To my Little Phyllis Valentine. I love you.

ALSO WRITTEN BY CHRIS PAYNTER AND

AVAILABLE FROM BLUE FEATHER BOOKS:

PLAYING FOR FIRST

COMING SOON:

TWO FOR THE SHOW

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are either products of the authorâ€™s imagination or are used fictitiously.

COME BACK TO ME

Copyright Â© 2010 by Chris Paynter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, save for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by Ann Phillips

A Blue Feather Book

Published by Blue Feather Books, Ltd.

www.bluefeatherbooks.com

ISBN: 978-0-9822858-5-5

First edition: May, 2010

Printed in the United States of America and in the United Kingdom.

Acknowledgements

I started this journey last year with two of the most amazing women Iâ€™ve ever met. Thank you to my publisher, Emily Reed, for taking a chance on me and making me a part of the Blue Feather family. Youâ€™re a tireless champion of lesbian literature and an inspiration to me and countless others. A great big Hoosier thank you to the most patient editor in the universe, Jane Vollbrecht. Youâ€™re my mentor and teacher. But above all, youâ€™re my good friend. Please donâ€™t ever stop helping me to improve my writing.

Em and Jane, I look forward to many, many years of a wonderful partnership.

Iâ€™ve been fortunate to be blessed with the best parents in the world, Nancy and Morris, and with the best brother a sister could ever hope for. Dave, youâ€™re my hero for many reasons, but especially for what you do for this country. To my sister-in-law, Grace, and niece, Cassie, your love and support mean the world to me.

A special thank-you to K.C. and Suzanne for their early readings of this manuscript. I appreciate your suggestions and your friendship. Thank you, Nann Dunne, for your meticulous line editing and your invaluable knowledgeâ€”especially in all things nautical.

To William H. Cookâ€”thank you for your thirty years of counseling and friendship. I know I wouldnâ€™t be here today without you, Bill.

And to Phyllis, the woman who changed my life forever, who is my Muse and my inspiration, who believed in me when I didnâ€™t believe in myselfâ€”thank you for all of the sacrifices you make in allowing me to pursue my dream. You are my safe place in this worldâ€”a refuge for my heart.

Chapter 1

Chicago, Winter 2002

â€œLetâ€™s give this a try. It sure as hell canâ€™t hurt.â€

Angie glared at her agent from across the table. â€œI think itâ€™s selling out, Sally.â€

Sally returned the scowl. â€œThe major publishers shy away from lesbian authors who try to change genres. How many times do we have to go over this? And they donâ€™t think a woman can write the hard-ass stuff and be taken seriously.â€

â€œWhat about Agatha Christie? She had male detectives whoâ€”â€

â€œStop. Right. There. Did Agatha Christie ever write anything remotely like, â€˜He knew from the moment he saw her that he wanted to get her between the sheetsâ€™? This detective of yours is a manâ€™s man, and youâ€™re obviously a woman.â€

Sally attempted to stop the waitress who breezed by, her arms loaded down with a tray full of glasses. â€œCrap, theyâ€™re too damn fast here.â€ She faced Angie again.

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

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 sheâ€™d always dreamed of. What could it hurt? Sheâ€™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. â€œIf you want to swim with the big boys, youâ€™ll have to become one of them.â€

â€œJesus, who are you, Sal? The devil? Because I feel like Iâ€™m making a deal thatâ€™ll cost me my soul.â€ 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.

â€œOh please. Donâ€™t try that Catholic guilt on me now. You havenâ€™t attended Mass in years.â€

Angieâ€™s temper flared at the smug look that came over Sallyâ€™s face.

â€œWhat?â€

The fake look of innocence on Sallyâ€™s face annoyed Angie all the more. â€œYou can say anything you want, but donâ€™t make fun of my faith.â€ She held up her hand before Sally could interrupt. â€œAnd donâ€™t say â€˜what faith?â€™ Itâ€™s been difficult enough with my familyâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry. I was only joking. I know thatâ€™s a sore spot with you.â€

â€œWhen my mother tells me not to come home again until Iâ€™m cured of this sickness, yeah, it can be a bit of a sore spot.â€ 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. â€œThat Italian charm of yours is still there. I guess Iâ€™m not of the right persuasion to fetch us drinks.â€

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

â€œOkay, letâ€™s say we do this. How will it work?â€

Sallyâ€™s smile was hard to categorizeâ€”somewhere between delighted and demonic. With just a little effort, Angie could almost see tiny horns sprouting from Sallyâ€™s head and her swizzle stick turning into a pitchfork.

â€œLeave it all up to meâ€¦â€

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 Angieâ€™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.

â€œOh my God.â€ She sat up and almost knocked her life preserver into the water.

It was a small black-and-white photo, but that didnâ€™t hide Meryl McClainâ€™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 didnâ€™t do justice to the mesmerizing, cyan blue eyes that Angie remembered so well.

â€œYou havenâ€™t changed,â€ Angie whispered.

She scanned Merylâ€™s short bio. The article concluded by directing the reader to Merylâ€™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, â€œZach Englandâ€™s Newest Installment in the Barker Series Lacks Imagination.â€

â€œWell, Iâ€™ll be damned,â€ she said under her breath, jumping down to the lead:

â€œZach Englandâ€™s Dying to Meet You is a disappointment from his earlier work. Beginning with Murder So Dear, Englandâ€™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.â€

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 Englandâ€™s earlier work in the series. According to Merylâ€™s review, Englandâ€™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 belowâ€”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 â€œZach Englandâ€ that cold and rainy Chicago day eight years ago. Sally had vowed it would be temporary. But fate had other plans.

At Sallyâ€™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 hadnâ€™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 sheâ€™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 theyâ€™d also been shrewd. They thought they had a runaway bestseller on their hands. But they also thought readers wouldnâ€™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 sheâ€™d done the right thing. Her bank account screamed she had, but her conscience told her sheâ€™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?

â€œYeah, I share it all right,â€ she muttered, â€œfifteen percent with each publication. And I damn well paid for that penthouse of hers in Chicago.â€

And nowâ€”of all peopleâ€”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 wouldnâ€™t be a pleasant conversation.

â€œYeah, Sal, I read it.â€

â€œWho the fuck is this woman? Itâ€™s her first review, for fuckâ€™s sake, and what does she do? She rakes your ass over the fucking coals.â€

Angie wished she had one of those handheld counters for occasions like this so she could click it each time Sally hurled a â€œfuckâ€ at her. Sheâ€™d often said Sally cussed like a sailor, except Angie didnâ€™t know any sailors who could get quite as descriptive as Sally.

â€œI 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? Itâ€™s the only poor review youâ€™ve gotten on this one.â€

She noticed that Sally hadnâ€™t mentioned all of the rave reviews she received, but that this was the only poor review and that it was pointedly â€œthis one.â€ Her last two Barker novels received lukewarm reviews as well.

â€œAnd another thingâ€”â€

â€œMaybe sheâ€™s right,â€ 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 sheâ€™d wanted one ever since sheâ€™d attended an antique wooden boat show in Miami. Technically, the forty-footer was a yacht, but she couldnâ€™t bring herself to call it that.

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

â€œWhat?â€

Angie held the phone away from her ear. â€œI said maybe sheâ€™s right.â€

â€œWhat the hell does that mean?â€

â€œWhat do you think it means?â€ 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.

â€œHey, I know the last couple of books havenâ€™t been your best stuff, but still.â€

â€œBut still, hell. I deserved it even though I didnâ€™t like reading it.â€ And I donâ€™t like the memories that name brings to me, Angie silently added. â€œIâ€™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.â€

â€œWeâ€™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, weâ€™re locked into your third three-book contract with the stipulation that you maintain your anonymity. Besides, it works. Youâ€™re making money, right?â€

â€œYou know the answer to that. And the operative words are weâ€™re making money. Iâ€™m very aware I could go the rest of my life without selling one more book and still live comfortably off my royalties. And Iâ€™m just as aware the multimillion-dollar deal that you cut with NBC to produce the Derek Barker series doesnâ€™t hurt, either.â€

â€œAnd the problem isâ€¦â€

â€œThe problem is no one knows who I am. I feel like Iâ€™m suffocating down here, and itâ€™s not from the heat. I get tired of having the title of â€˜reclusive best-selling author.â€™ Itâ€™s affected my writing. Iâ€™m bored, and it shows.â€

â€œListen to me, Angie. Yes, you may be in a bit of a rut. It doesnâ€™t mean youâ€™ve lost it. You only need to recharge your batteries.â€

â€œWhere the hell else am I supposed to go to recharge my batteries? I live in the capital of laid-back living, for Godâ€™s sake.â€

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

Angie lay stretched out on her couch. She held the cold Corona bottle to her forehead. â€œSally Copelman, I cannot believe you just said â€˜fuck the New York Banner.â€™ Itâ€™s the goddamn New York Banner. Weâ€™re not talking about a newspaper in some Podunk town.â€

â€œDonâ€™t you worry about this. Like I said, Iâ€™ll get those other advance reviews for your back cover.â€

â€œDo me a favor. Donâ€™t let one of them be from some newspaper in Butte, Montana, okay?â€

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 sheâ€™d gotten Sally off the phone, she could reflect on what was really messing with her self-esteem. Merylâ€™s reentrance into her life left her feeling unsettled. Theyâ€™d met in a creative writing class her sophomore year at Lehigh University. Merylâ€™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

Angieâ€™s mother trailed behind her father as he brought the platter of turkey to the dining room table.

â€œAngie, help your sister get the vegetables ready, will you?â€ her mother said. It wasnâ€™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.

â€œMom said to help, not just stand there.â€ Jan swatted her head playfully.

â€œOh, right.â€ 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.

â€œAngie?â€ Jan held out her hand. â€œHello? Bowl?â€

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

Jan furrowed her brow. â€œIs everything all right with you? You act like youâ€™re in a whole other world.â€

â€œIâ€™m fine.â€ Angie was far from fine, but she couldnâ€™t tell Jan why. She shouldâ€™ve been able to talk to Jan about this. Jan was five years older and everything a big sister should beâ€”annoying, loving, and overprotective. More than anything, she was Angieâ€™s best friend. But Angie made the decision to tell the whole family at once. Today was the day. Thanksgiving. They couldnâ€™t throw her out on Thanksgiving Day, could they?

Jan let it drop. â€œTake this and the stuffing out to the table.â€

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 heâ€™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.

â€œI have something I want to tell you.â€

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.

â€œWhat?â€ Lou asked. â€œWeâ€™re hungry.â€

Angie hesitated.

â€œWell, Angie? What is it?â€ Maria Cantinnini already appeared annoyed.

â€œIâ€™m gay,â€ Angie blurted out.

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

â€œYouâ€™re what?â€ her father asked. Confusion played across his face.

â€œIâ€¦â€ Angie cleared her throat. â€œIâ€™m a lesbian.â€

â€œYouâ€™re a dyke?â€ Lou asked with a smirk.

â€œLou, shut up!â€ Jan shouted.

â€œHey, donâ€™t get mad at me. Sheâ€™s the one whoâ€™s the freak,â€ Lou yelled back at her.

â€œI swear, Lou, if you donâ€™t shut up.â€ Jan made a move toward their brother. Angie put her hand on Janâ€™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. â€œBasta!â€

Oh God, sheâ€™s lapsed into Italian.

â€œAngelina, look at me,â€ her mother said.

She met her motherâ€™s eyes.

â€œIs this true?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œYou mean you prefer girls?â€ her father asked.

â€œItâ€™s not a preference, Daddy. Itâ€™s who I am. I was born this way.â€

â€œDonâ€™t you say that.â€ Her motherâ€™s voice was a verbal slap. â€œDonâ€™t you dare say that. God did not make you this way.â€ She shook her head, and her dark, graying curls bounced violently. â€œWeâ€™ll go to Father Mark tomorrow. Heâ€™ll help you with this. Heâ€™ll help you fight these urges.â€

â€œTheyâ€™re not urges. Itâ€™s who I am.â€ Angie pressed her palm over her chest to encompass what she felt. â€œAnd no one, not even a priest, will miraculously make this go away.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t hear of it.â€ Maria folded her arms.

â€œI didnâ€™t say this for your approval. Whatever you think of me from this point on is up to you. I wonâ€™t change. I hope you can still accept meâ€”â€

â€œAccept you?â€ A vein pulsed in Mariaâ€™s left temple. â€œAccept you?â€

â€œMom, calm down,â€ Jan said and reached across the table to grab their motherâ€™s hand.

Maria snatched her hand away as if Jan had scalded it with her touch. â€œDonâ€™t you tell me to calm down, Janice.â€ She turned to Angie. â€œAngelina Marie Cantinnini, get out.â€

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

Her father, whoâ€™d kept his head lowered during the exchange, spoke up.

â€œMaria, please, itâ€™s Thanksgiving andâ€”â€

â€œAnthony, quiet!â€

Her fatherâ€™s jaw twitched.

â€œOut. Now. Go to your bedroom, pack your things, and I mean all your things, and get out.â€

â€œMom, you canâ€™t mean this,â€ Jan said. â€œYou donâ€™t know what youâ€™re saying.â€

Maria stood up, tipping over her glass of wine with the motion. â€œLook. Look at what youâ€™ve made me do.â€ She blotted the red wine with her napkin, causing the stain to spread farther. â€œAnd on my motherâ€™s antique tablecloth.â€ 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 Angieâ€™s face. â€œI mean it, Angelina. Now!â€ She pointed toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Tears trickled down Angieâ€™s cheeks. She wrenched free from her motherâ€™s biting grip and angrily wiped them away.

Jan jumped to her feet to stand beside Angie. â€œIâ€™ll go with you.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll do no such thing,â€ Maria snapped.

â€œMother, Iâ€™m twenty-three-years old. Iâ€™ll do as I goddamn please.â€

â€œJanice!â€ Maria shouted. â€œIâ€™ll not have you using the Lordâ€™s name in vain in my house.â€

â€œWhich is why Iâ€™m leaving with my sister.â€ Jan turned to their father. â€œI canâ€™t believe youâ€™re allowing this to happen.â€

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

Tears filled his eyes, but he remained silent. That hurt even more than her motherâ€™s rejection and her brotherâ€™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 Janâ€™s hand on her shoulder as they walked down the hallway.

â€œIâ€™ll take you to my apartment.â€ Jan helped Angie gather her things. â€œBut whatâ€™ll you do after that? You still have school. How will you manage?â€

â€œIâ€™ll get by.â€ Angie hoped her voice didnâ€™t give away her fear.

Jan hugged her. â€œIâ€™ll do anything I can to help you. I love you. Youâ€™re still my little sister, and that hasnâ€™t changed.â€

Angie squeezed Jan tight. She pulled away when she felt sheâ€™d lose her composure. She wouldnâ€™t turn into a blubbering mess in their parentsâ€™ 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 Janâ€™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 motherâ€™s face like a grotesque Halloween mask.

â€œDonâ€™t bother to return until you rid yourself of this sickness.â€ Her mother spat the words.

â€œThen I guess this is good-bye forever, because thatâ€™ll never happen.â€

Angie didnâ€™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.

â€œMom!â€ Jan screamed.

Angie rubbed the side of her face. â€œItâ€™s okay, Jan. Sheâ€™s made herself clear.â€

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.

â€œStay with me for the rest of the break,â€ Jan said as she got into the driverâ€™s seat. â€œIâ€™ll drive you back to Lehigh.â€

â€œI can take a bus like I did to get home.â€

â€œYouâ€™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.â€ She gently touched Angieâ€™s left cheek.

Angie flinched. â€œLetâ€™s just go.â€

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 sisterâ€™s place. They stopped in front of Janâ€™s apartment and sat, unspeaking, in the frigid car. Angie could see her breath. Still, she couldnâ€™t move.

Jan rubbed Angieâ€™s shoulder. â€œGrab your duffel bag, and weâ€™ll worry about the rest of this in the morning. Iâ€™ll make us some coffee.â€

She followed Jan inside and dropped her bag by the door. Jan tugged off her coat and took Angieâ€™s.

â€œPull those boots off. My slippers should still fit you unless your feet have grown this past semester.â€

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 didnâ€™t see Jan approach, but felt her sisterâ€™s arms slip around her.

â€œOh, Angie, Iâ€™m so sorry youâ€™re going through this.â€ Jan dropped to her knees in front of the chair. She held Angie and rocked her.

â€œIâ€™m sorryâ€”â€

â€œDonâ€™t you dare apologize. Jesus. After what youâ€™ve just gone through?â€

Angie pulled out of the embrace.

Janâ€™s eyes shimmered in the lamplight. She wiped away another stray tear from Angieâ€™s cheek. â€œLet me make that coffee and then maybe we can talk.â€

â€œOkay.â€

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.

â€œThanks.â€ 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.

â€œI guess youâ€™re wondering when this all started.â€ Angie set her cup down on the table by the chair and placed her hands in her lap, intertwining her fingers. She didnâ€™t notice she was twiddling her thumbs until Janâ€™s gaze dropped to her hands.

â€œYou donâ€™t have to be nervous. Remember, I love you no matter what.â€

â€œIt was in high school. On the basketball team, there wasâ€”â€

â€œTiffany Schottheim.â€

Angie jerked. â€œYou knew?â€

â€œI donâ€™t think I was the only one who suspected there was something there. I noticed Momâ€™s reaction whenever you brought her around.â€

â€œDo you think Mom knew then?â€

It was Janâ€™s turn to set her cup down. She blew out a breath, causing her dark bangs to fly up off her forehead. â€œWho knows what she thought? She wasnâ€™t very approving of anyone we brought home. Can you remember her liking any of my dates?â€

â€œNo, now that you mention it.â€ A rugged face came to Angieâ€™s mind. â€œGod, I think even I was in love with that Chad guy you dated.â€

Jan laughed. â€œBut do you know what Mom thought of him?â€

â€œI wasnâ€™t around when she talked to you.â€

â€œShe said, â€˜Heâ€™s not Catholic, Janice. You need to forget about him.â€™ When I informed her that he was Catholic, she hopped on the fact he wasnâ€™t Italian.â€

â€œDo you think we can ever please her?â€ Angie stopped herself. â€œIâ€™ll never be who she wants me to be. I donâ€™t even know why I asked that.â€

Jan crossed the room and knelt in front of her again. She held Angieâ€™s face in her hands. â€œYou be who you are, Angie. Love who you want to love. Like I told you, Iâ€™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.â€

â€œAnd Dad?â€

Jan smiled sadly and brushed her fingers through Angieâ€™s hair. â€œLet me work on Dad. Give him some time. Heâ€™ll come around.â€

â€œI canâ€™t see Mom letting that happen.â€ Angie began crying again.

Jan hugged her. â€œYou never know.â€ She rose to her feet. â€œCome on. Why donâ€™t you take a hot shower, slip on your flannels, and Iâ€™ll order us a pizza.â€

â€œOn Thanksgiving?â€

â€œSure. Donâ€™t tell me youâ€™ve forgotten that Marioâ€™s is open on Thanksgiving Day.â€

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

â€œArenâ€™t you going to answer that?â€ Angie asked.

â€œNope.â€

It clicked over to the answering machine after the fifth ring. â€œJanice, I know youâ€™re there,â€ their mother said. â€œDonâ€™t ignore me. Call back immediately.â€ The dial tone echoed in the apartment.

Jan pointed at the answering machine. â€œAnd thatâ€™s why.â€ She stood up and pulled Angie to her feet, then smacked her on her butt. â€œCome on, little sis. Shower, and Iâ€™ll order the pizza. My bunny slippers are in the bedroom. Weâ€™ll stay up late watching some of my old movies.â€

Angie made it a few feet down the hall, but then stopped. â€œJan?â€

â€œHmm?â€

â€œThanks.â€

â€œGo on before I start Casablanca without you.â€

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 wasnâ€™t quite used to her new, shorter style. The chill had been prompted by the haunted expression that stared back at her.

Her motherâ€™s phone call had shaken her. Sheâ€™d shut her door when she saw the number on the caller ID.

â€œMeryl?â€

â€œYes, Mother.â€

â€œI thought youâ€™d like to know your fatherâ€™s condition.â€

Meryl didnâ€™t respond.

â€œAre you there?â€

â€œYes, and I made it clear to you I have no interest in his well-being.â€

â€œHeâ€™s your father.â€ The desperation was clear in her motherâ€™s voice. â€œDespite anything thatâ€™s happened in the past, you canâ€™t ignore that.â€

â€œI canâ€™t forgive him.â€

â€œHe 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.â€

Meryl slammed her eyes shut when a throbbing pain shot through her temples. â€œPlease quit asking me to do this.â€

â€œHeâ€™s dying, Meryl.â€ Her motherâ€™s voice broke.

â€œI canâ€™t deal with this, Mother. Iâ€™m hanging up now.â€

Sheâ€™d ended the call over an hour ago and hadnâ€™t been able to concentrate on anything since. Another chill coursed down her spine.

Her father was dying, and she didnâ€™t care.

What did that say about her? Sheâ€™d heard once that the opposite of love was indifference. She didnâ€™t love her father, and she didnâ€™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 friendâ€™s number pop up.

â€œRhonda, Iâ€™m so glad itâ€™s you.â€ Meryl sat down in her leather chair and swiveled to face the window.

â€œMissed your best friend that much?â€

Rhondaâ€™s husky voice warmed her.

â€œYes, I have.â€

â€œLet me guess. Your mother?â€

â€œYouâ€™re too astute, my friend.â€

â€œIsnâ€™t that why you keep me around?â€ There was a pause. â€œSheâ€™s still on you to reconcile with your father?â€

â€œYes. Iâ€™m sure I seem like a cold-hearted bitch.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll never get any criticism from me when it comes to him. Remember, Iâ€™ve seen him in action. To me, thatâ€™s your decision to make.â€

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. â€œThis might sound crazy with the weather, but do you want to meet tonight for a couple of drinks?â€

â€œOh, what the hell. How about Oâ€™Malleyâ€™s? We can both walk there without getting ourselves killed in the process. Did you bring your trusty boots today?â€

â€œYouâ€™re talking to a Pittsburgh gal. Do you even need to ask?â€

â€œAnd youâ€™re talking to a Tampa gal who wouldnâ€™t know a boot if it bit her in the butt.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see you there in about an hour.â€

â€œIâ€™ll meet you at our booth in the back.â€

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

â€œMeryl? Are you okay?â€

â€œYeah. Just a little dizzy there for a minute.â€

â€œAre you sure you want to get together? Maybe your momâ€™s phone call shook you up more than youâ€™re admitting. Why donâ€™t youâ€”â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m fine. It passed. Iâ€™ll see you in about a half an hour.â€

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.

