said after Ev released her.

“What stuff?”

“You know what I’m talking about. That medicine woman stuff.”

“Sorry. It’s a Cherokee secret.” Ev headed for the door. “You get some rest.”

“Thanks again, Ev.”

Ev waved and tooted the horn as she pulled out of the drive.

Angie walked down the hallway to her bedroom and stripped, not even bothering to put on a nightshirt. She tugged the cover down and slid under the sheet. Turning, she brushed her hand over the empty space beside her. She reached for the other pillow, cradled it to her body, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

“We’re hoping to interview Stephen King as soon as his schedule allows,” Meryl said. “As most of you may know, he’s a huge Red Sox fan, and they have a series with the Yankees coming up next week. He assured me some time should open up for him after that.”

“Thank you, Meryl.” Thom Pratters turned to Zelda Landers. “How’s your joint interview with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie shaping up?”

“We’re still on for Wednesday afternoon.” Zelda gave Meryl a pointed glance over her glasses.

God, I’d love to slap that look off her face.

The door to the conference room opened and Wade appeared.

“What is it?” Pratters asked with some annoyance.

“Mr. Pratters, I hate to interrupt.” Wade turned toward Meryl. “There’s an emergency phone call for you.”

Meryl jumped to her feet.

“Excuse me. I think I need to leave.”

“Go, Meryl. And don’t apologize.” Pratters motioned her out the door.

“It’s your mother,” Wade said, almost running to keep up with Meryl’s long strides. “She sounded very upset. When I told her you were in a meeting, she insisted I interrupt you.”

“You did everything right, Wade. Don’t worry.”

“She’s still on the line.”

Meryl hurried to her phone and punched the button beside the blinking red light. “Mother?”

“He’s gone, Meryl,” her mother cried. “Your father’s gone.”

Meryl grabbed hold of the desk as her legs gave out. She reached behind her for the chair.

“When did he—”

“About forty-five minutes ago. At three-eighteen to be exact. I know it was three-eighteen because that’s what the doctor said when he recited the time to the nurse. ‘Three-eighteen.’”

Meryl held her head in her hands. “Mother, I’m sor—”

“Can you come home now? Can you at least come here for the funeral?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll take the next available flight.”

Meryl saw Wade watching her through the glass. She waved him into the office. “I’ll make the arrangements now. Is Aunt Suzanne there?”

“She’s staying with me. Will you please call to tell me when you’re on your way? I’ll have Edward pick you up at the airport.”

“I’ll get an airport limo to bring me there.”

“Ridiculous.” Her mother had recovered enough for her voice to return to its no-nonsense tenor. “That’s what Edward’s for.”

Meryl didn’t argue. “I’ll call when I find out the arrival time and the airline gate.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “I’m glad you’re coming home.”

“I’ll be there soon.” Meryl replaced the receiver in its cradle.

She thought of her mother’s words. It was the house where she’d spent her youth. But it no longer felt like home.

“Robert Tarkington is not available right now. Please leave your name, number, and message after the tone…”

Damn it. Why wasn’t he there?

“Robert, it’s Meryl McClain. My father died this morning, and I…” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but was unsuccessful. “And, Christ, I’m crying. Can you please call me back and tell me why I’m crying?” Meryl closed her phone and watched the blocks speed by outside her taxi window, trying desperately to understand her conflicting emotions.

The cab stopped in front of her apartment building, and she paid the driver. She tapped her foot as the elevator made its jerking ascent to her floor. Her cell phone rang just as she unlocked the deadbolt on her door.

She flipped the phone open and began talking as she sobbed. “Why is this affecting me this way? I mean, shouldn’t I be relieved?”

“Where are you right now?” Robert asked.

“I’m at my apartment.”

“Why don’t you sit down, take a few deep breaths, and exhale slowly. Remember the relaxation technique I taught you?”

Meryl threw her purse on the couch and slumped down beside it. She closed her eyes, trying not to panic at the little pinpricks of light that greeted her when doing so. Robert continued to talk to her in a soothing tone.

“Breathe in. Hold it. Slowly release it.”

He repeated the mantra until Meryl became more relaxed.

“I’m better now, I think,” Meryl said and sniffed. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table.

“What you’re experiencing is a normal reaction. You’re grieving the loss of something you never had—the love of your father. How is your mother?”