â€œGood night, Ms. McClain, and be safe. Itâ€™s really nasty out there.â€

â€œGood night, Don. Thank you. You be careful when you head home, too.â€

* * *

It took Meryl thirty minutes to traverse the eight blocks to Oâ€™Malleyâ€™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 Rhondaâ€™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 Merylâ€™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. â€œYou look fantastic.â€

â€œYouâ€™re so full of it. I saw my reflection in my office window before I left. I look like crap. Youâ€™re the one who looks fantastic.â€

They slid in across from each other in the booth.

â€œOkay, you do appear a bit haggard.â€

â€œYouâ€™re supposed to argue with me a little on that one.â€

â€œYou 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.â€

â€œYou mustâ€™ve missed my dirty look when I thanked you for your constructive criticism.â€

The waiter arrived at their table.

â€œA dry martini,â€ Rhonda said. â€œShaken, not stirred. Iâ€™d give you my best James Bond imitation, but Iâ€™m too damn tired.â€

â€œAnd for you, maâ€™am?â€ the waiter asked Meryl.

â€œChivas on the rocks.â€

The waiter hustled away.

â€œHow are you really?â€ Rhonda asked.

â€œBetter, now that I can talk to you.â€

â€œSo, your motherâ€™s still trying to get you home to Pittsburgh?â€

Meryl nodded.

â€œWhatâ€™d she say when you said no?â€

Meryl liked that Rhonda didnâ€™t even question what her answer would be. â€œShe tried the guilt thing.â€

â€œWhich didnâ€™t work.â€

â€œIt never does.â€

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.

â€œWhenever you want to talk about it, Iâ€™m here for you, hon. You know that, donâ€™t you?â€

Tears came to Merylâ€™s eyes. â€œI know.â€

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

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

Rhonda squeezed Merylâ€™s hand. â€œWhatever it is, itâ€™ll be okay.â€

The waiter returned. â€œDid you want to order anything else?â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m fine,â€ Meryl said. â€œRhonda?â€

â€œMaybe another martini in a few.â€

Rhonda asked after he left, â€œHowâ€™s work? I caught your review in yesterday morningâ€™s paper. Girl, Iâ€™m sure glad my nameâ€™s not Zach England.â€

â€œIf the man would write like heâ€™s capable of writing, he wouldnâ€™t find reviews like mine in his morning paper.â€

â€œYes, maâ€™am!â€

â€œDo you read his books?â€

â€œI plead guilty. I like indulging in a little debauchery.â€

â€œThereâ€™s solid writing there under the surface. Despite all the sex and violence, the stories were good ones, until these last two. Itâ€™s almost like heâ€™s only going through the motions.â€

â€œYou kind of pointed that out,â€ Rhonda said, deadpan.

â€œItâ€™s my job.â€

â€œAnd your first review, too. Nothing like putting it all out there from the get-go that youâ€™re a tough broad.â€

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

â€œEarlier, did I say something that upset you?â€ Rhonda said.

Meryl turned away from the TV. â€œWhat?â€

â€œOn the phone. You sounded a little shook up.â€

â€œOh.â€ Meryl stared down at the ice in her drink.

â€œMeryl?â€

â€œAngie used to say that at Lehigh. You used her exact words. â€˜Iâ€™ll meet you at our booth in the back.â€™ Weâ€™d get together some nights at the pizza parlor by the campus.â€

â€œAh.â€

â€œIâ€™ve never told you this because I never wanted to freak you out or anything.â€

â€œYouâ€™re madly in love with me and want to whisk me away to your apartment?â€

Meryl laughed. The fact that Rhonda was as straight as the Empire State Building was tall made it a totally outrageous statement. â€œNo. Itâ€™s your voice. You sound a lot like her.â€

â€œI do?â€

â€œMmm hmm. So, when you said what you did over the phone, I was twenty again.â€

â€œHave you tried any recent searches for her?â€

Meryl shook her head. â€œIâ€™ve pretty much given up on that.â€

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

Meryl glanced at her watch. â€œItâ€™s late. Iâ€™d better get home.â€

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

â€œLooks like they may have been wrong about the accumulation,â€ 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. â€œI donâ€™t think weâ€™re out of the woods yet.â€

â€œSpoken like a true Pittsburgher.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll be okay getting home?â€

â€œWeâ€™re both about the same distance away from here. I think Iâ€™ll be fine. After all, itâ€™s not the first time weâ€™ve gone out on a night like this, right?â€

â€œBe careful. Call me when you get there so I donâ€™t worry.â€

â€œTell you what. If you donâ€™t hear from me before the hour is up, send out the sled dogs.â€

â€œDeal.â€

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

â€œNo, Father, I havenâ€™t returned Stan Albersonâ€™s call. I told you, with my studies, I really donâ€™t have time to date.â€

â€œYou surely have time to at least have coffee with him. Heâ€™s expecting to hear from you.â€ Channing McClainâ€™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 didnâ€™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.

â€œI have to go. My creative writing class meets in forty minutes, and itâ€™s across campus. Iâ€™ll talk to you later.â€

â€œWeâ€™re not through discussing this.â€

â€œBye, Father.â€

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

â€œWhereâ€™s that short story?â€ 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 Stanâ€”or any guy, for that matter. Sheâ€™d dated in high school, but had gone out only a couple of times since starting at Lehigh. The guys sheâ€™d dated were interested in one thing, which she wasnâ€™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 fatherâ€™s obsession. He seemed determined to match her with the perfect future husband. In Stan Albersonâ€™s case, it had everything to do with the fact he was heir to the Alberson Shipping fortune. Meryl wouldnâ€™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 didnâ€™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 whoâ€™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 didnâ€™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.

â€œOkay, everybody, letâ€™s settle down.â€ Faye perched on the edge of the desk in front of the semicircle. â€œLet me remind you to take note of whatâ€™s offered in the critiques of your stories.â€ She slid on her reading glasses that hung from a thin gold chain around her neck and scanned her legal pad. â€œWe begin today with Kim Calbersâ€™s story about living in rural West Virginia. Whereâ€™s John Franklin?â€

A beefy redhead raised his hand.

â€œWeâ€™ll let you give your critique first.â€

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 â€œWomenâ€™s Softballâ€ 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.

â€œNow, letâ€™s discuss Angie Cantinniniâ€™s story, â€˜A Thanksgiving Day Surprise,â€™ about a young woman coming out to her family on the holiday.â€

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

â€œBrett Mooreland? Give us your assessment.â€

Meryl continued observing Angie while Brett offered up an uncomfortable homophobic response to the story. Angieâ€™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 Merylâ€™s glare. He had flirted with her during the course, and sheâ€™d ignored him.

â€œNext up is Meryl McClain. What did you think, Meryl?â€ Meryl thought Fayeâ€™s expression was pleading with her for compassion.

Meryl met Angieâ€™s eyes and offered her a reassuring smile before she began her critique.

â€œFirst, I think Angieâ€™s writing is phenomenal.â€ She glanced over again at Angie and noticed that sheâ€™d relaxed in her chair.

â€œThe 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 canâ€™t imagine the pain she went throughâ€¦â€ Meryl stopped, then started again. â€œI mean, I thought Angie conveyed the main characterâ€™s pain very well.â€

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

Faye took her turn commenting on Angieâ€™s work. She reaffirmed everything Meryl had said about the story and added a few more compliments. â€œAngie, I donâ€™t mean to single you out, but I can see youâ€™re a gifted writer. I hope this is something youâ€™ll pursue after graduation, yes?â€

â€œYes, maâ€™am.â€ Angie ducked her head. â€œI hope to.â€

â€œGood. Your talent shouldnâ€™t be wasted.â€

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 weekâ€™s exam.

â€œRemember, Iâ€™m a stickler for precise grammar, people,â€ she said over the shuffling of papers and squeaking of chairs. â€œIf you have any questions before Tuesday, donâ€™t hesitate to call me at my campus office.â€

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

â€œAngie?â€

Angie raised her head. â€œUhâ€¦ hi.â€

â€œI admire your work. Fayeâ€™s right. I can tell already that youâ€™re the best in the class.â€

Angieâ€™s cheeks reddened.

â€œI didnâ€™t mean to embarrass you.â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s okay. Thank you.â€

Meryl glanced at the door and then at Angie. â€œIâ€™d better take off. I need to get a jump on a term paper thatâ€™s due in a couple of weeks. And I know me. If I procrastinate, Iâ€™llâ€¦â€ She stopped. â€œIâ€™m sure you have a class to get to. I only wanted to tell you I love your writing. Iâ€™ll see you next week.â€

Meryl waited a half beat longer, but Angie didnâ€™t offer any more to the conversation, so she moved toward the door.

â€œMeryl.â€

Meryl turned around.

â€œWould you mind if I walk with you? I thought we could talk about next weekâ€™s exam. I donâ€™t know where you live, and Iâ€™m not sure you want the company, butâ€”â€

Meryl beamed. â€œIâ€™d love it if you walked with me. My research material for the term paperâ€™s in my dorm room.â€

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. â€œWatch where youâ€™re walking,â€ Meryl shouted after the three, who paid her no attention. â€œDo you think you own the sidewalk?â€

â€œThanks.â€

â€œI canâ€™t believe they didnâ€™t see you.â€ Meryl frowned at the retreating students. She turned back to Angie. â€œWhatâ€™s that funny smile for?â€

â€œNothing. Thank you for defending me.â€

â€œI thought they were rude,â€ Meryl said in a soft voice.

â€œHey, I didnâ€™t mean anything by it. So, where are you from?â€™

â€œPittsburgh. And you?â€

â€œNot too far from there. Youngstown.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not very far at all.â€

â€œDifferent state, but right up the road. Whatâ€™s your major?â€

Meryl glanced over, saw Angieâ€™s wide smile, and her stomach fluttered. She took a moment to catch her breath. â€œJournalism. Iâ€™m taking the creative writing class to get some practice at writing anything and everything. And yours?â€

â€œIâ€™m majoring in English, with a concentration in creative writing. A lot of students go on to teach, but Iâ€™d like to make it as an author.â€

â€œI think youâ€™ll do just fine.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know about that. Iâ€™m sure Iâ€™ll be doing something entirely different for a while after I graduate.â€

â€œIt might take you a couple of years, but thereâ€™s no doubt in my mind youâ€™ll make it.â€

Angie lowered her head.

â€œIâ€™ve embarrassed you again,â€ Meryl said. â€œI have to stop doing that.â€

â€œIâ€™m not used to the praise, I guess. The only other person whoâ€™s read my writing and complimented me on it is my sister.â€

â€œWhat about your parents?â€

Angieâ€™s steps faltered.

â€œAre you all right?â€ Meryl asked with concern.

â€œYeah,â€ Angie said in a hushed voice. â€œMy parents and I donâ€™t have the best of relationships.â€

Meryl wondered whether Angieâ€™s short story was autobiographical. She slowed to a stop and placed her hand on Angieâ€™s arm. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œThanks. Me, too,â€ Angie replied.

Merylâ€™s heart pounded in her ears as she gazed into Angieâ€™s dark brown eyes. God, whatâ€™s wrong with me?

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

â€œWhat about your family? Do you get along?â€

â€œMy family.â€ Meryl listened to the crunching of their boots in the snow. â€œWhere to begin? Iâ€™m an only child. I get along well with my mother. My fatherâ€¦â€

â€œIf you donâ€™t want to talk about it, you donâ€™t have to.â€

â€œNo. I do. My father likes to run my life, or at least likes to try. And heâ€™s someone whoâ€™s used to hearing â€˜yesâ€™ from everyone around him. It starts with his job, but then he thinks that should carry over into his family life.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s he do?â€

â€œHave you heard of McClain Steel in Pittsburgh?â€

â€œYes. 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.â€ Angie came to a halt. â€œWait. Isnâ€™t your last name McClain?â€

Meryl nodded.

â€œAnd youâ€™re from Pittsburgh?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œYour father isâ€¦â€

â€œChanning McClain. The guy youâ€™re gushing about.â€

â€œThen that means youâ€™reâ€¦â€ Angie seemed embarrassed with her reaction. â€œIâ€™ve never, well, Iâ€™ve never. Shit. God, Iâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œItâ€™s all right.â€

â€œNo. It isnâ€™t. Iâ€™m acting like an idiot.â€

Meryl stared at her and made a decision. â€œYou know what? Iâ€™m cold. Why donâ€™t you come up to my dorm room? I have a microwave. Weâ€™ll have some hot chocolate while we talk about next weekâ€™s test. How does that sound?â€

â€œI could stand some hot chocolate.â€

Meryl felt relief and something else. The feeling had visited her at rare moments in her life. Sheâ€™d grabbed hold of it when it arose, praying it wouldnâ€™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 dayâ€™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. â€œWhat are you doing wandering around here?â€ the woman asked.

â€œHi, Pam. Just got in, myself. Howâ€™d it go out there?â€ 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. â€œNot bad.â€ She gestured to her catch. â€œItâ€™ll get a little better in a few weeks when the waters warm up some.â€

Angie said hello to the guys on Pamâ€™s crew and to the sunburned tourists as they stepped off the boat.

Pam walked over and brushed the bangs off Angieâ€™s forehead. It was an intimate gesture that unearthed memories of another woman and another time, but Angie didnâ€™t pull away. Theyâ€™d been together for two years and parted as friends. Pam had wanted more from Angie than she could give. But Angie hadnâ€™t been able to offer much of her heart to any woman since Meryl.

â€œYou need a haircut.â€

â€œIâ€™ve been meaning to get over to Giorgioâ€™s, but havenâ€™t taken the time.â€

Pam stared at her. â€œI still miss you.â€

Angie looked out at the waterâ€”anywhere but at those sad brown eyes. Yes, they were friends, but it didnâ€™t mean that she hadnâ€™t caused Pam pain. â€œI know.â€

Pam touched Angieâ€™s arm. â€œIgnore me. I had a long day out there. I worked my ass off for what we did catch, and Iâ€™m tired. When Iâ€™m tired, I get a little sentimental.â€ The corner of her mouth crooked up.

â€œDonâ€™t apologize. Please.â€

â€œWill I see you later at the CC? I know you like to go there Tuesday nights to watch Sageâ€™s drag show.â€

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

â€œYeah, I should be there around eight,â€ Angie said.

â€œIâ€™ll go home and shower to wash off this wonderful smell. Maybe Iâ€™ll catch up with you later.â€

â€œIâ€™ll buy you a drink.â€

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.

â€œHello?â€ Evâ€™s voice came across as breathy and exasperated.

â€œRough day?â€

â€œYou have no idea. Being the only woman in a house full of boys isnâ€™t all itâ€™s cracked up to be sometimes. And I emphasize boys.â€

â€œI take it Haroldâ€™s causing you problems, too?â€

â€œHeâ€™s like a teenager. Right now, heâ€™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. Theyâ€™ll be lucky if they get peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.â€

â€œGive the guy a little break, Ev. He works long hours at the Naval Station.â€

â€œSure. Iâ€™ll do that.â€ The sarcasm came through loud and clear. â€œThis sounds horrible, but Iâ€™m so glad heâ€™s working a twelve-hour shift tomorrow.â€

Angie chuckled. â€œItâ€™s not horrible if you need the break from all the testosterone in the house.â€

â€œI hope youâ€™re calling for our sometimes-regular Tuesday afternoon coffee chat.â€

â€œI am. Why donâ€™t you swing by Joe Joeâ€™s and pick me up a cappuccino and anything your heart desires. Iâ€™ll reimburse you.â€

â€œI hear seagulls screaming in the background. Are you at the docks?â€

â€œYes. Not too far from Pamâ€™s boat. You know where her slip is, right?â€

â€œIâ€™ll pop a frozen pizza in the oven for these guys and be there in twenty minutes, tops.â€

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 Evâ€™s resonant voice jolted her more fully awake.

â€œMust be tough being a rich author.â€

Angie sat up, smiling at Evâ€™s teasing tone. â€œSure as hell is.â€

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 â€œZach England.â€

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

â€œIf you try to give me money, Iâ€™m taking my double mint latte back home to my boys. And you know how much it pains me to say that.â€

Angie snapped the pocket. â€œThank you.â€

â€œYouâ€™re welcome.â€ 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.

â€œI see youâ€™ve been working on that dark tan of yours,â€ Ev said.

â€œGuess so.â€

Ev frowned. â€œYou sound like youâ€™ve lost your best friend, but thatâ€™s impossible since thatâ€™s me. Whatâ€™s got you so pensive?â€ 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.

â€œHey, you canâ€™t let this get you down. Itâ€™s only one review. Is there something more? Because you usually donâ€™t let reviews bother you.â€

Angie squirmed under Evâ€™s direct gaze that prickled her skin.

â€œDid I ever tell you about that girl in college?â€

â€œYou might have. Remind me.â€

Angie recounted her relationship with Meryl and the heartbreak that followed. She held up the review. â€œThis is her byline.â€

â€œYouâ€™re kidding.â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m not.â€ Angie stuck the review back in her pocket, picked up her cappuccino, and took a sip. â€œIsnâ€™t it a small world?â€ She snorted. â€œThat always seemed like a stupid sayingâ€¦ until now.â€

â€œCorrect me if Iâ€™m wrong. Isnâ€™t this what a writer calls irony?â€

â€œVery funny, Ev, but I guess you could say that.â€

â€œWow.â€

â€œâ€˜Wowâ€™ pretty much sums it up.â€

â€œWhat does your agent say about the review?â€

â€œThere were a lot of â€˜fucksâ€™ mixed in with â€˜itâ€™s okayâ€™ and â€˜donâ€™t worry, Angie.â€™â€

â€œLeave it up to Sally to make it all better.â€

â€œShe of course has no idea who this reviewer is, and I sure as hell wonâ€™t tell her.â€

â€œI wouldnâ€™t think you would. All right. Iâ€™ll be your shrink for the day. How does this make you feel?â€

â€œIt brings back a lot of stuff for me.â€

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 Merylâ€™s eyes perfectly.

â€œYouâ€™re somewhere far away,â€ 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.

â€œHave you kept up with her at all?â€ Ev asked.

â€œNot too much. I did at first, but then it was too painful. She got married the summer after graduation.â€ A vision of Meryl in her wedding dress passed through Angieâ€™s mind, but she pushed it out. â€œI found out later the marriage ended after only two years. The last I heard, she was still teaching at Columbiaâ€™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.â€ She returned to the bench. â€œAnd now this review.â€

Ev patted the bench, and Angie took a seat.

â€œIâ€™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.â€

Angie snapped her head around.

Ev smiled sadly. â€œYou know itâ€™s true.â€

Angieâ€™s eyes welled with tears. â€œI tried, Ev. Iâ€™d dated other women, but with Pam, I really tried. I couldnâ€™t let Meryl go. Hell, I still canâ€™t.â€

â€œQuit beating yourself up. Pamâ€™s a big girl, and so are you. And from what Iâ€™ve seen, at least you parted as friends.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. Weâ€™re friends, but Iâ€™ve hurt her and I hate myself for that.â€ Angie swiped at the tears that overflowed down her cheeks.

â€œIâ€™ve never told you this, mainly because Pam told it to me in confidence. But Iâ€™m going to tell you because I think you need to hear it. Pam said she didnâ€™t fault you in the breakup. She said she thought you were still in love with someone else, someone she couldnâ€™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.â€

Angie cried harder.

â€œShe told me she only hoped that whoever had broken your heart would somehow make it right. She said she wasnâ€™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.â€

Angie dried her tears with her fingers. â€œLike I told you, I knew where she was before at Columbia. It hurt too damn much.â€

â€œAnd now?â€

â€œWhat am I supposed to do? Call her up and say, â€˜Hey, you really nailed me in your review?â€™â€ Angie stopped herself. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œDonâ€™t apologize.â€

Weariness descended on Angie, thinking about Sundayâ€™s shock. â€œI think Iâ€™ll take off for home.â€ She rose from the bench. â€œLying in my hammock sounds like a wonderful idea right about now.â€

Ev stood and threw her cup in the trash can. She gave Angie a long hug. â€œCall me if you need to talk.â€

â€œThanks, Ev.â€

Angie watched Ev walk away and started for home on foot, glad sheâ€™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. â€œRestoredâ€ 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.

Sheâ€™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 dâ€™Aquino, Italy, a gorgeous town located in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. Angie had visited once while she was in high school and hadnâ€™t been back since. She wasnâ€™t sure whether sheâ€™d be accepted there following her parentsâ€™ rejection, and she didnâ€™t want to risk any further heartbreak from her familyâ€”even from her distant relatives in Italy.

Angie read Janâ€™s last line on the postcard and laughed: â€œI would say â€˜wish you were here,â€™ but it wouldnâ€™t annoy you as much as it would others, and what fun is there in that?â€

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

â€œIâ€™ll meet you at our booth in the back.â€ Angie struggled to pull on her socks while balancing the telephone receiver on her shoulder.

â€œI can be there in about fifteen minutes,â€ Meryl said on the other end of the line. â€œIs that okay for you?â€

â€œYup. See you there.â€

Angie hung up the phone and then stared at it.

â€œDoes it do tricks?â€ 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.

â€œHuh?â€

â€œThe phone. If you stare at it long enough, does it turn somersaults or something?â€

â€œFunny.â€

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

â€œDonâ€™t you ever get tired of Will Smith?â€

â€œHeâ€™s so fine. Do you think Iâ€™d ever get tired of him?â€ 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.

â€œWhat took you so long?â€ Meryl asked in a teasing tone.

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

â€œIâ€™m just giving you a hard time. I took the liberty to order our usual. Hope thatâ€™s okay.â€

â€œSure.â€

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

â€œCan I ask you something, Ange?â€

â€œYou can ask me anything.â€

â€œThe short story last semester in Ms. Eversâ€™s class. I was wondering, was that about you and your family?â€ Merylâ€™s face flushed. â€œYou can tell me to mind my own business,â€ she said in a rush.

Angie searched Merylâ€™s eyes and saw only genuine interest with no hint of judgment.

â€œYeah. That was about me and my family.â€

â€œThatâ€™s so sad.â€

â€œYeah, it is.â€

â€œWhen did you realize you were gay? And howâ€¦ wellâ€¦â€

â€œHowâ€™d I know?â€

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

â€œI 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. Howâ€™d you know you were straight?â€

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.

â€œIâ€¦ Iâ€™m not sure.â€

â€œNot sure ofâ€”â€

â€œOne medium pan pizza, sausage, pepperoni, extra cheese?â€

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

â€œYes.â€ Angie barely kept from snapping at him for the interruption. â€œCould you please bring me a Coke and a refill on hers?â€

She looked at Meryl. â€œYouâ€™re not sure how you know youâ€™re straight?â€

â€œNo,â€ Meryl answered, her voice almost a whisper. â€œIâ€™m not sure anymore if Iâ€™m straight.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Angie tried to slow her breathing.

â€œI mean, Iâ€™m not sure I was ever straight.â€ Meryl paused while the server brought their Cokes. â€œI 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.â€

â€œWas there anyone steady in high school?â€ Angie fought to sound calm despite the knot that had formed in her stomach.

â€œThere was. You have to remember my fatherâ€™s preoccupation with everything I did. We had to maintain appearances. He insisted his daughter date the best boy in school.â€

â€œIs your dad that controlling?â€

â€œYes. He learned it from his mother.â€ Merylâ€™s expression grew troubled.

â€œLike mother, like son?â€

â€œSometimes I think sheâ€™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, butâ€¦â€ Meryl bit her lower lip, enough that Angie thought it might start bleeding.

Angie grabbed Merylâ€™s hand.

â€œHey, itâ€™s okay. Youâ€™re here with me now.â€

Her words seemed to bring Meryl back to the present.

â€œYou asked about my father. My fatherâ€™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 wouldnâ€™t hear of it.â€ She paused, as if to recall everything else she didnâ€™t like about her father. â€œHe 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 wouldnâ€™t listen. He finally believed me when I came home one night with my blouse torn and bruises on my wrists.â€

â€œJesus, Meryl, he didnâ€™tâ€¦â€

â€œNo, he didnâ€™t rape me. But it wasnâ€™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.â€

Angieâ€™s blood boiled thinking about what had happened to Meryl, but especially that her dad insisted she date this brute. â€œWhat did your dad do?â€

â€œHe did what he always does. He took care of it. Farley Preston was out of that prep school so fast, Iâ€™m sure his headâ€™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.â€

Angie struggled to understand the family dynamics of the McClain household, but figured she couldnâ€™t say much, considering how her own family had treated her.

â€œThe pizzaâ€™s getting cold,â€ she said. â€œWould you like to take it over to my place? We could heat it up in the microwave and watch a video.â€

â€œOr we could talk.â€

Merylâ€™s face held a sadness that made Angie ache. â€œWe can do whatever you want.â€

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.

â€œGee, I wonder if theyâ€™re going to get him,â€ Angie said.

â€œOh, shut up, Cantinnini. I need some kind of outlet from my classes. Of course it doesnâ€™t hurt that my Will babyâ€™s in it.â€

â€œYou remember Meryl, right?â€

â€œYes, I do. Good seeing you again, Meryl.â€ Jacquelineâ€™s eyes remained riveted on the set.

Angie gestured for Meryl to follow her into the kitchen. She grabbed two clean plates from the dishwasherâ€”at least she hoped they were clean. The three roommates didnâ€™t have much dinnerware or silverware, so theyâ€™d pledged to use the dishwasher as often as necessary.

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

â€œWant a Coke or something?â€

â€œA Coke sounds good.â€

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

â€œSorry, but I thought Iâ€™d better ask first. Is it okay if we watch a movie in the bedroom? I mean, normally we could watch it out thereâ€â€”Angie pointed toward the living room with her Cokeâ€”â€œbut Jacqueline will probably watch that damn thing again. If itâ€™s a problemâ€”â€

â€œItâ€™s okay, Angie.â€

They passed Jacquelineâ€™s and Marissaâ€™s rooms on their way to Angieâ€™s at the end of the hall. She was glad sheâ€™d cleaned her room that morning. Sheâ€™d have hated for Meryl to see books and clothes strewn across the floor.

â€œYou can have the bed if you like,â€ Angie said. â€œIâ€™ll take the chair.â€ 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. â€œWhat do you feel like watching?â€ She didnâ€™t get a response, so she turned to look at Meryl.

â€œIf you donâ€™t mind, Iâ€™d like to finish our conversation from earlier.â€

â€œOh.â€ Angie swallowed. â€œOkay.â€

â€œI mean if itâ€™s all right with you.â€ Merylâ€™s face clouded over.

â€œItâ€™s fine. Iâ€™m not sure where we left off.â€ Angie sat on the chair.

â€œI think I was in the process of telling you I donâ€™t know if Iâ€™m straight.â€

â€œHave you ever had any feelings toward women?â€

â€œNo.â€

Angieâ€™s heart sank.

â€œNot until now.â€ Meryl stared at Angie. â€œNot until I met you.â€

Angie willed herself not to jump up and down with joy. Instead, she took a deep breath and thought before speaking. â€œMeryl, weâ€™ve become good friends these past few months. Maybe things have been happening too fast. You might be confusedâ€”â€

â€œDonâ€™t tell me how I feel,â€ Meryl said sharply.

â€œIâ€™m sorry. I didnâ€™t meanâ€”â€

Meryl set her plate aside. â€œNo, I should be the one apologizing. Itâ€™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.â€

Meryl scooted so that her legs were off the end of the bed, and she sat only a few feet away from Angie. â€œWhat I feel for you is more than what I feel for a friend. Much more. It scares me. But at the same time, I donâ€™t want to let it go. I donâ€™t want to let you go.â€

Angie leaned forward. She hadnâ€™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 Angieâ€™s bangs out of her eyes.

â€œYou need a haircut,â€ Meryl said with a smile.

Angie captured her hand.

â€œHow do you feel about me?â€ Meryl asked.

Angie drew Merylâ€™s hand to her lips and kissed her palm. â€œI think I fell for you the first day I saw you.â€

Merylâ€™s eyes filled with tears. â€œYou did?â€

â€œBut it doesnâ€™t mean you have to return the feeling, Meryl. Itâ€™s my issue.â€

â€œYou didnâ€™t mean what you just said?â€

â€œNo, no, I do.â€

â€œI donâ€™t understand, then.â€

Angie ran her thumb along Merylâ€™s chin. It was so soft. â€œI donâ€™t want you jumping into something youâ€™d regret later. I donâ€™t want either of us to be hurt.â€

Meryl took hold of Angieâ€™s hand and pressed it against her cheek. â€œIâ€™d never hurt you.â€ Her voice broke.

â€œOh, Merylâ€¦â€

â€œCould you kiss me? I meanâ€¦ would you?â€

â€œYou donâ€™t know what youâ€™re asking.â€

â€œPlease?â€

That single softly spoken word was Angieâ€™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 Merylâ€™s eyes fluttered open.

â€œCan we do that again?â€ Meryl asked.

She didnâ€™t wait for an answer. She brought her lips to Angieâ€™s and ran her tongue along Angieâ€™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 fallingâ€¦ and falling.

Meryl ended the kiss. She pressed her forehead against Angieâ€™s. â€œWow,â€ she said with a smile. â€œThatâ€™s the best kiss Iâ€™ve ever had.â€

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

â€œHow about that movie now?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œWhatever you want to watch.â€

They rose and walked to the bookshelf.

â€œYou have Somewhere in Time. I love that movie.â€

â€œItâ€™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.â€ Angie took the movie out of the box. â€œIâ€™m holding out, but I havenâ€™t been able to give up my videos yet for DVDs.â€

â€œVideos are fine.â€ Meryl settled onto the bed again.

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

â€œWill you join me?â€

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

The old woman at Christopher Reeveâ€™s party walked through his group of friends. She grasped Reeveâ€™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.

â€œCome back to meâ€¦â€

* * *

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

Meryl wiped her cheeks. â€œNo matter how many times I see that movie, I cry.â€

Angie nodded. Sheâ€™d tried to hold back her tears, but as always, lost the battle.

â€œItâ€™s nice to know youâ€™re as sentimental and romantic as I am.â€ Meryl used her thumb to catch a tear trailing down Angieâ€™s cheek.

The glow from the TV screen cast Merylâ€™s face in a soft white light.

â€œItâ€™s late. I have to get up early for my job at the bookstore,â€ Angie said. â€œI should probably walk you back to your dorm.â€

â€œI donâ€™t want to go.â€

Angieâ€™s pulse quickened. â€œWonâ€™t you get in trouble for not making it in tonight?â€

â€œWould you believe me if I said I didnâ€™t care?â€ Meryl asked. â€œCan I stay with you tonight? I mean sleep with you. Thatâ€™s all. Nothing more than sleeping.â€

â€œYes. Iâ€™d like that.â€ Angie left the bed to get a pajama shirt that was two sizes too big on her. â€œHere, why donâ€™t you sleep in this? Iâ€™ll change in the bathroom. You can undress while Iâ€™m gone.â€

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

â€œYou wear the school colors well. Have I ever told you that?â€ Meryl said.

Angie hoped the darkened room shielded her blush. â€œThanks,â€ she murmured. She climbed under the quilt.

â€œIf I lay on my side, will you hold me?â€ Meryl asked. â€œNo oneâ€™s ever done that for me.â€

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

Meryl tugged Angieâ€™s arm closer and sighed. â€œPerfect.â€ Her shallow breath brushed the hairs of Angieâ€™s arm.

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

* * *

â€œNo! No!â€

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

â€œNo!â€ Meryl cried out again.

â€œMeryl.â€ Angie gently shook her. â€œMeryl, wake up.â€

Merylâ€™s whole body shook. She bolted upright. Angie hurried to do the same.

â€œItâ€™s okay. You were having a bad dream,â€ Angie said. She put her arm around Meryl and pulled her close. â€œIâ€™m here with you.â€

Meryl pressed her face against Angieâ€™s chest. Her breathing slowly returned to normal.

â€œDo you remember the dream? It sounded like you were in pain.â€

â€œNo,â€ Meryl said. â€œI only know I was scared.â€ She was still shaking.

Angie stroked Merylâ€™s hair with her free hand. â€œYouâ€™re safe now. I wonâ€™t let anything hurt you.â€

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

â€œI wonâ€™t let anyone hurt you,â€ Angie whispered.

Chapter 8

New York City, Present Day

â€œWhen did you first feel safe, Meryl?â€ Robert, Merylâ€™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 werenâ€™t providing her the quick relief that sheâ€™d hoped for.

She sighed, recalling the feeling of security with Angieâ€™s arm wrapped around her waist.

â€œWith Angie.â€

â€œHow did she make you feel safe?â€

â€œWe watched a movie in her bedroom, and afterwards, I didnâ€™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.â€

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 fieldâ€¦

â€œThatâ€™s interesting you put it that way. Who did you feel could hurt you?â€

â€œWe now know who that person was, but I had no idea then.â€

â€œAnd this is when the dreams began?â€

â€œYes, that night, if I recall. Why are you asking me this? Weâ€™ve already gone over everything.â€

â€œNo. We established that you had to feel safe for your memories to break through. These past few months, youâ€™ve been able to do that. But you hadnâ€™t told me when you felt safe for the first time.â€

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.

â€œAngie comforted me that night. She woke me up when I cried out in my sleep. I couldnâ€™t remember why, only that I was cold with fear.â€

Robert didnâ€™t respond. Meryl knew from experience he would let her talk, exorcizing whatever demons lay buried in her psyche.

â€œAlmost 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 wishâ€¦â€

â€œYou only wishâ€¦â€

She turned around to face him.

â€œI only wish Iâ€™d had the courage to stand up to my father. You donâ€™t know how many nights Iâ€™ve lain awake wondering where she is, whatâ€™s sheâ€™s doing, who sheâ€™s with.â€ Her voice cracked. â€œDamn it.â€ She returned to the couch.

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

â€œFunny it had to take me hearing my father had pancreatic cancer to find out the truth about my past.â€ Meryl dabbed at her eyes.

â€œItâ€™s unfortunate, but it was the trigger.â€

â€œI wish none of this were true.â€

â€œI know, Meryl.â€

It was this kindness in Robertâ€™s voice that kept her returning each week.

â€œI feel bad for my mother. None of this is her fault.â€

â€œHave you given any more thought about talking to her?â€

Merylâ€™s insides clenched at the possibility.

â€œI canâ€™t. I know I should. She needs to understand why Iâ€™m not there in Pittsburgh and that it has nothing to do with the marriage fiasco. But I canâ€™t.â€

â€œHave the dreams gotten any better?â€

â€œIâ€™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 itâ€™s still that damn house in every dream. And locks. The locks that appeared in the initial dreams show up sometimes.â€

â€œWeâ€™ve talked about prescription antidepressants. I can schedule an appointment for you to see Dr. Lang for that. The medication could help.â€

â€œI 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, Iâ€™ll take them.â€

â€œFair enough. Weâ€™re out of time for this session. Let me get my book, and Iâ€™ll see whatâ€™s available for you next week.â€ He left the room.

Meryl laid her head back against the cushion of the couch. â€œGod, this sucks.â€

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

â€œIs next Wednesday at seven good for you?â€

â€œYes. And thanks again for seeing me so late for these appointments.â€

â€œItâ€™s never an issue for me.â€

â€œYou need to learn how to accept a thank-you, Robert.â€

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.

â€œI know, I know, big guy. These late appointments are annoying, arenâ€™t they?â€

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

â€œYouâ€™re too damn cute.â€ 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. â€œCan we say â€˜spoiledâ€™?â€

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

â€œLet me give you my undivided attention. Iâ€™ll never hear the end of it if I donâ€™t.â€ 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.

â€œDo you know how much I love you?â€ What she dubbed his â€œGeiger counterâ€ kicked in, and his purrs turned into loud clicks. Meryl buried her face into his fur. Without warning, the emotion sheâ€™d held in check since she left Robertâ€™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.

â€œYour momâ€™s a mess, huh?â€ Meryl sniffed.

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

â€œOh, you just realized youâ€™re pissed at me for neglecting you?â€

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

â€œFood. God forbid Iâ€™d forget to feed you.â€

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.

â€œGive me a break. Itâ€™s not like youâ€™re wasting away.â€

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.

â€œAngie.â€ 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 otherâ€™s face, and shared kisses. Meryl sensed she was on a precipice, but she wasnâ€™t frightened. If she chose to take the next step, she felt sheâ€™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 Angieâ€™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 Merylâ€™s shoulders.

â€œWhy donâ€™t we go to my place and get warm?â€ Angie asked.

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

â€œJacqueline and Marissa went to visit their families for the weekend. We have the place to ourselves.â€ Angie walked to the thermostat. â€œDamn. I canâ€™t believe they left it way down at sixty-four. It wonâ€™t take long for it to heat up.â€

Merylâ€™s heart skipped a beat when she realized they were alone.

Angie turned around, and her dark eyes searched Merylâ€™s.

â€œI donâ€™t know what to do with these feelings,â€ Meryl whispered.

â€œI want you to be sure, Meryl.â€

Meryl stared at Angieâ€™s mouth. She moved closer so that their bodies touched. It felt much warmer than the actual temperature in the chilly living roomâ€”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 Merylâ€™s jaw. Meryl took in a shaky breath, but didnâ€™t pull away. Instead, she leaned forward.

Angieâ€™s lips met Merylâ€™s. The touch was the same as the other kisses theyâ€™d shared, yet it was so different. Angieâ€™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 Angieâ€™s neck. When she tugged Angie closer, Angieâ€™s jacket slipped off Merylâ€™s shoulders and fell around her feet.

Angie pulled away. â€œCan we go to the bedroom?â€ she whispered in Merylâ€™s ear. â€œAre you sure youâ€™re ready?â€

â€œYes.â€

They walked into the bedroom and stood beside the bed.

â€œDo you mind if we stay dressed?â€ Meryl asked. â€œI mean, I know Iâ€™m being too modest, butâ€”â€

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 didnâ€™t think. She acted on everything she held in her heart for Angie. She pushed her lips into Angieâ€™s neck, moving her hands until they stopped above Angieâ€™s breasts. Meryl brought her mouth to Angieâ€™s ear.

â€œI want to touch you. Can I touch you?â€

â€œPlease.â€

Meryl ran her hand under Angieâ€™s sweatshirt, edging up until she cupped Angieâ€™s breast. â€œOh,â€ she whispered when Angieâ€™s nipple stiffened under her bra. â€œOh, Ange.â€ She searched out Angieâ€™s mouth again and plunged her tongue deep inside.

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

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

â€œGod, Meryl, youâ€™re so beautiful.â€

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

Angieâ€™s hand stilled. â€œDid I hurt you?â€

â€œNo,â€ Meryl whimpered. â€œDonâ€™t stop. Please donâ€™t stop.â€ Meryl took hold of Angieâ€™s hand and prayed she left no doubt as to what she wanted Angie to do.

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

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

Meryl couldnâ€™t speak for several moments until she came down from the dizzying height of her climax. She was aware, though, that Angieâ€™s body was tense against hers.

â€œAre you all right, Ange?â€

â€œI was about to ask you that.â€

Meryl looked up at Angie. â€œYouâ€™re not sorry are you?â€ She held her breath, waiting for Angieâ€™s answer.

â€œNo. God, no. Thatâ€™s not what you think, is it?â€

â€œWell, I didnâ€™t knowâ€¦â€

Angie lifted Merylâ€™s chin with her fingertips. â€œI was worried you might be sorry.â€

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 Angieâ€™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 Angieâ€™s lips.

â€œIâ€™ve never felt like this. Iâ€™ve never felt so loved. How could I ever be sorry for something so beautiful?â€

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

As Merylâ€™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 didnâ€™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 wasnâ€™t the first time sheâ€™d received a pass at her bar, but it still annoyed her.

Someone shouted from the end of the line. â€œHey! How come that bitch gets to crash the door?â€

â€œSherri, that bitch is the owner. Now shut up, okay?â€

It didnâ€™t appease the womanâ€™s girlfriend.

â€œI told you we needed to get here an hour earlier, Carla, but would you listen? Noooo.â€

â€œI canâ€™t take you anywhere.â€

Angie pretended she hadnâ€™t overheard the exchange and mumbled more â€œexcuse meâ€™sâ€ until she entered the bar. She waved at friends who shouted their greetings.

The bar was small, but Angie didnâ€™t intend to add on to it. The more crowded and difficult it was to get in, the more the place gained in popularity. Sheâ€™d learned that lesson from her auntâ€™s restaurant in Youngstown. Her aunt had added on to her Italian restaurant, and almost immediately, the clientele began to diminish. Nope, she wasnâ€™t going to mess with success.

She loved the dÃ©cor 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: â€œNo, we didnâ€™t catch it, but who gives a shit? It fits in, doesnâ€™t it?â€ That always brought chuckles from any new customers.

â€œWell, hello, gorgeous!â€

Angie heard Tim Redfieldâ€™s voice cut through the din.

â€œI never can get over how beautiful your legs are,â€ Angie said, as she drew nearer to Tim, better known to everyone as â€œSage Starr.â€ She motioned to the barâ€™s manager. â€œHow about a Corona, Christi?â€ Angie stood between Sageâ€™s stool and the one beside him. Heâ€™d dressed in a pair of white shorts and a baggy navy T-shirt, a total departure from what heâ€™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.

â€œCheck out those legs, girl. How do you keep so toned?â€ she asked him.

â€œClean living and hard work, darling.â€

â€œOkay. I get the hard work part. But clean living?â€ Angie nodded her thanks to Christi and took a sip of her beer.

Sage slapped her on the arm. â€œShut up. Iâ€™m not that bad.â€

â€œIf you say so.â€

â€œSpeaking of which, give me a mimosa, Christi, and donâ€™t be shy with the champagne.â€

â€œThere. Youâ€™ve proven my point.â€

â€œDonâ€™t even go there, oh Queen of Coronas.â€

Angie choked and sputtered on her beer.

Sage pounded her on the back. â€œThere, there. The truthâ€™s hard to swallow, isnâ€™t it?â€

â€œYouâ€™re a bitch,â€ she said. The stool next to her cleared. â€œIs she returning?â€ Angie asked the woman on the other side.

â€œNot if I can help it,â€ the soft butch answered with a scowl.

Angie didnâ€™t even want to know. She sat down.

Christi handed Sage his drink.

â€œThank you, sweetie.â€ He took a sip and held it up in the air. â€œLove, you never disappoint me with your bartending skills. I hope Grumpy Gus hereâ€™s paying you enough.â€ He pointed to Angieâ€™s bare legs. â€œYou arenâ€™t so bad yourself. Youâ€™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.â€

Christi, who was taking a beer to the other end of the bar, laughed. â€œGood one, Sage.â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t encourage him, Christi.â€

â€œLet me feel the muscles in those tan legs of yours.â€ He squeezed Angieâ€™s thigh right above her knee.

â€œHey!â€ she yelped. â€œYou know Iâ€™m ticklish.â€

â€œOh, 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, youâ€™re saving yourself for God knows what.â€ Sage flung his head as if he were flipping his short-cropped, bleached blond hair over his shoulder. â€œWhatâ€™s your problem today?â€ He waved at the air around Angie. â€œFrom your aura, I sense some impending doom.â€

â€œA name from my past popped up out of nowhere and kind of threw me for a loop.â€

Sage peered at her from under his penciled eyebrows. â€œAndâ€¦â€ He moved his hand in a circular motion.