“About how you’d expect. She’s devastated, but at the same time, I think she’s disappointed in me.”

“You’re flying in for the funeral?”

“Yes.” Meryl glanced at the clock. “My flight leaves in about three hours. I’ll arrive there late, probably around nine-thirty this evening, if there are no delays.”

“I think it’s time to tell your mother about what happened to you as a child.”

“I don’t know that I can.” Meryl’s head throbbed at the prospect.

“Who are you really protecting, Meryl?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I asked.”

“You think I’m protecting the memory of my father?” Her stomach lurched at the suggestion.

Silence was Robert’s only answer.

“You think I’m trying to protect myself?”

He still didn’t answer.

“Well?”

“I think you’ve endured a lot these past few months. You’ve come to the truth, but I think you’re afraid you’ll have to delve into this even more with your mother by returning home.”

“How much deeper am I supposed to delve?” Anger gnawed at her.

“I never said this would be easy.”

Meryl gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s good. Because it’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’ve told you this during our sessions, but you need to believe me. This will get better. It’s a healing process.”

“Why is it the tough stuff always takes so long to work through?” Meryl pulled another tissue from the box.

“Because it’s been buried all these years. See it as digging through layers. You’re almost there, Meryl.”

Malachi jumped onto Meryl’s lap.

“My cat’s feeling neglected. I need to pack and ask my neighbor if she’ll watch him while I’m gone.” Meryl hesitated. “Um, about the other day…”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first patient I’ve had walk out on a session, and you won’t be the last.”

“And about Angie…”

“We’ll talk about her when you return. Please know I’ll be thinking about you and your mother these next few days.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

“Take care.”

Meryl scratched behind Malachi’s ears a few minutes before breaking out of her thoughts.

“Let’s see if Deidre can watch you, boy.”

His purring increased in volume.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She feeds you better than I do.”

Meryl’s plane landed on time. She saw Edward standing near the bottom of the escalator.

“I’ll get a cart for your luggage, Miss Meryl,” he said.

Meryl touched his arm before he left for the rack. “It’s not needed, Edward. This is all I have.”

Edward took the bag from Meryl, and they walked out into the muggy air.

“If you wait here, I’ll bring the car around.”

Five minutes later, the limo pulled to a stop in front of Meryl. Before she could even put her hand on the backdoor handle, Edward had hopped out. He hurried around the rear of the limo and opened the door for her. She slid onto the plush leather seat.

“There are refreshments there, Miss Meryl, as always,” Edward said. He closed the dividing window and started the car.

Meryl debated pouring a drink, but thought better of it. Instead, she rested her head on the seat cushion and closed her eyes. She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until the cessation of motion awakened her.

Edward opened the door. “I’ll see to your bag.” His chiseled features softened. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Thank you.”

The front door opened. The inside light backlit the solitary figure in the doorway.

“I see your flight arrived on time.” Candace McClain greeted her as Meryl approached.

Meryl stepped up into the entryway. “Yes. No delays.” Meryl felt awkward at first, but then kissed her mother on the cheek and embraced her. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Her mother leaned into her, as though drawing strength from Meryl’s presence. “I’m glad you’re here.”

They moved into the living room. Meryl’s Aunt Suzanne, her mother’s only sibling, stood to greet Meryl. “We’re pleased you could make it, my dear.” Her aunt gave her air kisses to both cheeks. She leaned back, grasping Meryl’s hands in hers. “Look at you. All grown up and as beautiful as always.”

Meryl blushed. “I don’t know about that.”

“You were always so shy about your beauty. Trust me. The right man’s still out there for you.”

Meryl stiffened.

“Suzanne, would you mind giving us a moment?” her mother asked in an icy tone.

“It’s late. I’ll retire now for the evening and see you both in the morning.”

Meryl watched Suzanne as she ascended the stairs. She turned around and caught the full brunt of her mother’s stare.

“Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

Meryl’s stomach fluttered.

They sat down on the leather couch.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.” Meryl observed her in the lamplight. She wore no makeup. Instead, exhaustion lined her face. Meryl had rarely seen her so open and vulnerable.

Candace took her hand. “It’s time for you to tell me why you’ve stayed away.”