Angie remained mute.

â€œAhhh. So, thatâ€™s it. Let me guess. An old flame, an unrequited love, a love lost, aâ€”â€

â€œYes! Jesus, Sage, youâ€™re right, okay?â€

â€œTouchy, touchy.â€ Sage grabbed Angieâ€™s wrist and turned it so that the watch face was visible. â€œTime to go and make myself beautiful.â€ He finished his drink and stepped down from the stool, draping his arm around Angie. â€œTry not to let whoever did this get to you.â€

â€œIâ€™ll try.â€

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

â€œI would say â€˜break a leg,â€™â€ she told him as he walked away, â€œbut I know you have those babies insured.â€

â€œYou better believe it.â€ Sage waved his thin, delicate fingers in the air. â€œTa-ta.â€

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.

â€œHere you go.â€ Angie handed the drink to Pam.

â€œYou had to be reading my mind.â€

â€œNah. I know what itâ€™s like to have a rough day.â€

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

â€œIâ€™m cute, arenâ€™t I?â€ Pam asked. â€œYouâ€™re asking yourself right now, â€˜What had I been thinking for breaking up with her?â€™â€

â€œI guess Iâ€™m clueless, huh?â€

â€œAs a matter of fact, you are.â€ Pam winked at her. She swirled the ice in her drink, staying focused on the glass. â€œYou seemed a little down earlier. Everything okay?â€

â€œYeah.â€

Pam raised her head. â€œHow come I donâ€™t believe you? Iâ€™ve heard that tone before.â€

Angie didnâ€™t want to lie, but Pam didnâ€™t need to know the full truth. â€œIâ€™m all right. I can deal with it.â€

â€œI worry about you, Angie.â€

Angie smiled. â€œYouâ€™re too kind to me.â€

Pam squeezed Angieâ€™s hand, then released it just as quickly. â€œJust because weâ€™re not together doesnâ€™t mean I like seeing you unhappy.â€

â€œWhat about you? Seeing anyone?â€

â€œSo, thatâ€™s how it is. We can talk about me, but not about you. Iâ€™ll let you get away with it this time. Yes, Leona and Iâ€™ve been dating the past couple of months.â€

Leona was a mutual friend from when she and Pam had still been together. â€œGood for you, Pam.â€ And Angie meant it.

â€œIt is. Iâ€™m not sure where weâ€™re headed, but I do know how much I like being with her. Sheâ€™ll be in later.â€

Angie held up her beer and tilted it toward Pam. â€œI wish you only the best.â€

â€œThank you.â€

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

â€œAngie, how are you?â€

Angie stood and held out her hand to Leona. â€œIâ€™m good, and I seem to be in your seat. Iâ€™ll be going. Itâ€™s about time for Sageâ€™s show, anyway.â€ She turned to Pam. â€œItâ€™s been nice chatting with you. Enjoy the rest of the evening.â€

Angie tried not to let the sight of her ex and her girlfriend appearing so happy together get to her, but it wasnâ€™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.

â€œHi, ladies!â€

â€œHi, Angie!â€ they shouted.

â€œItâ€™s nine-thirty on Tuesday night, and you know what that means. Itâ€™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!â€

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, â€œIâ€™m Coming Out.â€ 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.

â€œHowâ€™re all you bitches doing?â€ he shouted.

He received various responses, all in good humor, the most memorable being, â€œWho you calling a â€˜bitch,â€™ bitch?â€

â€œOoh, some of you havenâ€™t gotten laid yet tonight! Testy, arenâ€™t we?â€

Laughter rang out.

â€œWeâ€™ll get started tonight with Ivana Mann singing her signature song, â€˜Better Be Good to Me.â€™â€ 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 Tinaâ€™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 Sageâ€™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.

â€œLadies, youâ€™re about to witness the amazing Cozy Conch debut performance of Ms. Liza Minnelli. Letâ€™s give it up for Liza!â€

The stage went black. The spotlight came back on, focusing on Sageâ€™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 â€œCabaret.â€ 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 RuPaulâ€™s â€œItâ€™s Raining Men,â€ 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 wasnâ€™t about Pam finding a new love. It was about Angie missing an old one.

* * *

Lehigh University, Spring 1998

Angie and Meryl lay on Angieâ€™s bed. She thought Meryl was asleep after theyâ€™d made love, but felt her stir.

â€œI can hear your heartbeat,â€ Meryl whispered.

Angie didnâ€™t say anything, trying to hold in the tears when she heard Merylâ€™s soft-spoken words. Iâ€™m in love with her, and it scares the hell out of me.

â€œAnge?â€

â€œYeah?â€

â€œIâ€™m scared.â€ Meryl lay on her side to face Angie.

Fear gripped Angieâ€™s heart even tighter. Every time they made love, she was afraid this talk would come. It was spring break, and they were alone. Angieâ€™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. â€œAfraid ofâ€¦?â€ She tensed, waiting for Merylâ€™s answer. Everything felt so tenuous, like one wrong word or false move would shatter what they shared together.

â€œIâ€™m afraid of what happens after the semester ends when I go home to Pittsburgh, and you stay here. Iâ€™m not as strong as you are.â€

Angie ran her fingertips over Merylâ€™s cheek. â€œIâ€™m not that strong.â€

Meryl sat up and pulled the sheet over her bare chest. â€œYes, you are. You stood up to your family. You didnâ€™t walk away from who you are. Iâ€™m not sure I can do the same.â€

â€œBut maybe you can. Maybe your family would accept that youâ€™re gay. Just because my parents and my brother didnâ€™t accept me, it doesnâ€™t mean your family wouldnâ€™t accept you.â€

â€œDonâ€™t you remember what I told you about my father? Iâ€™m sure he wonâ€™t accept that Iâ€™m... that Iâ€™m...â€

â€œA lesbian.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know if I can tell him.â€ Merylâ€™s voice shook.

Angie reached for Merylâ€™s hand. â€œIs there anyone else in the family whoâ€™d stand up for you if it gets ugly?â€

Merylâ€™s expression softened. â€œMy motherâ€™s supportive. But where my fatherâ€™s concerned, she usually gives in to keep the peace. I donâ€™t think sheâ€™d confront him on this.â€

â€œYou mentioned your grandmother once, but it sounded like your relationship with her isnâ€™t the best either.â€

â€œShe and my father are just alike. Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™d side with him against me.â€

Angie sat up beside Meryl and held her. â€œThen letâ€™s live for these moments. Letâ€™s not worry about this summer or what follows, okay?â€

Meryl didnâ€™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. Angieâ€™s stomach did several turns at the thought, but she didnâ€™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 Merylâ€™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 Merylâ€™s house.

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

â€œJesus.â€ 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 hadnâ€™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 Angieâ€™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.

â€œMeryl!â€ Angie trotted over. What if thatâ€™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 Merylâ€™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 directorâ€™s screen test.

â€œAngie?â€

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 Merylâ€™s descriptions had painted him. His face reddened when he saw Angie. He strode toward her.

â€œNo, Father, donâ€™t!â€ Meryl cried when he rushed past her. She ran after him.

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

A thought flew through Angieâ€™s mind. She told him. It was replaced by one far more terrifying. Iâ€™ll never see her again.

â€œSir, I think your daughter has a right to talk to me ifâ€”â€

He raised his hand as if to hit her. Angie flinched. Something made him stop. It might have been Merylâ€™s cry of anguish behind him, but more likely McClain was too smart to do something his lawyers couldnâ€™t get him out of.

â€œMeryl will no longer see you, let alone talk to you. Youâ€™ve influenced her enough. If you ever come near my daughter again, Iâ€™ll have your scholarship revoked. And donâ€™t think I canâ€™t do it.â€ 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. â€œIs this what you want, Meryl? Your father living your life for you?â€

â€œAngie, Iâ€”â€

â€œYou donâ€™t speak to her,â€ McClain snapped at Meryl. He turned back to Angie. â€œYouâ€™re filth. As far as Iâ€™m concerned, youâ€™re nothing.â€ He grabbed Meryl by the arm and pulled her toward the car. His cold stare shot through Angie one last time. â€œYouâ€™ve been warned, Miss Cantinnini.â€

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.

â€œAngie!â€ Meryl screamed. Her father pushed her into the backseat. â€œAngie!â€

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.

â€œMeryl!â€ she screamed. â€œI love you!â€ It was the first time sheâ€™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 wasnâ€™t the limousine pulling out, or Meryl coming to her, but two burly security men. They stomped over. Angie struggled to her feet.

â€œItâ€™s okay. Iâ€™m leaving.â€ 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

Merylâ€™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 wasnâ€™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 couldnâ€™t be right. They didnâ€™t have a basement, and her grandmother would never do laundry. Her grandmother stared at her. Merylâ€™s discomfort increased with each passing minute. She needed to get out of there.

Inexplicably, the bathroom door appeared in front of her. She couldnâ€™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 didnâ€™t want to do this. Her stomach roiled. Noâ€¦

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. â€œAnother dream, big guy.â€ She reached with a shaky hand for the glass of water beside the bed. â€œJust another dream.â€ The digital clock read 5:30. â€œMight as well get up.â€

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 sheâ€™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 Englandâ€™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.

â€œYouâ€™re here early, Wade.â€

â€œJust trying to keep up with you, Ms. Mcâ€”â€

â€œWaaadeâ€¦â€

â€œMeryl. Iâ€™m just trying to keep up with you, Meryl.â€

â€œThatâ€™s better.â€

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.

â€œI knew there was a reason I hired you,â€ Meryl said with a grateful smile.

He blushed.

â€œMake sure you get yourself a cup, too. I know how you are in the morning.â€ It was only her second week of work at the newspaper, but sheâ€™d already grown fond of her assistant.

â€œThanks, Ms.â€¦ erâ€¦ Meryl. Will do.â€

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.

â€œWill you please bring me the copy of Dying to Meet You? And also Englandâ€™s previous seven books in the series.â€

â€œIâ€™ll hunt them down,â€ 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.

â€œThanks,â€ she said. â€œUnless itâ€™s an emergency, can you please hold my calls?â€

He left her alone, closing the door behind him.

She picked up Dying to Meet You. â€œSorry, Rhonda, but I donâ€™t think rereading will change my opinion.â€ Meryl opened to the first page. Over the years, sheâ€™d acquired the art of speed reading. Her photographic memory had been both a blessing and a bane for her in her lifeâ€”a blessing when reading and studying, a bane when recalling all of the intimate details of the lovemaking sheâ€™d shared with Angie. She shifted in her seat, tried to eject images of Angieâ€™s body from her mind, and hunkered over the book.

This still wasnâ€™t his best writing. She came upon the argument between Derek Barker and his latest girlfriend and smiled. He did know women, sheâ€™d give him that. She read deep into the book, taking notes as she progressed. The more she read, the more she noticed Englandâ€™s astute observances of his girlfriendâ€™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 Barkerâ€™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 nextâ€¦ 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 didnâ€™t want to stop her research when she felt she was onto something. She punched her intercom button.

â€œWade, I hate to do this, but Iâ€™m in the middle of something. Believe me, I know itâ€™s not part of your job, but could youâ€”â€

â€œWhat kind of sandwich would you like from the cafeteria?â€ he asked.

Meryl heard the smile in his voice. â€œIâ€™ll let you pick.â€

She looked over her notes and revisited the page numbers sheâ€™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 Merylâ€™s desk and then at her.

â€œUmâ€¦â€

Meryl stepped around the desk. â€œHere, Iâ€™ll take it. Sorry. I seem to have made a mess.â€

Wade handed her the sandwich and diet Coke.

She went to the small couch and set up her lunch. â€œThanks again, Wade. Iâ€™ll probably be holed up in here the rest of the afternoon.â€

â€œStill hold your calls?â€

â€œRight.â€

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. Iâ€™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 Englandâ€™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.

â€œMeryl, what can I do for you?â€ 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. Prattersâ€™s gruff manner and his voice made her recoil each time they spoke or met.

â€œIâ€™ve just finished writing an article on Zach England,â€ she said.

â€œIâ€™m not sure a feature would work, given weâ€™ve just published your very negative review.â€

â€œThis wouldnâ€™t be a feature. I have a theory about his identity. Every time weâ€™ve talked about him, weâ€™ve speculated that Zach England is a pseudonym.â€

â€œNever proven, although various publications have tried. No one could nail him down, however.â€

â€œWhat if England were a woman?â€

â€œHmmâ€¦ now that would be a hell of a story.â€

She explained her theory and the research sheâ€™d conducted that day. â€œCan I have your approval to go ahead with this article?â€

â€œE-mail it to me. Iâ€™ll read it tonight and give you my answer tomorrow. If I think youâ€™ve made a strong case, weâ€™ll go with it for Thursdayâ€™s edition.â€

â€œThank you, Mr. Pratters.â€

â€œThom.â€

â€œOf course, Thom.â€

â€œIâ€™ll call you tomorrow.â€ Pratters hung up.

Merylâ€™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. Heâ€™d tweaked it a little. She stood, leaning on her desk as she looked over his changes. Donâ€™t think I would have done that, but oh well. The Banner would run the article in the Thursday morning paper.

Her phone rang.

â€œMr. Pratters to speak to you,â€ Wade said.

â€œPut him through.â€ The line clicked.

â€œMeryl, fine job. This should cause quite a stir.â€

â€œThank you. I hope so. At least itâ€™s something to think about.â€

â€œYes, it is. Listen, Iâ€™ve been meaning to ask you. How have your first few weeks gone?â€

â€œFine, Thom. I love my job.â€

â€œGood, good. Iâ€™ve also wanted to ask you about your father. Iâ€™m aware of how ill he is. How is he doing?â€

Meryl gripped the back of her chair. â€œNot well.â€

â€œAnytime you need to take off for home, donâ€™t hesitate to come to me. Understood?â€

â€œYes, sir. Thank you.â€

They ended the call.

The very mention of her fatherâ€™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

â€œMeryl, open this door.â€ 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 nightâ€™s tears. Sheâ€™d been in this emotional state almost constantly since her father had turned Angie away. She hadnâ€™t spoken to him in nearly two weeks and conversed with her mother only when necessary. She also ignored any â€œwords of adviceâ€ from her grandmother.

â€œIf you donâ€™t let me in this instant, Iâ€™ll break the lock.â€ He paused before he resumed pounding. â€œOpen. The. Door.â€

She still didnâ€™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.

â€œI want to have a discussion with you. Now. In the living room.â€

Meryl remained on the bed.

â€œNow, Meryl.â€ His tone was icy.

She couldnâ€™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 wasnâ€™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 heâ€™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 homeâ€”well, Channingâ€™s home. Sheâ€™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 buildâ€”lean and tall with long legs. Her mother also wore tennis whites, but there was no evidence sheâ€™d been playing the game. Not a hair was out of place, and no beads of sweat clung to her hairline. But then sweat wouldnâ€™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.

â€œHave a seat, young lady.â€ Her father blustered into the room and flung himself into his leather chair.

Meryl sat across from him on the matching couch.

â€œYour mother and Iâ€™ve discussed this.â€ Her father crossed his legs. â€œWe feel itâ€™s best if you transfer to Wellesley for your final year of college.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Meryl felt lightheaded. â€œI only have one year left.â€

â€œItâ€™s where you should have gone in the first place, dear,â€ her grandmother said.

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

â€œI 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.â€ She didnâ€™t look at her father or grandmother while she spoke but rather to her motherâ€™s back. â€œMother, you donâ€™t think this is the right thing to do, do you?â€

Her mother remained silent.

â€œDo you?â€

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

No, I canâ€™t be away from Angie. No.

â€œYou have a choice then,â€ her father said. â€œIf you ever see or speak to Angelina Cantinnini again, youâ€™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 Deanâ€™s office. Ms. Cantinniniâ€™s scholarship wonâ€™t be worth a thing after I finish discussing her despicable behavior toward you. Do you understand?â€

Meryl strained to wrap her mind around his words. If she left Lehigh, sheâ€™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 sheâ€™d see her sometime, some way. Without her fatherâ€™s knowledge, of course.

â€œIâ€™ll have my ways of finding out, Meryl. So wipe anything from your mind that even hints at coming near this woman again.â€

She jumped at his words. As usual, heâ€™d read her perfectly.

â€œAnd one more stipulation. Youâ€™ll contact Stanley Alberson.â€

â€œNo. You cannot force me to date someone anymore. This isnâ€™t high school.â€

â€œIâ€™m not forcing you to do anything. I told you. You have a choice. This is entirely up to you.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve made it impossible for me, and you damn well know it.â€

â€œYou have a choice,â€ he repeated in a level tone. His jaws were tight.

A sob rose in Merylâ€™s throat. She tried her best to swallow it down.

â€œYou can forget about that disgusting young woman, Meryl,â€ her grandmother said. Her words dripped with disdain.

Meryl jumped to her feet and balled her fists.

â€œSheâ€™s not disgusting,â€ she shouted at her grandmother. â€œI love her. Youâ€™ve turned something beautiful into something ugly.â€

â€œDonâ€™t you dare say what you did with that woman was beautiful. It was filthy! Filthy! Do you hear me?â€ The old womanâ€™s face contorted with hatred.

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

â€œWhy, Mother? Why let them take away the one thing in my life thatâ€™s meant something to me?â€

Her mother shook her head slightly. â€œThis is for the best, honey. Youâ€™ll see. Youâ€™re just going through a phase. Youâ€™re youngâ€”â€

â€œNot you, too,â€ Meryl whispered. â€œPlease. Iâ€™m begging you.â€

Her mother turned back to the window.

Meryl looked at her grandmotherâ€™s smug expression and the set in her fatherâ€™s jaw one last time. Then she bolted out of the living room to the front door.

â€œMeryl! Come back here!â€ her grandmother shouted.

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

â€œOpen the gate!â€ she yelled to the guard. â€œOpen the gate now.â€

â€œYes, Ms. McClain.â€ The gate slowly slid open.

Meryl sprinted through it and took off down the lane. She didnâ€™t know where she was going. It didnâ€™t matter. Nothing mattered.

Chapter 11

Key West, Present Day

A persistent and annoying tone chirped in Angieâ€™s ear. She tried to incorporate it into her dream, but the bird-like sound didnâ€™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. â€œThis better be good, whoever this is, becauseâ€”â€

â€œOh, donâ€™t you even fucking start,â€ Sally yelled. â€œGet your fucking ass out of that bed.â€

Angie struggled to sit up. â€œJesus, Sal, I know youâ€™re my agent, but five-forty-five in the morning?â€

â€œThis is a fucking emergency, Angie. Get your ass up and get to your computer. Now.â€

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

â€œAnd what is so goddamn important that you couldnâ€™t wait until a decent hour to call me?â€ Angie asked.

â€œJust tell me when you can log onto the Internet.â€

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

â€œOkay. Iâ€™m online. What the hell is it?â€

â€œGo to the New York Bannerâ€™s webpage.â€

Angie typed in the URL. â€œIâ€™m there.â€

â€œHit the entertainment section.â€

Angie stifled a sigh. Sally was so annoying when she was like this. She clicked on the link. â€œIâ€™m in. Whatâ€™s the big deal?â€ She tried to focus on the text through bleary eyes and froze when she read the title of Meryl McClainâ€™s article: â€œZach England: Reclusive Male Author or Clever Female Opportunist?â€ Angie read the title again. Each word felt like a punch in the gut. â€œOh my frigging God.â€

â€œI 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?â€

Angie scanned the article and had to admire Merylâ€™s reasoning. â€œWell, sheâ€™s read all the books and noticed a pattern whenâ€”â€

â€œOh, for fuckâ€™s sake, Angie. It was a rhetorical question. I can read, too, you know.â€

â€œWhat do you think this means?â€ Angieâ€™s mind spun out of control.

â€œI think this means that you need to leave Key West for a while.â€

Angie bristled. â€œAw, hell no.â€

â€œWait. Hear me out. If sheâ€™s this fucking smart, she also might have an idea where England lives. We canâ€™t take that chance. Stanley & Schilling wouldnâ€™t want us taking that chance. I havenâ€™t heard from them yet, but Iâ€™m sure I will this morning.â€

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

â€œListen, it wouldnâ€™t be for longâ€¦â€

â€œNo, Sally. Absolutely not. I find it hard to believe sheâ€™d know where to find me. Iâ€™m not running.â€

â€œAll right. I can tell when youâ€™ve dug yourself in. Iâ€™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.â€

â€œDo I have to remind you again that weâ€™re talking about Key West? A lot of people move here to escape something or someone in their lives.â€

â€œIâ€™m well aware of that. What Iâ€™m asking you is not to call attention to yourself. Donâ€™t talk about your writing to anyone. I know some are aware youâ€™re an author, but donâ€™t bring it up out of the blue. Play at your bar or go out on your boat or something.â€

â€œIâ€™ll be fine.â€

â€œGood. Iâ€™ll call you again soon.â€

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 Merylâ€™s ability to pick up on Angieâ€™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 Englandâ€™s identity. Other newspapers had taken Merylâ€™s story and run with itâ€”especially the tabloids in New York. They had England pegged as one of the female mystery writers whoâ€™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 wouldnâ€™t run.

She took The Pride of Youngstown out for three straight days and nights following Sallyâ€™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 wasnâ€™t working. Meryl had been on the mark about Angieâ€™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 â€œBarker9â€ file. The blank page of the computer screen seemed to beckon her to purge her inner demons. She began to write again, but it wasnâ€™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 sheâ€™d seen Meryl and their eyes had met. The first touch of Merylâ€™s fingers on her skin was like the caress of a warm ocean breeze. In the early morning hours, theyâ€™d held their dreams close, as close as theyâ€™d held each other, always with the fear that harsh reality would soon spirit away their future.

Angie hadnâ€™t forgotten. Sheâ€™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 sheâ€™d fallen to her knees on the street in front of the McClain mansion, crying out Merylâ€™s name.

Darkness enveloped the cabin, and Angie stopped typing.

Damn. Where had the hours gone? She couldnâ€™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 sheâ€™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 bestsellerâ€™s list for fiction, following its predecessors, she had to force herself to conjure up any energy or fondness for Derek Barker. Sheâ€™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 sheâ€™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.

â€œOh wow.â€ 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.

* * *

â€œYou want to what?â€

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 Sallyâ€™s exasperation while at the same time thinking of Jimmy Buffetâ€™s line about â€œtourists covered with oil.â€ A few shapely women passed by and smiled at Angie.

â€œIâ€™m almost halfway through the Barker novel, so youâ€™ve no worries there. Iâ€™ve gotten an itch to write a lesbian novel under my own name. What harm can there be? Itâ€™s not like I havenâ€™t published some already.â€

Angie heard a horn blare on the other end of the line and then, â€œAsshole!â€

â€œI take it weâ€™re driving in Chicago traffic while talking on our cell phone? Do you think this is wise?â€ 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.

â€œNeed I remind you that Meryl McClainâ€™s article has reporters snooping around, hoping to be the one who hunts down the real Zach England? I told you. We donâ€™t need you bringing anymore attention to yourself. And another thing. Stanley & Schilling wonâ€™t go for it.â€

â€œWhat do you mean they wonâ€™t go for it?â€

â€œThis is one of the largest publishing companies in the world. They wonâ€™t like their number one author dallying in lesbian fiction.â€

â€œDid you just hear what you said? How the hell will anyone else know? Donâ€™t they have a gay-lesbian imprint? Outside the Lines Books, I think is the name of it. Why wouldnâ€™t they let me publish my book there?â€

â€œFor one thing, why have your name out there with all this other shit going on? For another, Iâ€™m pretty damn certain they want you concentrating on Derek Barker, not a lesbian novel.â€

â€œYouâ€™re my agent, goddammit. Youâ€™re supposed to represent me on this shit. Are you afraid Iâ€™ll never write as Zach England again?â€

Sally didnâ€™t speak.

â€œThatâ€™s it, isnâ€™t it?â€ Angie stood up and stalked across the pier, trying to curb the urge to scream. â€œAre you afraid youâ€™ll miss out on more money? Like I havenâ€™t made you enough already? Hell, you donâ€™t even need any other clients.â€

â€œOh Christ, Angie, donâ€™t go there. Hang on. Iâ€™m pulling off the Van Ryan.â€ A long silence passed before Sally spoke again. â€œIâ€™m aware of how much money youâ€™ve made me, but youâ€™ve also made yourself quite a haul over these past eight years. So, donâ€™t go getting all high and mighty on me.â€ Sally sighed. â€œI know how talented you are. The entire literary world knows how talented you are. But maybeâ€”â€

â€œBut maybe what?â€ Angie snapped.

â€œMaybe Iâ€™m afraid that once you start down that road again, thereâ€™ll be no going back. So yeah, thatâ€™s it, I guess. You wonâ€™t have time to go back to your work as Zach England, and Stanley & Schilling wonâ€™t be pleased.â€

Angie leaned her shoulder against one of the pierâ€™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.

â€œMaybe it wouldnâ€™t be such a bad thing.â€ When she received no response on the other end, she at first thought sheâ€™d spoken too low or the signal had been lost. â€œHello?â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t tell me youâ€™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. Itâ€™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 youâ€™re a woman.â€ Sally had obviously caught her second wind.

â€œSheâ€™s not a bitch. She was doing her job, which entails telling the truth.â€ Angieâ€™s need to defend Merylâ€™s honor startled her.

â€œNo, thatâ€™s where youâ€™ve got it wrong. Sheâ€™s giving an opinion. Itâ€™s not the truth. Itâ€™s only her version.â€

â€œWhy do we keep rehashing this Banner review? I wasnâ€™t even talking about that. I was talking about my need to express myself as me.â€ Angie pounded her fist against her chest. â€œAngelina Cantinnini. A lesbian. Not Zach Englandâ€”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 Iâ€™ll lose it down here.â€

Again, silence.

â€œSal?â€

â€œOkay, okay.â€ Sallyâ€™s voice was full of resignation, but she didnâ€™t sound happy. â€œAs long as we have an agreement that you keep working on your Barker manuscript and meet your deadline for book nine. Iâ€™ll present it to Stanley & Schilling. Iâ€™m not sure what theyâ€™ll think. You need to be prepared for the possibility that theyâ€™ll say no.â€

â€œIâ€™ll keep it in mind.â€

â€œLet me ask you this. Can you write both? Are you sure you can separate the two in your mind?â€

Angie wanted to say she could write Derek Barker novels in her sleep, but refrained. â€œIâ€™ll be fine. Trust me on this.â€

â€œAll right. I have to go. A cop pulled up and is getting out of his car and headed toward me. Iâ€™m sure he thinks Iâ€™m having car problems. Iâ€™m off on the shoulder.â€

â€œThanks for understanding.â€

The last sound Angie heard was the whir of Sallyâ€™s car window and a muffled, â€œNo, officer, Iâ€™m fine. Trying to do the safe thing and pull off while talking on thisâ€”â€

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, sheâ€™d dedicate only so much time for Derek Barker. Sheâ€™d then work on the lesbian manuscript. But the lesbian novel wouldnâ€™t be a mysteryâ€”itâ€™d be a romance.

She just didnâ€™t know the ending yet.

* * *

Lehigh University, Fall 1998

â€œHey, Angie, isnâ€™t that Meryl McClain down there?â€

Jacquelineâ€™s words made Angieâ€™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 heâ€™d made it clear to Meryl to stay as far away from Angie as possible.

They were at the menâ€™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 Angieâ€™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 Merylâ€™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 Merylâ€™s shoulders and pulled her close.

Angie felt faint. She couldnâ€™t watch this. She slumped into her seat.

â€œHey, you okay, Angie?â€

Angie shook her head.

Jacqueline bent down. â€œLetâ€™s get some air.â€ 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.

â€œIâ€™m so sorry, Angie. I shouldnâ€™t have pointed her out.â€

â€œI donâ€™t want to talk about it.â€ Angie bolted toward the exit to the outside.

â€œAngie! Wait. Iâ€™m sorry.â€

Angie slowed to let Jacqueline catch up with her. Although it was bitter cold outside, Angie didnâ€™t feel it despite the fact she only wore a sweatshirt and jeans.

Jacqueline held out her jacket. â€œPut this on.â€

Angie tugged on the jacket.

â€œI know itâ€™s rough. I didnâ€™t see the guy beside her when I pointed her out.â€

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. â€œHey, letâ€™s go.â€

Angie couldnâ€™t move.

The guy still had his arm draped over Merylâ€™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.

â€œAngie,â€ she said. â€œHow are you?â€

â€œOkay. You?â€

â€œIâ€™m doing okay.â€

The young man standing beside Meryl was handsome. Why wouldnâ€™t he be? Hadnâ€™t Meryl told her that her father insisted on only the best for his daughter? And Angie most certainly wasnâ€™t it.

â€œThis is Stan. Stan Alberson.â€

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 McClainâ€™s daughter.

â€œStan, this is myâ€¦ my friend, Angie Cantinnini.â€ Merylâ€™s face flushed.

To hear Meryl stumble in her speech to refer to Angie as a â€œfriendâ€ was almost too much for Angie to bear.

â€œHi. Very nice to meet you.â€ 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 Stanâ€™s hand.

â€œWell, weâ€™d better get going if we want to meet up with the others at the pizza parlor,â€ Stan said. He linked his arm with Merylâ€™s to lead her away. â€œNice meeting you both.â€

They turned to leave, but Angie spoke, more loudly than sheâ€™d intended. â€œAre you happy, Meryl?â€

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.

â€œYes,â€ Meryl whispered. â€œIâ€™m happy.â€ The look in her eyes spoke another answer, one she couldnâ€™t or wouldnâ€™t say aloud.

The words cut through Angie like a knife. â€œGood,â€ she said. â€œIâ€™m glad.â€ She was certain her own expression said otherwise, as well.

â€œAre you? Happy, I mean?â€ 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. â€œIt doesnâ€™t really matter, does it?â€

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. Sheâ€™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.

â€œGood morning, Wade,â€ she said as she passed his desk.

He hustled after her and handed her a message. â€œThis was waiting when I arrived.â€

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 Prattersâ€™s office, took a deep breath, and knocked.

â€œCome in.â€

Meryl entered, surprised to find a vaguely familiar woman sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of Prattersâ€™s massive desk.

â€œMeryl. Iâ€™m glad you could make it on short notice,â€ Pratters said. He gestured to the chair beside the woman. He shook Merylâ€™s hand, and she took her seat.

â€œThis is Glenda Tilden.â€ Pratters nodded at the petite brunette beside Meryl. â€œSheâ€™s with the marketing department. Sheâ€™s the one who ensures we stay on good terms with author agents. This concerns Zach England. Glenda has what weâ€™d call a scoop in our line of business. Iâ€™ll let her explain it to you. Glenda?â€

â€œI have a source who works in Chicago in the mailroom of the office building that houses Sally Copelmanâ€™s agency.â€ Glenda paused for what appeared to be dramatic effect.

â€œYes?â€

Glenda seemed disappointed with Merylâ€™s reaction.

â€œSally Copelman. You know? Zach Englandâ€™s agent.â€

â€œOh, right.â€ Meryl mentally kicked herself for not catching the name.

Glenda brightened at Merylâ€™s recognition.

â€œMy 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.â€ Again, Glenda paused.

Just get on with it, Meryl thought.

â€œThe last correspondence occurred right before Englandâ€™s latest release.â€

Meryl pieced together the implications. â€œYou think England might live in Key West?â€

â€œBingo,â€ Pratters said. â€œCopelman doesnâ€™t have many clients, and if Englandâ€™s one of them, that explains why. I would think sheâ€™s made enough off of him, or her to last a lifetime.â€

â€œThat makes sense,â€ 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 likeâ€¦ Jimmy Buffett? She suppressed a laugh.

â€œWe want you to fly down there as soon possible,â€ Pratters said. â€œRearrange whatever you have on your schedule in the near future and leave for Key West. We need to keep this hush-hush. I donâ€™t want another paper or reporter catching wind of this. If we confirm it is England, and Englandâ€™s a woman, this would hit the literary world like a firestorm.â€ His face lit up at the possibility.

â€œI do have some interviews scheduled these next couple of weeks.â€

â€œWhich you can reschedule,â€ he said with a note of finality.

â€œYes. Which I can reschedule.â€

â€œGood. Iâ€™ll let you return to your office to make arrangements.â€ Pratters stood. â€œGlenda, thank you for coming to me with this.â€

Glenda stood and took his outstretched hand. â€œYouâ€™re welcome, sir.â€ She left.

Meryl rose to leave.

â€œGood luck, Meryl. Youâ€™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.â€

* * *

â€œWhen are you leaving for Florida?â€ Rhonda asked.

â€œPratters wants me down there by the end of next week.â€

Meryl brought their glasses of wine to the couch and handed one to Rhonda.

â€œThank you. I need this after a week of dealing with my boss at the magazine. Thank God itâ€™s Friday.â€

â€œOwen still being difficult?â€ Meryl sat down, tucked both legs under her, and leaned her elbow on the back of the couch.

â€œWhen isnâ€™t Owen difficult? And does advertising have to be so cutthroat?â€

â€œI think you know the answer to that one.â€

â€œLetâ€™s talk about you. I sure as hell donâ€™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?â€

â€œTo tell you the truth, I never thought a scoop would be something Iâ€™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.â€

Rhonda slapped Meryl on the thigh.

â€œYou 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. Wouldnâ€™t that be something?â€

â€œI have no desire to write books, only to review them.â€

They enjoyed their wine in silence. At length, Rhonda spoke.

â€œHow you doing aside from work?â€

â€œMeaningâ€¦â€

â€œDating. Whenâ€™s the last time you went out on a date?â€

Meryl groaned. â€œIâ€™m not into meeting anyone new these days. I just started this jobâ€”â€

â€œWhich is no excuse.â€ Rhonda pointed at her with the hand that held her wineglass as she brought it to her mouth.

â€œOkay, how about this. The last date I went out on was a disaster, and I donâ€™t want to repeat that anytime soon.â€

â€œRemind me. Was that Gloria the Groper?â€

â€œYes, it was. She had her hand halfway up my thigh, heading for the promised land. In public, mind you.â€

â€œOh, girl, you canâ€™t let that one lousy date ruin someone elseâ€™s chances, and you know it.â€

â€œNo, I donâ€™t know it, and I donâ€™t want you setting me up with anyone if thatâ€™s where this is headed.â€

â€œWhat makes you think Iâ€™m trying to set you up on a date?â€

â€œBecause Iâ€™ve heard this line of questioning before, and because youâ€™re my best friend, and I have a pretty good idea how you think. Iâ€™m fine. Malachi and I are fine. We donâ€™t need anyone else.â€

At the mention of his name, Malachi moseyed over from where heâ€™d been lying in the chair by the couch. He wasted no time in nesting in Merylâ€™s lap.

â€œYou canâ€™t give up on love,â€ Rhonda said. â€œSheâ€™s not going to ride in on her white horse and swoop you off your feet.â€

â€œWho?â€

â€œYou know who.â€

â€œDamn it, Rhonda, I donâ€™t want to talk about it.â€

â€œThis is where I play one of my best friend cards and say, yes, you do. Angieâ€™s gone from your life. We had this discussion the other night. Sheâ€™s not coming back.â€

â€œAre you trying to cheer me up? Because youâ€™re doing a lousy job of it.â€ Meryl heard the defensiveness in her voice.

â€œI hate to see you waste your life because you think an old flame will reenter your world.â€

â€œSheâ€™s not an old flame. Sheâ€™s the only flame.â€

â€œHow do you know, if youâ€™re not willing to give other women a chance?â€

â€œI have. Donâ€™t you remember the relationship with Cheryl?â€

â€œHell, that wasnâ€™t a relationship. That was a dictatorship, and you were the conquered country. That woman had you so confused, you couldnâ€™t tell which end was up.â€

â€œMy point exactly.â€

â€œYouâ€™re telling me youâ€™ll let a year-long relationship, and again, I use that term loosely, with a wacko ruin your chances at love?â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m telling you Iâ€™m happy alone.â€

â€œBullshit.â€

â€œExcuse me?â€ Merylâ€™s cheeks burned with anger.

â€œYou heard me. Bullshit. No oneâ€™s happy alone unless youâ€™re Mother Teresa. And youâ€™re no Mother Teresa.â€

â€œIâ€™m not even Catholic.â€

â€œQuit trying to wiggle out of this. Iâ€™ve watched you since Columbia. Youâ€™ll never give another woman a chance unless itâ€™s Angie.â€

Meryl drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on the coffee table, which caused Malachi to jump down with a huff.

â€œDrop it, Rhonda.â€ Meryl glared at her.

â€œNo. I wonâ€™t drop it. We need to get this out tonight. Iâ€™m tired of dancing around the subject. Youâ€™re my best friend andâ€”â€

â€œYouâ€™re pushing it.â€

Rhonda pursed her lips. â€œOh, so now Iâ€™m not youâ€™re best friend?â€

Meryl sighed and stared at the ceiling before continuing. â€œHave I ever told you about my wedding day?â€

Rhonda gave a quick head shake. â€œWhere did that come from?â€

â€œI try not to remember that day, but I want to tell you about it right now. Maybe youâ€™ll understand a little better about my holding out for Angie.â€

â€œAll right. Hit me. This has to be one hell of a story.â€

â€œFine. Stan and I married in the summer of 1999.â€

â€œBefore we even get into this story of yours, remind me again why you gave in to your fatherâ€™s wishes.â€

Meryl looked down at her hands.

â€œI thought there wasnâ€™t a chance with Angie and me after my fatherâ€™s interference. Remember that. I thought there wasnâ€™t another woman for me. And Stan? I was twenty-one, and I was tired of fighting my family.â€

â€œButâ€”â€

Meryl raised her head. â€œI was young and foolish, Rhonda. Young and foolish.â€

â€œOkay. Letâ€™s hear about your wedding day.â€

Meryl sank back into the cushions of the couch. She closed her eyes and pictured a sunny day eleven years ago that couldnâ€™t have been any darker for her.

â€œOf course my parentsâ€”especially my fatherâ€”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.â€

â€œHow expensive?â€ Rhonda leaned forward with obvious interest.

â€œLetâ€™s put it this way. Giorgio Armani designed it.â€

â€œWhich doesnâ€™t tell me much.â€

â€œHow about this. He came to our home to take measurements and go over designs.â€

â€œGood Lord.â€

â€œOnly the best for Daddyâ€™s little girl.â€ Meryl couldnâ€™t hide her bitterness. â€œThere were over 300 people at the church. There were members of the wedding party Iâ€™d never even met before. I felt like I was in a movie with extras.â€

â€œThat must have been bizarre.â€

â€œThe whole thing was surreal. I donâ€™t remember saying my vows. I donâ€™t remember the kiss. I donâ€™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 thatâ€™s when I saw her.â€

â€œShe was there?â€

â€œShe was across the street about a half a block away, standing beside her car.â€

â€œWhatâ€™d you do?â€

â€œI stopped dead in my tracks. We were about to step down the stairs into the limo, but I couldnâ€™t move.â€

â€œAnd?â€

â€œI 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.â€

â€œThat was the last time you saw her?â€

â€œYes,â€ Meryl whispered.

â€œOh, honey.â€

Rhonda moved closer and put her arm around Merylâ€™s shoulders. â€œI 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? Canâ€™t we have a big black horse?â€

Meryl laughed.

â€œThere. At least I got a reaction out of you. What youâ€™ve told me makes me despise your father that much more. And I didnâ€™t like the man in the first place because of his manipulative ways.â€ Rhonda ducked her head to meet Merylâ€™s eyes. â€œDo you want to tell me the rest?â€

Meryl didnâ€™t trust herself to speak, so she shook her head.

â€œYou sure?â€

â€œI canâ€™t.â€ Merylâ€™s voice cracked.

â€œItâ€™s all right. I understand.â€

Meryl stood up and took both their glasses. â€œMore wine?â€

â€œBetter not. You remember how it is with me. One glass is just enough. Two make me stupid.â€

Meryl poured another glass for herself, filling it nearly to the top.

Rhonda watched from the couch. â€œYou okay?â€

â€œIâ€™m fine.â€ Meryl took a long drink.

Rhonda stood. â€œI need to get home. Weâ€™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 isnâ€™t pleased with our latest mock-ups.â€

Meryl went to Rhonda and gave her a hug. She started to withdraw from the embrace, but Rhonda pulled her close again.

â€œI love you,â€ Rhonda said.

â€œLove you, too.â€

She walked Rhonda to the door.

â€œTry to get some rest, Meryl. You look exhausted.â€

â€œI will.â€ She leaned against the doorframe and watched Rhonda stride down the hall to the elevators. â€œBe safe.â€

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 wasnâ€™t happy, and she wondered if sheâ€™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 sheâ€™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 shipâ€™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 novelâ€™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 captainâ€™s chair. She ran her fingers across the shipâ€™s wheel, still pleased sheâ€™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.

â€œI swear to God, if thatâ€™s Sally, Iâ€™m tossing the damn thing into the water.â€ She unclipped it and smiled when she read the number. â€œHey, Mrs. Torelli. Did you have a wonderful vacation in Italy?â€

â€œWe did,â€ her sister said. â€œIt wouldâ€™ve been better if we couldâ€™ve left the kids at home. The only thing we heard from them was â€˜weâ€™re sooo boredâ€™ the entire time there.â€

â€œBut you love them and couldnâ€™t live without them.â€

Silence.

â€œJan?â€

â€œI guess youâ€™re right,â€ Jan said with a sigh. Then she giggled. â€œYou know me too well, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œI think I know you better than Rick does sometimes, even though that man worships the ground you walk on.â€

â€œYou may have a point.â€

â€œBut you had a good trip?â€

â€œYes, except we wish you couldâ€™ve made it, too.â€

â€œWeâ€™ve been over this. I donâ€™t think our family there would accept me any more than the ones at home do.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t knowâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™m thirty-two now. I donâ€™t want to go through that crap again. Ever.â€

â€œDad still asks about you.â€

â€œHeâ€™s only called me twice in all these years. Heâ€™s made it clear he wonâ€™t go against Mom.â€

â€œHe loves you, Angie.â€

â€œCan we talk about something else?â€ Angie crushed the empty Coke can in her hands.

â€œIâ€™ll drop it. Sorry.â€

â€œItâ€™s okay. You always mean well.â€

â€œWhen can I come down there for a visit? I miss you.â€

â€œItâ€™s been a little hectic meeting this latest deadline.â€

â€œRight. Sometimes I forget what you do for a living. Hang on a sec.â€ Jan sounded muffled, but Angie still made out the words. â€œAnthony Michael Torelli, is that where your coat goes?â€ There was some grumbling in the background. â€œI didnâ€™t think so.â€

Angie chuckled. â€œYou do realize who you sounded like just then.â€

â€œIâ€™m ignoring that comment. Back to visiting you. Whenâ€™s a good time? I havenâ€™t seen you in months.â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€

â€œOkay then. Donâ€™t be surprised if I show up unannounced.â€

Before Angie could respond, Janâ€™s voice rose.

â€œAnthony, Iâ€™m on the phone. Damn it,â€ Jan cursed. â€œI have to go, sis. Sorry.â€

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.

* * *

â€œIs there anyone else I need to call this week to reschedule?â€

Meryl glanced up at Wade sitting across from her desk. â€œGrisham?â€

â€œCalled his agent Friday afternoon.â€

Meryl paged through her appointment book. â€œHow about Patty Cornwell?â€

â€œI tried Monday. I had to leave a message.â€

â€œItâ€™s Thursday. Please try again today. I want you to talk to someone live to avoid any mix-ups.â€

Wade made a notation on his legal pad.