“Mother, I—”

“No, Meryl, this can’t wait any longer. I don’t want to hear this after your father’s funeral. I want to hear it now.”

Meryl still hesitated.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Please, dear. Something happened between you and your father that you haven’t told me. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep you away. Tell me.”

Meryl closed her eyes to gather her courage. She opened them. Her mother’s gray eyes searched hers.

“It happened long ago when I was a child. I don’t know how old I was when it first happened. I don’t know how many times it happened. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that it did happen.”

Her mother gripped the cushion of the couch with her other hand.

Once Meryl began to speak, the words tumbled out. “Grandmother McClain molested me. It happened while she bathed me. She… she kept rubbing me in my… my—”

Candace held up her hand, and her face turned ashen. “You don’t need to say.”

“The one dream that’s so vivid… Father was there. He opened the door to the bathroom, saw what was happening, and didn’t stop it. I told him I was hurting. I told him.”

“And he…”

“He turned away and shut the door behind him. And she kept on and kept on.” Meryl pounded the cushion beside her with her fist.

Her mother brought her hand to her mouth. She stood and walked to the picture window. She swayed and held onto the top of a nearby chair. The lights lining the driveway reflected onto her drawn face. “You confronted your father, didn’t you?” Candace asked while still facing the window.

“Yes.” Meryl began crying. “Mother, I couldn’t tell you. By the time I understood what all my bad dreams were really about, he was already dying. I didn’t want to take away your last days with him. I’m so sorry.”

Her mother turned around. “Oh, honey.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Do you think I believe this is your fault?” She approached Meryl and cupped her face in her hands. “You poor girl. If I’d known, I promise you I would have taken you away from this house. We both would have left. Gone east to live with my parents. Anywhere but here.”

Meryl suddenly was a child again. “Mommy, it hurt so much,” she sobbed.

Candace sat down beside her and took Meryl into her arms. She pressed Meryl’s head under her chin and rocked her. “My poor, poor little Meryl. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here. Mommy’s here.”

Meryl welcomed her mother’s soothing words and pressed even farther into her embrace. It took Meryl back to the night on Angie’s boat when she last felt safe. It seemed so long ago.

Oh, Ange.

Chapter 26

Angie threw on a pair of running shorts and a sports bra and pulled on a white tank top. She jogged down to the bar. She’d check in first with everyone and then get in her run to the lighthouse. She hadn’t had any physical activity for the past few weeks, and she’d missed it.

She put her key in the door at the Cozy Conch and stepped inside. Henrietta, one of the bartenders, was mopping the floor while Christi stood on a stool, wiping down the mirror behind the bar. The smell of cleaning products assaulted Angie’s nostrils.

“Man, when you guys clean, you clean,” Angie said.

Christi glanced over her shoulder at Angie. “We have this boss who insists on a spotless bar.”

Angie chuckled. “If that’s the case, I hope she gives y’all a raise.”

“Gosh, that’d be kind of nice,” Christi said while squeezing out her rag.

“I thought you’d like that one.” Angie stepped behind the bar and pulled out a bottled water from the refrigerator. “You both have everything under control. I’m taking this out to the beach to do some jogging.”

Sage walked in from the rear. “Be careful. It’s supposed to be a scorcher today, Miss World-Famous-Author-Who-Rarely-Graces-Our-Presence.”

“Which is why I’m only jogging a mile rather than three, Mister May-Not-Have-a-Job-Soon-if-He-Keeps-Mouthing-Off.”

“Go on. Work on toning those legs, darling,” he shot back. “You’re looking a little out of shape.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Said the woman who kept her secret from her most trusted friend.”

“Whatever, Sage.” Angie waved to the three of them and darted out the door.

She approached where she usually started her run. The heavy tropical air hung around her like a wet beach towel. Angie took a swig of the water and then set it down on a bench while she stretched out. She loosened up enough to begin her run.

While she jogged, her thoughts turned to Meryl. There’d been no calls. No contact. Angie was beginning to accept that it was over. But for her, “over” would mean she’d return to living her life as she had before, hoping against hope that one day they’d be together again.

She made the turn at the lighthouse and jogged back to the bench. When she reached her bottle of water, she doused it over her head and shook her hair out. Another jogger passed her. She turned around, gave Angie the once-over, and ran down to the beach.