â€œDid you get in touch with purchasing? Iâ€™m assuming everythingâ€™s set?â€

â€œYes. Youâ€™re on a flight leaving LaGuardia at ten-fifty Saturday morning. Straight flight into Miami. Youâ€™ll arrive there a little after two. You have about a three-hour layover.â€ Wade looked up from his legal pad. â€œI apologize for that. Purchasing said it was the best they could do.â€

â€œDonâ€™t worry about it.â€

â€œYour next flight leaves at five-ten, a commuter into Key West Airport. You should be there in a little under an hour.â€

â€œWhat about hotelâ€”â€

â€œDone. Youâ€™re staying at the Southernmost Point Resort. Youâ€™re booked for a week, but theyâ€™re leaving the room open for an additional week if you need to stay longer.â€

â€œWhat are we paying you again, Wade?â€

His face reddened. â€œI could always use more.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see to it when I return.â€

â€œAnything else I need to handle?â€

â€œI was about to mention a rental car, but I think Iâ€™ll walk and take cabs while Iâ€™m there.â€

Her phone rang. She glanced down at the caller ID and frowned.

â€œI need to take this.â€

â€œRight.â€ He closed the door on the way out.

She picked up the receiver. â€œYes, Mother?â€

Soft sobs echoed over the line.

â€œMother?â€ Meryl straightened in her chair. She gripped her pen a little tighter.

â€œTheyâ€™re giving him three weeks,â€ her mother said, choking on each word.

Meryl struggled for words. â€œIâ€™m sorry. Sorry for you.â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t make me beg you to come home, Meryl.â€

Meryl snapped the pen in half. Ink spread across her appointment book. â€œShit.â€ She searched her office, trying to find something to blot up the ink.

â€œDid you hear me?â€

â€œYes, I heard you.â€ Meryl pulled open a drawer and grabbed a wad of tissues. She pressed them onto the stain. It didnâ€™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.

â€œI didnâ€™t raise you to be like this.â€

Meryl let her next words escape her lips without thinking. â€œMaybe you didnâ€™t, but Father and Grandmother sure did a hell of a number on me.â€

â€œWhen will you let that go?â€

â€œNever,â€ Meryl said.

â€œMerylâ€¦â€

â€œIâ€™m leaving on an assignment Saturday. Iâ€™ll call you when I get back to New York.â€

â€œIt may be too late.â€

â€œIâ€™ll call you when I get back.â€ Meryl hung up the phone. She rubbed at her sleeve with the tissue, only spreading the stain. She threw the tissues in the trash. â€œDamn it!â€ 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. â€œYes?â€

Wade opened the door a crack. â€œI reached Ms. Cornwellâ€™s agent and spoke to her. Weâ€™re rescheduled for the first of next month.â€

â€œGood. Thank you.â€

â€œIs everything okay?â€

â€œYes. Iâ€™m fine.â€ Meryl smiled weakly. â€œThank you for all of your work on this trip.â€

â€œYouâ€™re welcome. Anything else?â€

Meryl noticed the time. â€œWade, Iâ€™m sorry. Itâ€™s six-thirty. Please go home.â€

â€œYouâ€™re sure you donâ€™t need me?â€

â€œThereâ€™s nothing more for you to do. Please go and enjoy whatâ€™s left of your evening.â€

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. Sheâ€™d seen her therapist the night before and sure as hell didnâ€™t want to call him again. At least she wouldnâ€™t hurt anyone by taking out her frustration on some free weights.

* * *

â€œIâ€™m so happy for you, Angie. And Iâ€™m pleased you stood up to Sally,â€ Ev said while she flagged down refills on their Cokes. It was lunchtime on Friday, and they were having burgers at Sloppy Joeâ€™s. â€œWhat was your inspiration to return to lesbian fiction?â€

â€œHow do you do that?â€

â€œDo what?â€

â€œGive me that look, knowing I could never lie to you.â€

â€œItâ€™s not so bad, is it?â€ Ev poured ketchup on her fries. â€œMy mother was full-blooded Cherokee. I couldnâ€™t keep a thing from her, either. She had this way of seeing right through me.â€

â€œReally?â€ Angie asked sarcastically.

â€œI guess I have the gift, too.â€

â€œIf you want to call it that.â€

â€œYouâ€™re avoiding the question. I know you donâ€™t want me to keep staring at you, but if thatâ€™s whatâ€”â€

Angie held up her hand. â€œNo! God no.â€ She put her burger down and wiped her hands on her napkin.

â€œUh-oh. This seems serious.â€ Ev put down her burger as well.

â€œItâ€™s Meryl McClain.â€

â€œOkayâ€¦â€

â€œWhich Iâ€™m sure the Native-American seer in you already sensed.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t need my motherâ€™s gift to figure that one out. Youâ€™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 Englandâ€™s identity.â€

â€œYou could say that.â€ Angie stared down at her food.

â€œI donâ€™t think that burger will help you figure things out.â€

â€œThe review and the article brought up so many things for me. And I canâ€™t keep the thoughts inside. I have to write. Itâ€™s a compulsion.â€

â€œMaybe this will be cathartic for you.â€

â€œIâ€™m scared about going through the pain, too.â€

â€œBut thatâ€™s how we grow.â€

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.

â€œThe 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 Iâ€™d shared. I found out when and where the wedding would be. I swore I wouldnâ€™t go, but the sick part of me wanted to know. I think I needed to feel more pain.â€ Angie blinked away unexpected tears.

Ev gave her a reassuring look.

â€œI drove up there. I wasnâ€™t sure why. I still donâ€™t know why, other than maybe to put it all to rest. When I got there, I realized what a huge mistake Iâ€™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 mindâ€™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 Iâ€™ll never forget. She touched her hand to her heartâ€â€”Angie mimicked the actionâ€”â€œand raised it to me. â€

â€œOh.â€ Ev put her fingers over her mouth.

â€œHer 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, Iâ€™d be arrested. I almost threw up, hearing her called that.â€

â€œIâ€™m so sorry.â€ 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. â€œWant to hear something funny?â€

â€œThat would be wonderful right about now, although by the way you said that, Iâ€™m not sure Iâ€™ll think it is.â€

â€œSince that day, I havenâ€™t watched the movie, The Graduate. Want to know why?â€

â€œI think I might know, but go ahead and tell me.â€

â€œEvery 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 shouldâ€™ve done the same thing. I shouldâ€™ve marched into that church and rescued Meryl. But I didnâ€™t. I let her go.â€

â€œShe made her own choice as to what life to live. You have to remember that.â€

Angie whispered, â€œI still shouldâ€™ve done it.â€

Ev took Angieâ€™s hand and held it until Angie looked up at her. â€œItâ€™ll be okay. Writing about it should help, donâ€™t you think?â€

â€œWeâ€™ll see.â€

Ev checked her watch. â€œIâ€™m sorry I canâ€™t stay longer, but itâ€™s three-thirty and Iâ€™d better leave to pick up the boys at school.â€ Ev turned over her bill and put her money on the table. She slid out of the booth. â€œTry to have some fun this weekend. Why donâ€™t you go to the CC tomorrow night with Sage?â€

â€œMaybe.â€ Angie pulled out some money to pay her bill.

â€œLetâ€™s get together next week for coffee. How does Tuesday morning sound? About ten?â€

â€œIâ€™ll walk over to your place, and weâ€™ll go to Joe Joeâ€™s and make fun of everyone paying five dollars for a cup of coffee.â€

â€œAnd then laugh at ourselves because weâ€™re two of those fools?â€

â€œYup.â€

â€œIâ€™ll call you Monday.â€

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, sheâ€™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.

â€œTry the Cozy Conch about seven blocks down the street. Itâ€™s the best one in town. The owner whipped it into something special once she bought out the place a few years ago.â€ The womanâ€™s gaze traveled from Merylâ€™s face, down her body, and back up again. â€œI get off work at nine. Want me to walk you down there?â€

â€œI think if you point me in the direction, I should find it just fine.â€ Meryl picked up her luggage.

â€œNeed any help with that?â€ The clerk gave her a crooked grin.

â€œNo, Iâ€™ve got it. Thanks.â€

In her room, she grabbed a hot shower and a nice, cold drink. Sheâ€™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. Sheâ€™d start snooping around for Zach England tomorrow.

She took a sip of her drink and said a silent prayer. Please, God, donâ€™t let anyone else hit on me while Iâ€™m here.

* * *

â€œHey, sweetie.â€ Sage kissed Angie on the cheek before taking a seat next to her at the Cozy Conch bar.

â€œGlad you could make it. I was beginning to wonder.â€

Sage raised his hand at Christi.

â€œMimosa?â€ Christi asked.

He placed his hand on his chest in feigned indignation. â€œAm I that predictable?â€

Angie and Christi answered â€œyesâ€ at the same time.

â€œI should be offended, but since I love you both so much, Iâ€™ll ignore it.â€

Christi brought over the drink, and he took a sip. â€œPerfect.â€

Angie nursed her beer, and in the mirror above the bar, watched the couples behind them dance.

â€œSee anyone you like?â€ Sage asked.

â€œSome of us arenâ€™t sluts, you know.â€

â€œOuch. That hurt.â€ Then he laughed. â€œNot really.â€

â€œDating anyone new?â€

â€œAs a matter of fact, I had a fabulous time with a fine young gentleman last night.â€

â€œOh yeah? What was his name?â€

Sage scrunched up his face. â€œâ€˜Baby,â€™ â€˜honey,â€™ â€˜sugar.â€™ Something like that.â€

â€œOf course it was.â€

â€œI just know he was superb.â€ He perked up and pointed at the mirror. â€œSpeaking of the big hunk, there he is now.â€ Sage jumped off the stool and grabbed his drink. â€œHate to drink and run on you, but duty calls.â€

â€œGo on. Have some fun.â€ As he walked away, Angie yelled, â€œBut be safe, okay?â€

Sage waved. â€œAlways, sweetie, always.â€

Angie sat at the bar chatting with Christi. A hand brushed across her back. Then lips pressed close to her ear.

â€œHey, darlinâ€™. Fancy seeing you tonight.â€

Pam slipped in beside her. She wore a tight blue tank top and a pair of hip-hugging, faded blue jeans.

â€œHey.â€ Angie thought Pam might have already had a few drinks. â€œWhereâ€™s Leona?â€

Pam frowned. â€œYou had to bring that up. We decided to chill out for a while.â€

Angie didnâ€™t like Pamâ€™s expression. Sheâ€™d seen it before, and every time, it meant trouble.

â€œCan I get you anything, Pam?â€ Christi asked.

â€œYou know, I hoped I could talk Angie into renewing our little contest.â€

Pamâ€™s meaning didnâ€™t register at first; then it hit her. â€œOh, no no no. Iâ€™m out of practice and wouldnâ€™t last long against you.â€

â€œCome on, sport. I know you can hold your own.â€ Pam motioned to Christi. â€œHow 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.â€

â€œI said noâ€”â€

Pam hopped up on the stool next to Angie. â€œGive me your hand and help me stand up on this thing so I donâ€™t fall.â€

Angie held onto Pamâ€™s waist while she teetered on the stool.

â€œEverybody!â€ Pam shouted. â€œItâ€™s time we renew the Ellison-Cantinnini Chaser Contest, donâ€™t you think?â€

Everyone roared their approval and pushed their way toward the bar.

â€œWhat the hellâ€™s gotten into you?â€ Angie tilted her head to peer up at her ex.

â€œYou,â€ Pam pointed at Angie, â€œneed to loosen up. And who knows where this might lead?â€

Angie remembered where it had led most other times theyâ€™d had this contestâ€”straight home to bed and a drunken tussle under the sheets. She didnâ€™t want that.

â€œHelp me down.â€

Angie put her hands under Pamâ€™s arms and helped her off the stool.

â€œWhatâ€™ll it be? Pick your poison.â€ Pam leaned in close to Angieâ€™s lips. â€œYou donâ€™t want to disappoint all of these lovely ladies now, do you?â€

Angie felt a tingling in her groin. Damn. â€œBuds. Make it Budweiser.â€

Pam shot her fist up in the air. â€œYesss! Ladies, we have a contest.â€

Everyone hooted and clapped. Christi put two shot glasses in front of them and two Budweisers from the tap.

â€œYou remember the rules?â€ Pam asked. â€œItâ€™s been a couple of years, butâ€”â€

â€œI remember the damn rules,â€ Angie said under her breath.

â€œFor those of you who arenâ€™t aware of the rules, itâ€™s simple,â€ Pam shouted. â€œEach 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 hereâ€™s the added twist.â€ Pam threw her arm around Angie as she spoke. â€œAfter every shot of Jack, we each have to repeat the following: â€˜She sells seashells by the seashore.â€™â€

The crowd broke out in laughter.

Pam held up her hand to silence everyone. â€œI know, I know. Thatâ€™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.â€ Pam turned to Angie. â€œAre you ready?â€

In answer, Angie wrapped her fingers around the cold glass of Budweiser.

â€œGo!â€

They both downed the beer and swooped up the shots of Jack Daniels. The whiskey burned the back of Angieâ€™s throat, but she finished it in one gulp.

â€œWoo-hoo!â€ Angie heard Sageâ€™s unmistakable voice in the rear. He held his drink up in the air.

â€œAnd now the added challenge.â€ Pam pointed at Angie, and she recited the tongue twister with ease. Pam followed with no problem. â€œOkay, another, barkeep.â€

Christi poured the drinks. They went through the same regimen, and both recited the words again without stumbling over them.

â€œHey, wait, ladies.â€ Sage pushed himself to the front of the spectators. â€œYou havenâ€™t said what the prize is for the winner.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t we let that be a surprise?â€ Pam leered at Angie.

Oh Lord, what does she have in mind?

â€œMore drinks, Christi,â€ 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.

â€œIâ€™ll start it this time.â€ Pam carefully enunciated each word of the tongue twister. â€œAnd now you.â€ She pointed at Angie.

Angie was almost through it when Pam winked at her and ran her tongue across her upper lipâ€”which is how â€œseashoreâ€ became â€œshesore.â€

â€œYes!â€ 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, â€œPrize! Prize! Prize!â€ Soon, everyone joined in.

Angie braced herself. Pam moved closer. She spun the stool around and pushed Angieâ€™s knees apart.

â€œYouâ€™re not scared of little old me, are you?â€ Pam asked. She moved so she snuggled in between Angieâ€™s legs. Angie felt the familiar pulsing desire in her groin where Pam pressed into her body. Pamâ€™s eyes flicked down to her lips. She ran her fingers to the back of Angieâ€™s neck, captured Angieâ€™s mouth, and thrust her tongue inside.

Initially, Angie went along with the kiss, appeasing the women whoâ€™d gathered around, whistling and clapping in unison. But then it all switched over to another place and time. She wasnâ€™t kissing Pam Ellison, her ex of two years. It was Meryl. They were in Angieâ€™s room at Lehigh, exploring and discovering their bodies together.

Angie pulled Pam closer. She felt Pamâ€™s sharp intake of breath, but ignored it. She ran her hands along Pamâ€™s sides and stopped below her breasts. Pam moaned, which snapped Angie back to reality. That was Pamâ€™s sound of surrenderâ€”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. â€œIt wasnâ€™t me, was it?â€

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.

â€œI always knew you were a stud!â€ 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.

â€œNo, it canâ€™t be.â€ Her vision cleared enough to focus on the blondeâ€™s striking blue-green eyes. â€œOh my God.â€

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. â€œWhere you going?â€

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 couldnâ€™t have been Angie. Not like this. Please, God, not like this.

â€œMeryl, wait!â€

Yes. Thatâ€™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.

â€œShit!â€

Meryl turned and started back just as the man helped Angie to her feet.

â€œIâ€™m sorry, maâ€™am. Are you okay?â€ he asked.

â€œIâ€™m all right.â€ Angie brushed off her jeans. She raised her head as Meryl approached.

The man hovered nearby, but he might as well have been invisible.

â€œItâ€™s okay,â€ Meryl told him, never looking away from Angie. â€œI can take care of this.â€

The man touched Angieâ€™s arm. â€œAgain, I apologize.â€ He continued down the street.

Meryl felt the full force of Angieâ€™s presence. The hair on her arms stood on end.

â€œAngie.â€ Meryl drew in a breath. Sheâ€™d pictured this moment so many times in her mind, yet nothing prepared her for the electric current of emotion surging through her body.

â€œMeryl.â€ Angie swayed a little and seemed to have trouble focusing. â€œItâ€™s really you.â€

Meryl held out her hand to keep Angie from stumbling forward.

Angie took hold of her hand. â€œStill so soft,â€ she whispered.

Meryl pulled free from Angieâ€™s grasp. â€œCan I take you home? I didnâ€™t drive here, but I can hail us a cab. Do you live far?â€

â€œJust a few blocks away.â€ Angie brought her fingertips to Merylâ€™s cheek. â€œMy God, Meryl, I canâ€™t believe youâ€™re here.â€

Meryl swallowed down the lump in her throat. She leaned into Angieâ€™s palm, but pulled away. This was too much.

Angie dropped her hand. In a rush of words, she said, â€œSheâ€™s not my girlfriend.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t need to explain.â€

â€œI lost a contest. I never lose. But sheâ€¦ she cheated.â€ Angie closed her eyes as if regretting her words.

â€œAngie, itâ€™sâ€”â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t her I was kissing. I imagined kissing you. Iâ€™ve never forgotten you.â€

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.

â€œLetâ€™s not have this conversation here. Letâ€™s get you home.â€ Meryl glanced around them at the onlookers.

â€œWe can walk. I might need a little help, but like I said, itâ€™s only a few blocks.â€

â€œIâ€™ll let you lead the way.â€

Meryl hooked her arm in the crook of Angieâ€™s elbow as they meandered down the street.

* * *

With each step they took, a refrain repeated itself in Angieâ€™s mind: â€œIâ€™m walking with Meryl McClain.â€

They reached the gate to the white picket fence.

â€œThis is so quaint,â€ Meryl said.

Angie pulled the keys out of her jeans pockets, but dropped them. She bent over to pick them up.

â€œHere, let me.â€ Meryl reached for the keys, and their fingers brushed.

Angie jumped from the contact. Meryl opened the door. Angie fumbled for the light switch.

â€œThis is beautiful,â€ Meryl said as they stepped inside. â€œWhy donâ€™t we get you seated over there?â€

Meryl guided Angie to the leather couch. She held onto her until Angie eased into the cushions.

â€œAre you all right?â€ Meryl asked.

Angie closed her eyes, but each time she opened them, Meryl still stood there. Her beauty hadnâ€™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 Merylâ€™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. Angieâ€™s bangs were still too long. She had on a faded black T-shirt with â€œKey Westâ€ 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 Angieâ€™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. â€œCan I fix you some coffee or something?â€

â€œNo. Please. Come sit beside me.â€

Meryl complied.

â€œHowâ€™ve you been?â€ Angie hated the words the moment they left her mouth. How trite.

â€œIâ€™ve been well. And you?â€ Meryl let out short laugh. â€œI canâ€™t believe weâ€™re just chatting like this.â€

â€œIâ€™ve missed you,â€ Angie whispered.

â€œIâ€™ve dreamed of this for so long, but itâ€™s like this isnâ€™t real.â€

They stared at each other, frozen in the moment. Angie caressed Merylâ€™s cheek with her thumb. She watched Merylâ€™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 Merylâ€™s. Just before they touched lips, Meryl pulled away. Sadness etched Merylâ€™s face. Angie wondered if her own expression mirrored the same sorrow. She thought she could hear Merylâ€™s unspoken question: What about the years weâ€™ve lost? God, what if, what ifâ€¦ The recriminations hung in the air between them as if Meryl had shouted the words aloud.

Meryl lowered her head. Angie raised Merylâ€™s chin with her fingertips. Meryl blinked away her tears.

â€œIâ€¦ I should go.â€ Meryl rushed to her feet. â€œYouâ€™ll be okay, I think.â€ She hastened for the door.

Angie stood to follow her.

â€œWait, Meryl.â€ Angie gently grabbed her arm. â€œI havenâ€™t seen you in eleven years. You canâ€™t leave like this.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry. This is such a shock for me tonight. Maybe we can meet tomorrow when my headâ€™s a little clearer and when youâ€™re, wellâ€¦â€

â€œSober.â€ Angie thought of where they could meet. â€œI own the bar we were at. We could meet there tomorrow.â€

â€œYou own the bar? That seems unlike you.â€ Meryl shook her head. â€œListen to me. Who am I to say what youâ€™re like after all these years?â€

Merylâ€™s words waited for the braver one of the women to snatch them up and delve into the past. But neither took the chance.

â€œYeah, Iâ€™ve owned it for the past six years,â€ Angie said. â€œWe could meet there in the afternoon if you like.â€

â€œAll right.â€ They stood face-to-face for a few awkward seconds. â€œWell, Iâ€™ll walk back to the hotel. Itâ€™s not that far, and I feel safe walking alone here. â€ Meryl moved toward the door.

Angie stopped herself from taking a step closer to Meryl. She motioned to the couch. â€œAre you sure you canâ€™t stay and talk some more?â€

Meryl ran her fingers across her lips. The gesture reminded Angie of the kiss they hadnâ€™t shared. â€œNot tonight. This is all soâ€¦ soâ€¦â€

â€œUnbelievable.â€ Angie supplied the word for her.

â€œYes,â€ Meryl said. â€œWhat time tomorrow?â€

â€œHow about three? It opens at four, but I can let you in.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see you then.â€

Meryl stepped outside.

â€œMeryl?â€

â€œYes?â€

â€œYou look wonderful. You havenâ€™t changed at all.â€

â€œThank you, Angie. Thatâ€™s very kind. I can say the same about you.â€

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. â€œOh, shit. Zach England.â€

* * *

The air had turned cooler. Meryl rubbed her arms as a chill ran through her.

â€œDonâ€™t try to kid yourself,â€ she whispered. â€œItâ€™s not the air making you shiver.â€

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. Sheâ€™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 itâ€™d be so easy if she ever saw Angie again. Theyâ€™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 Evâ€™s number.

â€œâ€™lo?â€ a groggy voice answered.

â€œEv?â€

â€œAngie? Is that you?â€

â€œSomethingâ€™s happened.â€

â€œAre you okay? Are you hurt? Was there an accident?â€

The questions came so fast that Angie didnâ€™t have a chance to cut in.