Angie jogged home rather than taking a leisurely walk. As she drew closer to her house, she noticed someone sitting on the stoop leading up to the front door, with bags stacked beside her.

Jan gave her a big grin as Angie approached.

“Kept telling you I’d show up unannounced.” Jan spread out her arms. “Here I am.”

Angie quickened her pace and gave Jan a big hug.

“Gosh, I didn’t expect this, but it’s nice to know you missed me,” Jan said.

“Sorry. I’m all sweaty. Let me help you with those.” Angie picked up Jan’s suitcases. “Planning to stay awhile?”

“Oh, maybe a week. You know me and packing. I can’t just put in a week’s worth of clothing. I stand there and say, ‘if we go out, then I’ll need that’ or ‘if I spill something on my nice, white suit, I’ll need this.’”

“I’m glad my big sister hasn’t changed.”

They entered the living room.

“Take a load off,” Angie said, pointing to the couch. “I’ll get you some juice. I have orange, grape, apple, cranberry—”

“Good God. When did you go all health nutty on me?”

“About five years ago,” Angie shouted from the kitchen. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Surprise me.”

Angie handed Jan a bottle of apple juice and opened a bottle of water for herself.

“Angie, you remember how much I hate this stuff.”

“But you said—”

Jan broke into a big grin. She smacked Angie on her leg after Angie sat down beside her. “I’m joking. What happened to your sense of humor?”

“I think it left me a few weeks ago.” Angie took a drink of water.

Jan pulled down the sunglasses perched on top of her head and tossed them onto the table. “A lot’s happened to you in the past few weeks. You seemed so down whenever we talked. I’d think this would be a freeing experience for you.”

“It has been.” Angie glanced over at Jan and turned away.

“But? I sense a ‘but’ coming on. What about you and Meryl?”

“She got the interview of her career, I guess.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

“What do you want to hear? That I haven’t heard from her since the day of the interview?”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else. What did Mom and Dad think about everything? And Lou, too, for that matter?”

“They were in shock. Lou especially. Of course, he’s a horse’s ass, so that’s to be expected. Mom didn’t say anything. You know how she is. But Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

Jan smiled. “Daddy was very proud.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. We talked for a long time about it. He told me he always knew you’d do something special in your life with your writing. He went out and bought all of the Barker books, even your latest.”

“Yet, he can’t call me and tell me all of this himself.”

Jan grasped her hand. “Give him a little time, Angie. When he found out I was coming down here, he told me to tell you he loved you and he’d call soon.”

“Until Mom finds out and puts a quick stop to it,” Angie said.

“Not this time.”

“What do you mean?” Angie’s heart skipped a beat.

“Just what I said. This time’s different. He talked about getting older and having regrets in his life—the biggest one being how he’s treated you. He said he’d talk to Mom in the next couple of weeks. This time, he told me, there’d be no giving in to her wishes.”

“Oh, Jan.” Angie choked out the words.

Jan moved closer and put her arm around Angie. “I said he’d come around. Of course, it’s much later than I’d hoped. But as long as it brings you together before he passes, that’s all that matters.” She kissed Angie on the forehead. “How about you tell me what happened between you and Meryl.”

Angie shook her head. “It’s all my fault.”

“Okay, what’s all your fault?”

Angie downed the rest of her water and set the empty plastic bottle on the coffee table.

“Why do I think you wished that was something stronger?” Jan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because you’d be right.” Angie ran her fingers through her wet hair.

“Now you’re giving me a big clue how bad this is by that gesture alone. It’s usually your stall tactic when you’ve done something wrong.”

“I never could keep anything from you.”

“And this is bad, how?”

Angie tried to muster a smile, but could only grimace. “Meryl came here over a month ago searching for Zach England. They had a lead at the Banner that England might live in Key West. And Meryl thought England might be a woman.”

“Yeah, I remember that article. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

“If it’s that you don’t want to hear I kept it from her that I was Zach England, okay, then I won’t tell you.”

“Oh Lord.”

“And do you want to hear the topper?”

“There’s something worse?”

“I had us searching for the guy who was suspected to be Zach England, one Hal Morris.”

“The baseball player?”

“Only you’d remember that. Of course, you defied the family and became a Reds fan rather than an Indians fan.”

“Just to piss off Lou. Jesus, Angie, I can’t believe you did that. I take it she found out?”

“I’d left one of my marked-up manuscripts lying out. At first, she thought I was England’s editor. The sad thing is I’d planned to tell her that morning. But it was too late.”

“Man, oh man. When you screw up, you really screw up.”

“Thanks, Jan. You’re real supportive.”

“Hey, I’m your big sister. I’m supposed to get on you about shit like this. It’s my job.” Jan made a face. “And now that her father died, I’m sure it’ll be even more difficult for you to connect with her again. She probably feels like she’s being bombarded with all this emotional upheaval.”

Angie bolted up from her slouch. “What did you say?”

“I said that she probably feels like she’s being bombarded—”

“No. Did you say her father died?”

“Yeah. It was in the Youngstown paper. I guess they ran the obituary because of who he was, but especially since he owned one of the steel mills that shut down in Youngstown.”

Angie jumped to her feet and paced. Her mind raced with images of Meryl struggling with the death of her father as well as the scars he’d inflicted during her childhood.

“What’s wrong?” Jan asked.

“I need to go there.”

“Where? You don’t mean…”

“Yes. To Pittsburgh, or rather Mount Lebanon. Did the paper say when they’re holding the services?”

“I think it said the viewing’s today and the funeral’s tomorrow.” Jan went to Angie and gripped her shoulders.

Angie stopped.

“You’re making me dizzy. Are you even sure she’d want you there?”

“No, I’m not. But I still love her.”

Angie hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, stripping while she ran.

“And just like when we were kids, I’m picking up after you.” Jan snatched up Angie’s clothes as she followed behind her. Angie was in the shower. She heard Jan enter the bathroom and flip the lid down on the commode. She could make out Jan sitting there through the steamed glass of the shower stall.

“If you’re going to do this, which it seems damn well likely you are, can I help out in any way?” Jan asked.

“Yeah. Get online and find out about flights leaving Miami for Pittsburgh. I’d like to get there this evening so I can catch my breath before tomorrow.”

“You mean to tell me that Zach England doesn’t own a private jet?”

Angie slid the shower door open enough to poke her head out. “Quit being a shit and find me a flight.”

“And what about little ol’ me? I just got here.”

“Oh, crap. I didn’t even think about that. You’re welcome to stay. I’ll even give you my spare key.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go on. Leave me alone.”

“But—”

Jan grinned as she stood up. “I’m just joshing with you. Matters of the heart come first. I’ll find a flight for you. Go to her, Angie.”

Meryl sat next to her mother at the gravesite. They held hands as the minister spoke.

“Channing McClain was many things to this community. Of course, he was a successful businessman. He guided McClain Steel through difficult times after taking over the reins following his father’s death. But he succeeded where others failed. He had the foresight to invest in the future. Seeing the impact that stainless steel and titanium would have on the industry, he transformed his company, allowing thousands of employees to keep their jobs. And he gave to those in need, starting many charities in his name. He donated millions to the children’s hospital that later shared his name.”

Meryl stared straight ahead as the minister continued to sing her father’s praises.

The minister looked at her and her mother. “But above all things, he was a good father and a loving husband to Meryl and Candace.”

Candace tightened her grip of Meryl’s hand. Meryl shot a glance over to her mother to find her clenching her jaws. She placed her other hand on top of her mother’s. Candace turned to her, acknowledging Meryl’s touch.

Neither had shed tears at the viewing, nor the funeral. And now they both sat expressionless in front of her father’s casket. Meryl blocked out the rest of the minister’s words. They stood at the appropriate time when he read the Lord’s Prayer. Meryl intoned the words as if someone had flipped a switch in her brain.

“And this concludes our service. Mrs. McClain and Meryl have asked that you join them at the family home for refreshments and to share your remembrances of Channing.”

They sat down again. The minister came over, took their hands, and said a few more words of comfort. They watched as friends and loved ones passed by the spray of roses in front of the casket, each taking one and laying it on top. The mourners offered their condolences as they walked by.

It was over. Meryl and Candace stood alone, staring at the casket. Minutes passed. Then, they each reached for the other’s hand and carefully walked the uneven ground to the limousine.

Edward opened the door and helped Candace into the backseat. Meryl glanced across the roof of the limo before joining her mother. Someone stood at a distance near the gravestones across the road.