â€œStay where you are, and weâ€™ll come get you. Harold, wake up damn it!â€

â€œWait. Iâ€™m all right. There wasnâ€™t an accident.â€

â€œThen why are you calling me so late? Have you been drinking?â€

Angie ignored the last question. â€œItâ€™s Meryl.â€

â€œWho?â€

â€œMeryl McClain.â€

â€œNothingâ€™s happened to her, has it?â€

â€œSheâ€™s here, Ev.â€

â€œHere as inâ€¦â€

â€œHere as in she left my house a few minutes ago.â€

â€œHang on a sec.â€ She heard Ev talking to her husband. â€œGo back to sleep, Harold. Everythingâ€™s okay. Iâ€™ll take this to the living room.â€ She came back on the line. â€œAll right. You got my attention on that one.â€

â€œI was at the bar. For some stupid reason, I agreed to a chaser contest with Pam.â€

â€œYeah, thatâ€™s a real bright thing to do there.â€

â€œLet me finish please.â€ Angie opened the French doors and stepped out onto her patio. â€œI lost the contest.â€

â€œYou never lose those.â€

â€œWill you please let me finish?â€ Angie asked. â€œFor 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 Merylâ€™s there.â€

â€œHoly crap.â€

â€œI thought I was imagining things, or Iâ€™d had too much to drink. She fled from the bar. I followed her outside, tripped and fellâ€”â€

â€œWhich isnâ€™t surprising considering youâ€™re drunk.â€

â€œWill you stop? You can lecture me some other time.â€

â€œSorry.â€

â€œShe came back to me. We talked. She walked me home, and we talked a little more.â€

â€œHow do you feel?â€

â€œI wasnâ€™t sure how Iâ€™d feel if we ever met again. I didnâ€™t think Iâ€™d feel like this. But what if sheâ€™s here to search for Zach England?â€

â€œOh my God. I didnâ€™t think of that.â€

â€œI did, and it scares me shitless. Iâ€™ve done everything Sallyâ€™s asked of me. Iâ€™ve been quiet about my writing, Iâ€™ve hung out at the bar, Iâ€™ve gone out on my boat. Sally did ask me to leave town, but I told her I wouldnâ€™t run.â€

â€œWhat are you going to do?â€

â€œWhy do you think I called you? Iâ€™m seeing Meryl again tomorrow afternoon, and I donâ€™t know what to do.â€ Angie plopped down into a lounge chair. She put the heel of her hand to her forehead. â€œShit! I canâ€™t think.â€

â€œListen. Why donâ€™t you try to get some sleep and tackle this again in the morning? I canâ€™t meet with you before you see her. We have a church dinner to attend after service. But Iâ€™ll get in touch with you in the afternoon.â€

â€œOkay. Make it late afternoon.â€

â€œItâ€™s time for this old broad to go to bed. You do the same.â€

â€œGood night.â€ 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. Sheâ€™d thought sheâ€™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 wasnâ€™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 didnâ€™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 Sallyâ€™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 Angieâ€™s heart. If Meryl was here looking for England, and Angie could convince her he wasnâ€™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.

Angieâ€™s insecurities won out over the truth.

* * *

Sage greeted Angie when she entered the Cozy Conch. â€œAnd how are we this afternoon?â€ He returned to his newspaper with a smug expression. Christi was busy wiping down the shelves behind the bar.

â€œIâ€™m very well, thank you.â€ Angieâ€™s words were a little sharper than sheâ€™d intended. The hangover headache had morphed into something approaching a migraine. It didnâ€™t help her mood.

Sage glanced up from the paper. â€œDonâ€™t go getting snitty. Thatâ€™s the most Iâ€™ve seen you drink in years.â€

Angie picked up a glass and poured ice water from one of the pitchers that lined the bar. â€œDo we have any aspirin, Christi?â€

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.

â€œAh, weâ€™re being wise today,â€ Sage said.

â€œYes. Wise.â€

Sage patted the stool beside him. â€œYou left here in a hurry after that kiss. Everything okay?â€

Before Angie could answer or sit down, there was a knock at the door. Christi paused in mid-swipe. â€œNow, who could that be?â€ She tossed down her rag and stepped around the bar.

Angie put her hand on Christiâ€™s arm. â€œIâ€™ll get it.â€

Angie hurried to the door and unlocked it. The bright afternoon sunlight poured into the bar as Meryl stepped inside.

â€œIâ€™m glad you could make it.â€ Angie tried to sound casual, but wasnâ€™t sure she pulled it off.

â€œItâ€™s good to see you again,â€ Meryl said.

Angie motioned toward the bar. â€œIâ€™d like you to meet the manager of the Cozy Conch and the head of our entertainment.â€

They walked to the bar.

â€œChristi and Sage, this is Meryl McClain.â€

Meryl extended her slender hand toward them. â€œVery nice to meet you, Christi.â€ She turned to Sage. â€œSage.â€

â€œDear God, and I thought I had the best legs in Key West.â€ Sageâ€™s gaze drifted below the hem of Merylâ€™s shorts.

Angie slugged him in the arm.

â€œOw! Itâ€™s true. Did you see her legs? They go on forever.â€ He rubbed his arm.

Angieâ€™s face flushed.

â€œFrom that expression, Iâ€™d say you did.â€

â€œShut up. Sorry, Meryl. He usually has better manners than this.â€

â€œCan I get you something to drink, Ms. McClain?â€ Christi asked.

â€œOnly if you call me Meryl.â€

â€œMeryl it is.â€

â€œA ginger ale, if you have it.â€

Christi poured the drink.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you tell me something about you two?â€ Sage asked Angie.

â€œMeryl and I were together in college. We hadnâ€™t seen each other for eleven years. Until last night.â€

â€œTogether together. I get it. Thatâ€™s why you rushed out of here.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t we go to one of those tables?â€ Angie glared at Sage and motioned Meryl to the rear of the bar. She picked up their drinks.

â€œNice to meet both of you,â€ Meryl said over her shoulder as they walked away.

They sat down.

â€œI still canâ€™t believe youâ€™re actually here in front of me,â€ Angie said.

â€œI think weâ€™re both in shock.â€ Meryl didnâ€™t meet her eyes, but looked around the bar. â€œGreat decorations.â€ She cocked her head to the side. â€œKey West agrees with you. With that tan, you look like a native.â€

â€œIâ€™ve been here eight years and counting.â€

Meryl opened her mouth and then shut it.

â€œWhat?â€ Angie asked.

â€œI tried to find you some years ago. I read your three lesbian mysteries.â€

Angie suddenly found the tabletop fascinating. â€œNot some of my best stuff.â€

â€œThey were quite good. I did a search online to see if youâ€™d written more. I contacted your publisher, but they told me your contract was up with them. I couldnâ€™t find anything published after your last one over eight years ago. It was as if youâ€™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 didnâ€™t come up in my search. Iâ€™m assuming she got married.â€

Hearing that Meryl had earnestly searched for her gave Angie hope. â€œI kept up with you for a whileâ€”where you were, what you were doing. That you taught at Columbia after your divorce. Then I saw where the Banner hired you.â€

Meryl seemed surprised. â€œWhy didnâ€™t you try to get in touch with me?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t contact you because it was too painful, Meryl. I wasnâ€™t sure after your marriage ended what to think. Did he treat you well?â€

â€œStan?â€

Angie nodded.

â€œYesâ€¦â€ Meryl didnâ€™t offer any more.

She seems so lost. Angie lightly caressed Merylâ€™s fingers that fidgeted with the edge of the napkin under her drink.

â€œYou really do look like youâ€™ve lived here for eight years,â€ Meryl said. â€œYouâ€™re so dark.â€ She shook her head. â€œWhy donâ€™t we hold off talking about us any further for now? I still have to get used to the idea that youâ€™re sitting across from me, and youâ€™re not some dream I conjured up.â€

â€œWe can wait if you want.â€ Angie hoped she hid her disappointment. She dreaded the answer she might receive to her next question, but she had to plunge ahead. â€œWhat brings you to Key West? Are you vacationing?â€ Please say vacationing. Please.

â€œItâ€™s sort of hush-hush, but Iâ€™m here on assignment for the New York Banner. Iâ€™m searching for the author, Zach England.â€

Angie gripped her water glass more tightly.

â€œYou okay?â€ Meryl asked. â€œYouâ€™re a little pale.â€

â€œStill getting over last night. What makes you think Zach England is in Key West?â€

â€œWe had a tip from a source. My editor thinks itâ€™d be a big coup if I found him. Did you catch my article about England possibly being a woman?â€

â€œYes.â€ Angie took a drink of waterâ€”like that would steady her nerves.

â€œThatâ€™s the biggest reason Iâ€™m here. If England is indeed a woman, Iâ€™d love to be able to interview her and find out how all of this started.â€

Angie looked at Meryl. Her body had a visceral reaction to Merylâ€™s presence, just as it had at Lehigh. Angie longed to kiss those lips and touch the skin that sheâ€™d memorized from their hours of lovemaking. She struggled with her decision one last time before she spoke. â€œI might be able to help you, but you may not like what Iâ€™m about to say.â€

Meryl raised her eyebrows. â€œOh? What is it?â€

â€œThereâ€™s a chance that Zach England lives here. But if itâ€™s who I think it is, heâ€™s definitely a man. If itâ€™s the guy youâ€™re looking for, I mean.â€ God, she couldnâ€™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. â€œDamn. I was hoping I was onto something. Well, Iâ€™m here. I could still interview him. Maybe you could help me since you know the place so well.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think he wants to be found,â€ Angie said. There. At least that wasnâ€™t a lie.

â€œBut we can still try.â€ Merylâ€™s blue-green eyes pleaded with Angieâ€™s.

â€œWe can ask around, but donâ€™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.â€

Meryl stared at her. â€œWeâ€™re still talking about Zach England, right?â€

Angie realized what sheâ€™d just said. â€œRight.â€ She shifted the conversation. â€œI caught your review of his latest novel. Are you sure you still want to track him down?â€

â€œI bet Iâ€™m not the first reviewer to pan one of his books. Have you read the last few? Theyâ€™re not exactly Pulitzer Prize-winning material.â€

Ouch. â€œMaybe heâ€™s lost his passion or something,â€ 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. â€œWhatever the reason, heâ€™d better get it back or move on to something else. Itâ€™s almost like he hates his own character.â€

Angie inwardly winced at the astute observation.

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ Meryl said. â€œIs he your favorite author or something?â€

â€œNo. I was just speculating as to why his writing might have fallen off lately.â€

â€œI see. Youâ€™re a little protective because heâ€™s a Key West resident.â€

â€œNow, wait, I said he may live here, remember? Some have their theoriesâ€”â€

â€œWhat are they? And whatâ€™s his name?â€

Angie sank deeper in her chair. Damn. She hadnâ€™t thought this far ahead.

Meryl stared at her with a puzzled expression. â€œYou do have a name, right?â€

â€œUh, yeah. Hal Morris.â€ Crap. Thatâ€™s the name of a former first baseman for the Cincinnati Reds. Couldnâ€™t she have been a little more original? And where did that come from? Angie watched Merylâ€™s reaction, hoping she didnâ€™t follow major league baseball.

â€œAt least we have a possible name. What are your theories?â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t we start by going down to the docks and asking around? If I were a best-selling author, Iâ€™d own a boat here.â€

â€œItâ€™s probably too late to go out today. How about meeting in front of the bar in the morning?â€

â€œSounds good.â€

Meryl took Angieâ€™s hand in hers. â€œAnd weâ€™ll talk about us. I promise.â€

Feelings of hope and guilt battled within Angie. â€œOkay.â€

Meryl stood to leave. â€œThanks again for offering to help. Iâ€™d be lost on my own down here, I think.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see you in the morning.â€

Angie sat alone at the table. Sage called her over to the bar.

â€œIs she the one?â€ he asked when she drew nearer.

â€œThe oneâ€¦â€

â€œWho still has your heart?â€

â€œHow did you know?â€ Angie poured more water into her glass.

â€œPlease, honey, Iâ€™m a gay man. I know angst. Youâ€™ve displayed enough of it for twenty broken-hearted souls. There had to be a woman. I can see why you fell for her. Sheâ€™s gorgeous.â€ Sage furrowed his brow. â€œThereâ€™s something about her, though. She seems a little sad. And for that matter, so do you. Iâ€™d think you two would be planning the rest of your lives together.â€

â€œItâ€™s not that simple. A lot of not-so-good things happened between us. Then there are the eleven lost years.â€ And now she was compounding the problem with lies.

â€œI guess I can see where youâ€™d have some trouble with that.â€ Sage placed a hand on her shoulder. â€œBut donâ€™t you let her slip away again, Angie. You should see the way you look at her.â€

â€œIâ€™ll try my best.â€ Angieâ€™s cell phone rang. She unclipped it from her shorts. It was Ev. â€œIâ€™ll see you later this week,â€ Angie said to Sage before she took the call outside.

â€œHowâ€™d it go?â€ Ev asked.

â€œI mightâ€™ve done something stupid, Ev.â€

â€œLetâ€™s meet at Joe Joeâ€™s. You can tell me what youâ€™ve done, and Iâ€™ll cast my vote for whether or not it was stupid.â€

â€œDo I really want to hear that?â€

â€œStop being a chickenshit,â€ Ev said.

â€œIâ€™ll be there in ten minutes.

Angie arrived at Joe Joeâ€™s. She waited at a table with her cappuccino for Ev to take a seat across from her.

â€œHow are you feeling this afternoon?â€ Ev asked.

â€œLike shit. As expected.â€

â€œYou look like hell.â€

â€œYou think I donâ€™t know that?â€

â€œDonâ€™t take out your hangover on me. All right then, letâ€™s get right to it. How did it feel seeing Meryl again?â€

Angie sat back in her chair. â€œLike 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.â€

â€œYou told me you did something stupid. What is it?â€

â€œWhen I talked to you on the phone last night, I told you I had suspicions about why sheâ€™s in Key West. I was right. Merylâ€™s here on assignment. Sheâ€™s searching for Zach England, to find out if Englandâ€™s a woman and to get an interview.â€

â€œAnd you told herâ€¦â€

â€œI said we think he might live here, and Iâ€™d take her around.â€

â€œAngie! Why would you say that?â€

â€œI had to come up with something, and I had to steer her away from thinking England was a woman.â€

â€œBy lying?â€

â€œChrist, Ev, I donâ€™t know. Iâ€™m afraid if I told her the truth, sheâ€™d get her story and waltz right out of my life again. You didnâ€™t see how fragile she looked last night. She didnâ€™t want to talk about us, either. And the biggest reason to withhold that Iâ€™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. Itâ€™s a legal, binding agreement between me, my publisher, and my agent. Period.â€

â€œLegal schmegal.â€

â€œOh, thatâ€™s real adult-sounding. Stanley & Schilling could sue Sallyâ€™s and my asses off if it came out who Zach England really is.â€

â€œBut this is the supposed love of your life, and youâ€™re not going to tell her?â€

â€œMaybe she can stay for a while. Weâ€™ll get reacquainted. And thenâ€”â€

Ev threw her hands up in the air. â€œStop! Do you hear yourself? Youâ€™re rationalizing this likeâ€¦ likeâ€¦ I donâ€™t know, pick an analogy. Like a drunk tries to rationalize their next drink.â€

Angie waved off the comment. â€œItâ€™s not that bad. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™m rationalizing.â€

â€œYou know what I mean. Donâ€™t you have enough faith and confidence in yourself to tell her the truth? Maybe she wouldnâ€™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 butâ€¦â€ Evâ€™s voice trailed off. â€œYou really donâ€™t have faith in yourself where sheâ€™s concerned, do you?â€

â€œItâ€™s been eleven long years.â€

â€œDo you think Meryl will like being led on like this and sheâ€™ll miraculously fall into your arms when you admit youâ€™ve been lying to her all along?â€

â€œI think that after we get close it wonâ€™t matter. Ifâ€”â€

Ev stopped her. â€œYouâ€™re really out of practice where women are concerned, arenâ€™t you, sweetie?â€ Her tone softened. â€œBecause you sure as hell sound like a man right now.â€

â€œHow about some support here?â€

â€œOkay, how about this. Why donâ€™t you talk to Sally?â€

â€œI thought about that, but, please. Thatâ€™s the last thing I want to do. Miss Sympathetic would tell me to keep as far away from Meryl as possible. And I canâ€™t do that.â€

â€œThen I donâ€™t know what to tell you to do.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not much help.â€

â€œHey, if you didnâ€™t want to hear the truth, why did you agree to meet with me? Iâ€™m your best friend, not your mother. I can give you my advice, and in this case, itâ€™d be to come clean. And if you ask me again tomorrow, Iâ€™ll tell you the same thing.â€ Evâ€™s expression darkened.

â€œQuit doing that voodoo shit on me.â€ Angie shifted in her chair, folding her arms in front of her.

â€œItâ€™s not voodoo. If you want to call it anything, at least come up with something Native American. Like â€˜medicine woman.â€™â€

â€œâ€˜Medicine womanâ€™ 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.â€

Ev mimicked Angie by crossing her arms.

Angie held up her hand. â€œCut me some slack here. Itâ€™s only the second day that Merylâ€™s back in my lifeâ€”if we can call it that. Give me a little time.â€

â€œHow do you plan on showing her around to find Zach England?â€ Ev emphasized the name.

â€œWeâ€™re meeting at the docks in the morning. Iâ€™m taking her out on my boat.â€

â€œTo check to see if thereâ€™s a rich-looking author floating around on his yacht?â€

Angie squirmed in her seat.

Ev focused on something past Angieâ€™s shoulder.

â€œPlease donâ€™t judge me on this,â€ Angie said.

Ev sighed and tapped the table with her long fingernails. She shifted forward in her chair. â€œIâ€™m telling you that this can lead to nothing but troubleâ€”for her and for you. Mark my words.â€

Angie tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked cough. â€œIs this another medicine woman foreshadowing?â€

Ev stood up. â€œNo, itâ€™s Ev Durham worrying that her best friend will be hurt, along with the woman she loves. And I donâ€™t know if you or she will recover this time.â€ She took her cup to the trash and tossed it away. â€œCall me. I hope youâ€™ll have come to your senses by the time we talk again.â€

Angie watched as Ev pushed through the door of the coffee shop. She tried to think of something she couldâ€™ve said to deflect Evâ€™s words. She took a drink of her cappuccino and grimaced. It had grown cold. She couldnâ€™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. Sheâ€™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.

â€œHey, Meryl,â€ Angie said through the open, passenger-side window. â€œHop in, and Iâ€™ll drive us over to the docks.â€

Meryl put on her sunglasses, got in, and buckled her seatbelt. â€œThis car suits you.â€

Angie grinned while shifting into first. â€œThe new models are nice, but thereâ€™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 donâ€™t drive much with the island being as small as it is. I try to run to keep in shape.â€

Meryl stared at Angieâ€™s toned thighs. â€œI can definitely tell you run.â€

Angie had on a pair of Cleveland Browns shorts, and her tan legs were very visible. Her muscles tightened with Merylâ€™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. â€œIâ€™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,â€ she said as she got out of the car.

Meryl exited the VW and watched Angieâ€™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 sheâ€™d meet. She had no idea, however, what theyâ€™d discuss. It most certainly wouldnâ€™t be Zach England.

â€œHerb! How are you?â€

Herb Schoenberg was a thick, stubby man whoâ€™d been fishing off Key West for thirty years. He reminded her of Popeyeâ€”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.

â€œCantinnini. Long time no see,â€ he said as he continued to coil rope from his hand to the crook of his elbow.

â€œHowâ€™s fishing?â€ 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.

â€œAh, so-so,â€ Herb answered with his Minnesota accent. â€œIt doesnâ€™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 donâ€™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 hooksâ€¦â€

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 excursionâ€”â€œhell, the women were better at doing stuff than they were!â€â€”and then disengaged from the conversation.

â€œGood talking to you, Herb.â€

â€œIsnâ€™t it about time you joined me out there? You used to like to do that from time to time.â€

â€œIâ€™ll let you know,â€ Angie said as she started to walk away.

His voice stopped her. â€œNice. Very nice.â€

Angie turned and saw Meryl approaching. â€œYou got that right,â€ Angie said under her breath.

Herb laughed. â€œTake it easy, Angie.â€

â€œYou too.â€ Angie hurried toward Meryl to prevent her from going any farther.

â€œAny luck?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œI 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.â€

â€œYou have a boat here?â€

â€œYes.â€

They walked toward Angieâ€™s boat.

â€œHere she is.â€ They stopped in front of The Pride of Youngstown.

â€œI wondered if it was yours because of the name.â€ Meryl leaned down and ran her fingers over the polished wood.

â€œItâ€™s a 1967 Chrisâ€”â€

â€œChris-Craft Constellation. Yes, I know.â€ Meryl had a distant expression. â€œMy father had one just like it. We used to take it out on Lake Erie.â€

Angieâ€™s pride immediately deflated.

Meryl touched her arm. â€œItâ€™s a beautiful boat. Donâ€™t let the fact that my father had one ruin it for you.â€

Angie opted not to ask Meryl about her father. No matter. Meryl had more to say on the topic.

â€œI havenâ€™t spoken to him for several months. Heâ€™s dying.â€

Angie searched for a clue to Merylâ€™s feelings about that news, but came up empty. â€œIâ€™m sorry, Meryl.â€

â€œI wish I could say the same.â€

â€œWant to see below before we take her out?â€ Angie asked.

Meryl gave her a wisp of a smile. â€œOkay.â€

Angie raised the hinged rail, hopped onto the deck, and helped Meryl aboard before closing the rail.

â€œI know youâ€™ve been on one of these, but maybeâ€¦â€ Angie fumbled with the words, worried she sounded too proud of her boat.

â€œI want to see it, Ange.â€

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 tablesâ€”one of Hemingwayâ€™s home, the other, a rendering of the Key West lighthouse.

â€œThis is you, too,â€ Meryl said.