Meryl gasped.

“Meryl? Are you all right?” Candace peered up at her.

The dark-haired woman across the road turned and walked to a car parked nearby.

“Ye-yes. I think so.”

Meryl watched as the car followed behind the others on their way out of the cemetery. She slid into the backseat next to her mother.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Candace asked her. “You’re very pale. These have been a difficult few days for you. Perhaps you should rest when we get home.”

“I’m fine. I thought I saw someone…”

“Someone you knew?”

“I’m not sure.” She turned to her mother and smiled. “Really, I’m okay.”

Candace nodded. “Edward, take us home.”

“Meryl, Mrs. McClain, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Gertrude Billingsley, her father’s long-time aide, shook their hands. She’d retired years ago but still had made the funeral despite failing health.

“Thank you, Gertrude. Channing always spoke so highly of you. He wouldn’t have made it without your assistance—especially with the stains on his ties. You saved him, I don’t know how many times, with your endless supply.”

Meryl was only half-listening to her mother. She heard murmuring behind her. Her mother looked over Meryl’s shoulder. Her expression softened with what she saw there. Meryl felt a hand on her shoulder and shivered at the touch. She turned around.

Angie. It had been her at the cemetery.

“Meryl, I came to offer you my sympathy,” Angie said. “I know this is difficult for you.” Her dark eyes shifted to Meryl’s mother. “And for you, Mrs. McClain. You’re both in my prayers.”

Candace moved forward. “Meryl, I don’t believe you’ve ever introduced us.”

Meryl realized others in the room had turned toward them. A few had their heads together, talking in low tones. Maybe they recognized Angie from the news about her.

“Honey?” her mother said.

“I’m sorry. Mother, this is Angie Cantinnini. Angie, my mother, Candace McClain.”

“Mrs. McClain.” Angie took Candace’s hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dear.” Candace glanced at her daughter and back to Angie. “Thank you, too, for coming to offer your condolences, Ms. Cantinnini,” her mother added.

“It’s Angie.”

Her mother smiled. “Angie it is then. Please. Stay with us and eat.”

Angie looked at Meryl as if for her approval, but Meryl said nothing. “I think it best I not stay.”

“You’re sure?” her mother asked.

“I can catch an afternoon flight to Miami. I should be leaving.” Angie stepped forward, searching Meryl’s face. Then she embraced her. She brought her lips to Meryl’s ear. “I still love you, and I always will,” she whispered and kissed her on the cheek.

Before Meryl could react, Angie was maneuvering her way through the mourners toward the door and out of the house.

As if on cue, everyone in the room began speaking again.

Meryl felt her mother move to her side.

“So, that was Angie.”

“Yes.” Meryl stroked her cheek where Angie had kissed her.

“Striking woman.”

Meryl turned to her mother to respond, but Candace had left to greet mourners who had just arrived.

Meryl did her best to be cordial to everyone. She smiled at the appropriate time. She listened and nodded when someone cornered her to say what a wonderful man her father had been. She kept up appearances for her mother’s sake and for the family name, replying with hollow words she didn’t mean.

And on occasion, a dark-haired woman Meryl saw in the periphery made her heart skip a beat. But she knew before getting a closer look that she’d be disappointed. Angie was gone.

Angie stood under the flight information display at the airport and scanned it for her flight to Miami. “Damn it.”

“Delayed” flashed beside the flight number. She inquired at the desk. The attendant told her it would be at least another hour before the plane arrived in Pittsburgh.

Angie pulled off her suit jacket and loosened the top button of her blouse. She’d hoped to leave without a hitch and put as much distance as possible between herself and heartbreak.

If she walked down to her gate, she’d have to sit there with the other passengers. She wanted to be alone—hard to do in a busy airport. Maybe she’d have to settle for a four-dollar coffee and a seat on the end of one of the rows of molded plastic chairs.

Angie opted for the coffee and the uncomfortable chair. She hoped no one would sit next to her. No such luck. A woman and two toddlers took seats nearby, close enough for the woman to strike up a conversation. The woman was pleasant enough and the kids were cute, but they didn’t help Angie’s mood.

She just wanted to go home.

Meryl sat in a chaise lounge in the spacious backyard. She wiped at her eyes. She hadn’t stopped crying since she’d come outside after the last guest departed at seven-thirty, which was over an hour ago. Her mother had left her alone.

The French doors opened behind her. Meryl faced forward, waiting for her mother’s voice.

“You’ve been out here for quite some time. And you’re crying.” Candace pulled out a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and handed it to Meryl.

“Thank you.” Why was it mothers always carried handkerchiefs? Meryl dabbed at her eyes.

“Come into the house, and I’ll fix us some hot tea.”

Meryl followed her inside and sat down at the dining room table while her mother continued into the kitchen. The kettle whistled several minutes later.

Candace walked in with two cups, setting one in front of Meryl. “Drink some of that. It always made you feel better when you were young.”

Meryl blew into the cup and took a tentative sip.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Candace asked.

“There’s not much to say.”

“Sometimes it’s better that way. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Meryl set her cup down. “It’s Angie.”

Candace smiled. “That I knew.”

“What am I going to do?”

“What does your heart tell you?”

Meryl twisted the handkerchief in her hand. “That I love her. But it’s not that simple.”

Candace leaned her elbow onto the table and put her chin in her hand. She observed Meryl for a long moment. “I can see why you fell in love with her. She’s a beautiful woman, and she obviously still loves you. Did something happen between the two of you that’s causing you to doubt what you feel?”

“Yes,” Meryl said, but didn’t offer more.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is. I was of course as shocked as everyone else when I read your interview, but especially because I knew what Angie meant to you.” She caressed Meryl’s face. “And what she still means to you.”

“Mother, I’m not sure.”

“Meryl McClain, you’ve been like this only one other time in your life and that was when you were at Lehigh. When you’d come home for visits that junior year, you wore this same love-struck look. Nothing’s changed.” Her mother tilted her chin up. “Yes, a few slight lines of aging, but you’re still that same young woman who lost her heart all those years ago.”

“What if it’s all an illusion?” Meryl fought to keep her voice steady.

Candace shook her head slightly. “I think I know what’s real, honey. And what I saw today between the two of you is as real as it gets. I didn’t stand up for you in this house twelve years ago, but God’s given me another chance to right a wrong. Go after her. And when you reach her, hold onto her with everything you have.”

Meryl stood up and gave her mother a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.” Candace then turned Meryl to face the doorway that led to the stairs. She gave her a gentle push. “Now get packed and go to her.”

“Hey, Jan,” Angie hollered from the kitchen. She drank the rest of her juice. “I’m taking off on my run. I can stop by the donut shop when I’m done and pick you up something, if you want.”

Jan emerged from the hallway, still clothed in her pajama shorts and tank top. Her dark hair stuck out in all directions. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister? Are you one of those pod people sent here to replace her? Is my sister on the mothership?”

Angie laughed. “I told you. I started running a few years ago. Now what about a donut?”

“And I suppose you’re abstaining because it’s unhealthy.” Jan moved past her to switch on the coffeemaker.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get some sugar donuts for myself.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a sacrifice.” Jan leaned onto the counter and stared at the water dripping into the container. “Does this go any faster?”

“Jan. Hello. Donuts?”

“Pick me up one of those pecan chewy thingies.”

Angie turned to leave.

“Angie?”

“Yeah?”

“You were pretty down when you got in. You said maybe two words to me last night. I’m sorry about Meryl. You okay?”

“I’m surviving.” Angie hurried for the door to avoid any further conversation. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Jan mumbled something about the obscenity of her little sister’s health habits.

Angie jogged out into the bright sunshine. She tried to avoid thinking of Meryl, but it was a lost cause. No more wishful thinking about a glorious reunion. Meryl had made her choice, and Angie had to move on.

To clear her mind, she paid attention to the people out in the early morning heat. She resisted the urge to yell at a couple walking by, hand-in-hand, “Hey! What about my broken heart?”

Angie ran the rest of the way to the lighthouse and made her turn. She was about halfway back to her starting point. She kept her head down, measuring the cadence of each step.

Then, a shudder ran through her body, and she felt compelled to look up. Angie’s heart leapt to her throat.

Meryl was running toward her. Jan stood in the distance, wiping at her eyes.

Meryl’s pace slowed as she drew closer.

Angie ran to her and stopped, gasping for air. “Meryl, I—”

Meryl moved within inches of Angie and put her fingers to Angie’s lips. “Just don’t ever lie to me again, okay?” Meryl searched her eyes.

“Never.”

“Good.” Meryl’s smile was playful. “Because I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, and I’ve come to a conclusion.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I couldn’t live without a certain Italian’s cooking.”

Angie pulled Meryl close. “Yeah?”

“Yes. But even more than that”—Meryl brought her lips to Angie’s—”I couldn’t live without a certain Italian.”

Epilogue

“You owe me on this one, little sis.” Jan plopped down on Angie’s bed.

“Why?” Angie stood in front of her full-length mirror and looked at her sister’s reflection while she spoke.

“Let’s say having Dad grip my hand until all feeling left my fingers on the flight from Cleveland to Miami wasn’t a picnic.”

“I don’t imagine it would be.”

“Oh, but there’s more. He didn’t want to take the puddle jumper here from Miami, right? Try driving the two hours from Miami to Key West with him saying every half mile or so on that seven-mile bridge down here, ‘Just how long is this thing?’”

Angie laughed. Over the past several weeks, she and her father had made amends. Her mother? Her mother was another matter. But Angie wouldn’t let it spoil this special day.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Jan said.

“Come here and be useful. I can’t get this tie right.”

Jan spun Angie around to face her. She undid the sloppy knot in the tie and started a new one. She patted it when she’d finished. “There.”

Angie turned toward the mirror again. “Wow, how’d you learn to do that?” Angie fiddled with the tie some more to make it perfect.

“Hey, my husband has worn a tux from time to time. We’re not totally uncouth, you know.”

Angie, dressed in a white tuxedo, white bow tie, and white boots, faced Jan again. “What do you think?”

Jan looked like she was about to cry. “I think you’re a gorgeous groomette on her wedding day.” She brushed her fingers over the lapels on Angie’s jacket. “I only wish Mom had come around.”

Angie hugged Jan. “It’s okay. The people who love me are here, and that’s what matters.”

“I think it’s so cool Meryl wants Daddy to give her away,” Jan said.

Angie tried not to choke up thinking about it, but she didn’t have much success. “It means a lot to me and to Meryl.”

Jan smiled. “Me, too.” She smoothed out her peach-colored dress that stopped right below her knees. She linked her arm in Angie’s. “Come on. It’s almost time. You have a wedding to make.”

Meryl and Angie had their ceremony under a canopy near the beach. They planned it for sundown. Since it was a Key West tradition to celebrate each sunset, they embraced it as a symbol of good luck.

The gathering was small. Ev and her family, Sage, and the other employees from the Cozy Conch were there, as well as Jan and her family, Rhonda, and of course Meryl’s mother and Angie’s father. Sally had even made the trip. The guests sat in folding chairs lined beside the aisle.

Angie shifted in place, waiting for the music to begin. Jan, who was serving as her “best man” poked her lightly in the side. Jan’s smile reassured her.

The music started. Everyone stood as Angie’s father walked Meryl down the aisle. Angie’s tears began to flow the moment she saw Meryl. She wore a white strapless gown adorned with pearls and lace. She’d pulled her hair back into a barrette. Her eyes never left Angie’s as she took each slow step with Angie’s father.

When her father placed Meryl’s hand in hers, he met Angie’s gaze. She saw what she’d always longed for there. Acceptance. He took a seat beside Meryl’s mother.

For the rest of the ceremony, Angie was in a daze. The minister’s words were forgettable, but she knew the love emanating from Meryl’s face would stay with her for a lifetime.

The service ended. Angie and Meryl giggled as they removed their shoes and ran toward the beach. Angie didn’t bother rolling up her pant legs. She took Meryl’s hand and led her into the shallow waters. The guests watched as the newlyweds celebrated.

Angie pulled Meryl close and removed the barrette from Meryl’s hair. “We’ve said our vows, but I wanted to save this special moment just for us.” The water lapped at their feet. “You captured me with your eyes that first day we met.” She ran her fingers through the soft strands falling around Meryl’s face. “Without you, I’ve been lost. But you’ve come back to me, and I’ve found my anchor in the harbor.”

Meryl caressed Angie’s cheek. “I know with your love, I’m safe. Always.”

And Meryl kissed her. A kiss that held the answers to every question of their future.