Angie motioned to the Indians and Browns memorabilia. â€œCanâ€™t quite get away from home.â€ She pointed out the galley on the right and the head on the left and stepped down into the next compartment. â€œTwo berths here.â€ She walked to the end of the room and pointed forward. â€œAnd a large V-berth here in the bow.â€

â€œVery nice,â€ Meryl said. â€œLots of space.â€

â€œReady to take her out?â€

â€œAbsolutely.â€

They went back on deck. Angie pointed to the bimini top that shaded the pilot area and part of the deck. â€œCan you handle the sun and wind? I like to take the top off in good weather.â€

â€œI think Iâ€™ll be okay with that.â€

â€œI can always put it back, so let me know.â€ 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 captainâ€™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 captainâ€™s chair with her fingertips brushing Angieâ€™s shoulders. As they got farther out, she leaned down close to Angieâ€™s ear.

â€œIt really is a beautiful boat, Ange.â€

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 Angieâ€™s body. The sunlight hit Merylâ€™s sunglasses at an angle that allowed Angie to make out where she was gazingâ€”which was directly at Angie. Angie returned to her task of steering clear of any incoming boats. She began her sweep around the island.

â€œWhatâ€™s the name of Morrisâ€™s boat?â€ Meryl asked, craning her neck.

â€œThe Gulf Coast Cruiser. I think thatâ€™s what Herb said.â€

They made a circuit along the shore, slowing with each sighting of any boat that appeared to be a forty-footer. They of course werenâ€™t getting anywhere and had almost completed a full trip around Key West.

â€œWhat about that one there?â€ Meryl asked while cupping her hand over her sunglasses.

â€œI donâ€™t know. Letâ€™s try it out.â€

They drew closer. Angie recognized the woman behind the shipâ€™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.

â€œHi, Felicia,â€ Angie shouted and waved. â€œYour dad on board? Or are you out on your own?â€

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. â€œMy dadâ€™s out of town. I thought like, what the hell? Itâ€™s a great day to be on the water. How are you?â€

Angie slowed the engines to pull alongside Feliciaâ€™s boat. â€œDoing well. You?â€

Felicia tossed her long dark hair off her shoulders.

Angie felt Meryl come up behind her. â€œArenâ€™t you going to introduce us?â€

â€œSure. Meryl, this is Felicia.â€

â€œAnd Iâ€™m Donna,â€ 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 didnâ€™t miss the flexing of her biceps with the move.

â€œHi, Donna. Very nice to meet you. Iâ€™m Meryl.â€

Angie noticed Merylâ€™s cutting tone. Jealous? Merylâ€™s jealous? Angie stood up a little straighter with the knowledge.

â€œHave you seen Hal Morrisâ€™s boat while youâ€™ve been out?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œWho?â€ Felicia creased her brow, as if Meryl had asked something in a foreign language. â€œIâ€™ve never heard of him.â€

Angie cut in. â€œThat doesnâ€™t surprise me. I heard he keeps to himself.â€

Felicia shrugged her shoulders and looked bored with the turn in conversation, apparently disappointed she hadnâ€™t been able to strut her stuff a little longer before Donna popped up on deck.

â€œNice meeting you, Donna,â€ 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 sheâ€™d lived in Key West for twenty-one years, and come to think of it, shouldnâ€™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.

â€œWhat?â€ Angie asked.

â€œYou sure are popular in these parts.â€ Meryl took off her sunglasses. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

Angie chuckled. â€œFeliciaâ€™s a twenty-three-year-old kid with an unrequited crush. Nothing more.â€

â€œYou might want to tell that to her boobs. She had them pointed at you the entire time she was talking.â€

â€œAre we jealous?â€ Angie glanced over at Meryl who had taken a seat in one of the other chairs on deck. Angie noticed her pensive expression.

â€œThatâ€™s a good question.â€ Meryl waved her hand to encompass the water around them. â€œI guess Mr. Morris isnâ€™t out on his boat. Weâ€™re about to end up right where we started.â€

Still contemplating Merylâ€™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.

â€œYou seem to be at home on a boat,â€ Angie said while she helped Meryl step onto the dock.

â€œAngie, I donâ€™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.â€

Angie hopped onto the dock. â€œI choose to refer to her as a boat.â€

â€œKeep telling yourself that.â€

Angie laughed. â€œAnything to make myself feel better.â€

â€œI think Iâ€™ll do some research on Hal Morris online on my laptop when I get back to the hotel,â€ Meryl said as they walked to Angieâ€™s car. â€œThere has to be something on him, even if there are a lot of Hal Morrises out there. Iâ€™m hoping one might show up in Key West.â€

â€œSounds like a good idea.â€ Angie kept a blank expression.

They pulled up to Merylâ€™s hotel a little before noon.

â€œCan I treat you to lunch?â€ Angie asked.

â€œNo. Iâ€™d better get going on this research stuff.â€ Meryl opened the car door.

Angie touched her arm. â€œMeryl, we really do need to talk.â€

Meryl stopped. â€œDinner. How about dinner at your place?â€

â€œTonight?â€

â€œIf I recall, you make a mean spaghetti and meatballs with some drop-dead homemade tomato sauce.â€

â€œItâ€™s one Italian dish I canâ€™t screw up.â€

â€œI can get to your place from here.â€

â€œLet me give you my cell number just in case.â€

â€œGood idea. Iâ€™ll give you mine, too.â€

They punched one anotherâ€™s number into their phones.

â€œHow about seven?â€ Meryl said.

â€œSevenâ€™s perfect. Thatâ€™ll give me time to go grocery shopping and then allow the sauce to cook down.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see you then.â€

Angie watched her walk away. â€œDinner. Iâ€™m having dinner tonight with Meryl McClain at my place.â€ 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 sheâ€™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.

â€œNot bad for thirty-two.â€

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 sheâ€™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. Sheâ€™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. Sheâ€™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 sheâ€™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 doorâ€”and gripped the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white.

Angieâ€™s dumbstruck expression was all Meryl needed to see to know sheâ€™d been successful with her appearance.

â€œI stopped on the way over and bought us some wine. I hope thatâ€™s okay,â€ Meryl said.

Angieâ€™s mouth hung agape.

â€œAnge? Wine?â€ Meryl waved the bottle in front of Angie. â€œAnd may I come in?â€

â€œUh yeah. Sorry.â€ Angie stepped aside to allow Meryl to enter. â€œIâ€™ll take the wine.â€

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 Angieâ€™s actions. â€œI was hoping weâ€™d have a glass of that now, if thatâ€™s all right with you.â€

Angie jumped at the sound of Merylâ€™s voice.

Meryl crossed her arms and propped her shoulder against the arched entryway that led into the kitchen. She smiled. â€œEverything okay?â€

â€œYes.â€ 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. â€œShit.â€

Meryl moved behind her.

â€œHere. Why donâ€™t you let me do that?â€ Meryl pressed against Angie and placed her hand on top of hers to take the corkscrew. Meryl trembled. The feel of Angieâ€™s body against hers was intoxicating. â€œYou kind of have to let go for me to do this.â€

Angie released her hold on the corkscrew and stepped away. â€œIâ€™ll start the rigatoni.â€

Meryl smiled as she twisted the foil off the bottle. â€œYou remembered.â€

â€œYeah, I did.â€

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.

â€œWhy donâ€™t we take our wine into the living room while the water boils?â€ Meryl said.

She offered a glass to Angie, and they sat on the couch.

Angie took a sip. â€œNice. Iâ€™m usually not a wine drinker, but this is nice.â€

â€œItâ€™s a California zinfandel I discovered on a trip to Modesto. I was pleased that Peteâ€™s Liquor and Bait Store down the road carried it.â€ Meryl tried to keep a straight face.

Angie chuckled. â€œOld Pete would surprise you. Heâ€™s quite the wine connoisseur.â€

Meryl swirled the wine in her glass. â€œI did an Internet search for Hal Morris and didnâ€™t have any luck. Unless you want to count one Hal Morris, a former first baseman for the Cincinnati Reds.â€ Meryl stared at the ceiling and tapped her forehead with her finger, racking her brain for his stats. â€œHe was a member of their 1990 World Series Championship team and retired with a .304 batting average. I could tell you anything youâ€™d want to know about him.â€

Angie took a big gulp of wine.

â€œGosh, you really do like it.â€ Meryl swirled hers again and took another drink. â€œI think Iâ€™ll nose about town tomorrow. Do you have anything going on, or can you take me around?â€

â€œI can do that.â€

Angie carried her wineglass to the dining room table. â€œIâ€™ll check on the water and get the rigatoni going. Why donâ€™t you come on into the dining room? It wonâ€™t be long.â€

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. â€œA master at work.â€

Angie smiled. â€œI wouldnâ€™t go that far. Want to help bring things to the table while the pasta boils?â€

Meryl picked up the bowl of meatballs and took it to the table.

â€œThis smells wonderful. It brings back memories, too.â€

Angie set the sauce next to the meatballs. â€œThe third night you stayed over at the house.â€

Meryl blushed. â€œI remember that night.â€

â€œIf I recall, we were starved after making love for hours,â€ Angie said as she took her seat across from Meryl. â€œYou didnâ€™t believe I could cook.â€

â€œAnd to prove it, you threw on your robe, marched into the kitchen, and whipped up your rigatoni and meatballs.â€

â€œI also remember you asking me, â€˜Whereâ€™s the jar of Ragu?â€™ I about died.â€

Meryl giggled. â€œI believe your exact words were, â€˜Never ask an Italian for Ragu sauce.â€™â€

â€œWe consider it an insult. Let me check on the rigatoni again. I hate overdone pasta.â€

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.

â€œLike my huge backyard?â€ Angie asked when she returned to the table with the pasta.

Meryl joined her. â€œI love the hammock touch. I said it beforeâ€”youâ€™ve adapted well to the Key West lifestyle.â€

â€œItâ€™s easy to do, believe me.â€ Angie pointed to the pasta. â€œEat.â€

Meryl loaded her plate up with food. She took her first bite.

â€œOhâ€¦ myâ€¦ God, Angie. This is out of this world.â€ She waved her fork in the air. â€œYou most certainly havenâ€™t lost your touch.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad you like it.â€ Angie took a bite. â€œMaybe I could have let the pasta go a little longer, though.â€

â€œYouâ€™re crazy.â€ Meryl continued to shovel food into her mouth. â€œI most certainly wonâ€™t be ladylike eating this, either.â€

The only words spoken for the next several minutes were, â€œCan you pass the rigatoni?â€ or â€œMay I have more bread, please?â€

They finished, and Angie started to clear the table. Meryl hopped up before she had a chance. â€œIâ€™ll take care of this.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t argue.â€ Angie poured another glass of wine and walked over to the stereo. â€œHow about some music?â€

â€œIâ€™d love it,â€ Meryl said as she rinsed off their plates.

â€œAnyone in particular?â€ Angieâ€™s raised voice drifted into the kitchen.

â€œI think you remember what kind of music I like.â€ Meryl placed the dishes in the dishwasher. â€œSoap?â€

â€œUnder the sink.â€

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.

â€œNice choice. I love her music.â€ Meryl sat down next to Angie on the couch.

They faced straight ahead and sipped their wine.

Angie broke the silence.

â€œYou may not be ready yet, Meryl, and you said we could put it off. But I canâ€™t help itâ€”â€

â€œYou want to talk about the past.â€ Meryl stared into her wine. â€œTo talk about me, I have to talk about you. I lost track of you after myâ€¦â€ She cleared her throat. â€œAfter my divorce.â€

She ventured a glance over at Angie and saw the hurt there. Meryl stood up, taking her wine with her to the mantle.

â€œYou ever use the fireplace? I guess you would in the winter.â€ Meryl gathered her courage before turning around. â€œIâ€™m sure it seems Iâ€™m avoiding this part of my past. But you deserve the truth. It was all arranged by my father. I didnâ€™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 youâ€¦ about us, he lost it. Iâ€™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.â€

â€œI suspected as much.â€

â€œThere was more to it. I also had to date Stan Alberson. I was afraid for you. You were there on scholarship and youâ€¦â€ Merylâ€™s voice trailed off.

â€œDidnâ€™t have money like you.â€ Angie finished Merylâ€™s sentence.

â€œI went along with what he wanted for me like always. I dated Stan, and I married him.â€ Meryl almost choked on the words. â€œI 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.â€ Tears rolled down her cheeks. â€œOh, 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.â€

Angie kept her head down, turning the glass of wine repeatedly in her hands.

â€œAt the church the day of my weddingâ€¦â€ Meryl stopped and thought back. â€œA part of me died when I saw you standing by your car.â€ She relived the moment from eleven years ago in Mount Lebanon. â€œI didnâ€™t love him, Angie,â€ she whispered. â€œHe 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.â€ She gave a harsh laugh. â€œI 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 didnâ€™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.â€ Meryl smiled. â€œShe asked if you were the reason I couldnâ€™t stay married to Stan.â€

Angie looked up.

â€œI told her I was a lesbian, that being married to Stan for two years only reinforced those feelings and made them that much stronger.â€

Meryl returned to the couch and sat down. She brushed her fingertips against Angieâ€™s hand as she continued. â€œI told her I was in love with you and that would never change.â€

â€œOh, Meryl.â€

â€œThe 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 didnâ€™t go by that I didnâ€™t think about you. I served time those two years, punishment for making the biggest mistake of my life. I didnâ€™t stand up to my father when it counted the most.â€ She chose her next words with care. â€œWhen I began my search for you, my mother even helped, believe it or not. She said she only wanted me to be happy. We didnâ€™t tell my father, although he might have suspected. He never wanted to believe his daughter was a lesbian, and he certainly didnâ€™t want to believe I was still in love with you.â€

Meryl stared at Angie to convey her conviction. â€œI searched for you for months, but then accepted Iâ€™d lost you. Thatâ€™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 youâ€™d written those three novels. I read them, if only to feel connected to you through your writing.â€

Angie blushed. â€œI still canâ€™t believe you liked them.â€

â€œI loved every word. What about you? And your family? Do theyâ€”â€

â€œNo,â€ Angie said sharply. â€œSorry. I didnâ€™t mean to snap.â€

â€œI understand.â€

â€œIt still hurts, even after almost fifteen years. Jan and I are close. Other than that, Iâ€™ve only shared a couple of phone calls with my father. He chose to go along with my motherâ€™s wishes.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Ange.â€ Meryl held Angieâ€™s hand a little tighter.

â€œI 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.â€

â€œHave you published anything else? Please tell me you havenâ€™t given up on writing.â€

â€œUhâ€¦ uhâ€¦ no.â€

â€œSomething secretive youâ€™re working on?â€

The color drained from Angieâ€™s face.

â€œIâ€™m sorry. Did I upset you? If you donâ€™t want toâ€”â€

â€œNo no. Itâ€™s not that. I published the three books. By then, Iâ€™d moved here.â€

Meryl ran her fingers through Angieâ€™s bangs. â€œAnd adopted the Hemingway starving author look?â€

Angie barely smiled.

â€œYou sure I havenâ€™t upset you?â€

â€œNot at all.â€

â€œAre you working on anything now?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œLet me guess. You donâ€™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?â€

â€œPretty close.â€

â€œOkay. Letâ€™s talk about the rest of your time. Your bar seems to do well. That boat, as you call it, isnâ€™t cheap. And I imagine this house isnâ€™t either.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. The Cozy Conch does a very nice business and brings in a lot of money.â€

Meryl feared the answer to her next question. â€œAnyone in your life now? The woman at the bar seemed to be still interested.â€

â€œPam and I lasted a little over two years, but weâ€™re not together. Thereâ€™s no one. What about you?â€

â€œNo. I didnâ€™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 youâ€™d tried to contact me.â€

â€œI couldnâ€™t. I lost so much of myself when I saw you on those steps at the church.â€ Angieâ€™s voice shook.

Meryl touched Angieâ€™s cheek. â€œIâ€™m so, so sorry.â€

The CD player clicked to the soundtrack to Somewhere in Time.

Meryl smiled. â€œI remember this well.â€

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.

â€œHow do you feel about us now?â€

Angie pulled Meryl closer. â€œThe 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.â€

â€œWaiting for someone?â€ Meryl held her breath, hoping and praying for the words she wanted to hear.

â€œYes.â€ Angie trailed her fingertips along Merylâ€™s cheek. â€œBut sheâ€™s here now.â€

Angie pressed her mouth against Merylâ€™s. It was a tentative kiss at first, one that spoke of their years apart. But then Meryl parted Angieâ€™s lips with her tongue. She drew even closer and put her fingers to the back of Angieâ€™s neck.

The kiss forged a bridge to the present from the years theyâ€™d lost between them. It was everything Meryl experienced in the nights when Angie haunted her dreams. The taste, Angieâ€™s body against hers, her fingers entwined in Angieâ€™s thick, dark hairâ€”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 Merylâ€™s neck to the hollow of her

throat. Meryl trembled, and her knees weakened.

â€œAnge, Iâ€™ve missed youâ€¦ Iâ€™ve missed youâ€¦ Iâ€™ve missed you.â€

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.

â€œI want to make love to you,â€ Angie whispered as she drew nearer. She brought her fingers to the top button of Merylâ€™s blouse. â€œMay I?â€

Meryl could only nod.

Angie slowly undid each button and pulled the blouse below Merylâ€™s shoulders. Meryl tugged the sleeves down to free herself from the garment.

Angie ran her fingertips across Merylâ€™s shoulders, dipped them to her stomach and then brushed Merylâ€™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 Angieâ€™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 Angieâ€™s kisses that started at her neck and descended to her breasts. Relishing Angieâ€™s touch, she willingly opened herself up to love again. She pushed her hips against Angieâ€™s hand, soaring with each gentle caress of Angieâ€™s fingers. Meryl cried out when Angieâ€™s touch took her to that place sheâ€™d thought was lost to her.

Angie collapsed on top of Meryl. Meryl draped one arm over Angieâ€™s back and the other across her own face. Angie slid beside her.

Merylâ€™s shoulders shook with sobs.

â€œMeryl? Did I do something wrong?â€ Angie pulled Merylâ€™s arm away from her face. â€œOh, baby. Let me hold you.â€ Angie took Meryl into her arms. â€œBaby, please donâ€™t cry.â€

Meryl pushed into her shoulder. Angie stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

â€œItâ€™s never been like this with anyone else,â€ Meryl said. â€œNever. Only with you.â€

â€œI feel the same. Iâ€™ve been lost without you these past years.â€

â€œDo you remember the first time we made love?â€

â€œHow could I forget? I wanted to touch you so many times since Iâ€™d met you, and when I did that night, it was everything I dreamed it would be.â€

â€œYou have my heart, Ange. You always have.â€ Meryl looked up at Angie to find her wiping her eyes.

â€œI saved my heart for you,â€ 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 loveâ€™s apparition, she awoke lost and alone. The lips left light kisses on Angieâ€™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 â€œwake up, my loveâ€ drifted into Angieâ€™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.

â€œLet me love you,â€ Meryl said, moving her lips higher.

Angie gripped the sheets beside her as the pleasure mounted. Meryl entwined her fingers with Angieâ€™s; Angie grabbed hold as if they were a lifeline.

Angie flew upward to a higher place, a place sheâ€™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 Merylâ€™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 Merylâ€™s hands. â€œLie next to me.â€

They faced each other.

Meryl caressed Angieâ€™s cheek and then touched her lips to Angieâ€™s for a tender kiss. Angie tasted the remnants of their lovemaking.

â€œHey,â€ Angie said.

â€œHey.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t know how many nights weâ€™ve made love in my dreams. But it never compared to that.â€

Merylâ€™s lips curled into a smile. â€œReally?â€

Angie nodded and brushed the back of her hand against Merylâ€™s cheek. â€œYeah, really. Will you hold me?â€

â€œAlways.â€ Meryl moved so she was lying on the pillow. She pulled Angie close to rest her head on Merylâ€™s chest.

Angie fell asleep with the sound of Merylâ€™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. Sheâ€™d slipped out of bed while Angie lay sleeping and had taken one of Angieâ€™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, â€œItâ€™s More Fun Under the Sunâ€ scrawled across the chest.

Sheâ€™d awakened ravenous and watched Angie sleep for several minutes, then sheâ€™d decided to make breakfast. Sheâ€™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.

â€œIf youâ€™re dressed like that, you can bring breakfast to me anytime.â€

Angieâ€™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. â€œI thought you could use some sustenance after last night,â€ Meryl said.

Angie took the tray, and Meryl sat down cross-legged in front of her.

â€œYou donâ€™t mind if I share your tray, do you?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œNot at all.â€ Angie took a bite of her omelet. â€œYum,â€ she said while holding up her fork.

â€œYou like it?â€

â€œItâ€™s perfect.â€

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.

â€œThis does feel right, doesnâ€™t it?â€ Angie asked, as if reading her mind.

â€œYes. It does.â€

They shared a smile before resuming eating.

â€œWhatâ€™s the next plan of action for finding Hal Morris?â€ Meryl asked.

Angie coughed on her toast. She reached for her juice and drained the glass.

â€œDo you need me to get you some more juice?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œNo. This was enough. My toast just went down the wrong pipe.â€ Angie wiped her mouth with her napkin. â€œUh, I hadnâ€™t thought about it.â€

â€œI already searched your white pages. Hal Morris isnâ€™t listed. But maybe we can ask around town.â€

â€œSure.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t sound sure. If itâ€™s a problem taking me aroundâ€¦ I mean, you have a bar to run andâ€”â€

â€œNo. I have the time.â€ Angie finished the last of her omelet.

â€œIf you donâ€™t mind, Iâ€™ll take a shower and go back to my hotel.â€

â€œYou go ahead. Iâ€™ll take care of the dishes.â€

Meryl walked toward the bathroom.

â€œTowels and washcloths are on your left there in the closet.â€

â€œThanks.â€

* * *

What? You thought sheâ€™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. â€œMaybe if I show her around for the rest of the week, sheâ€™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. Sheâ€™s not going to find him anyway.â€

Angie put the last fork in the dishwasher. â€œMy God, listen to me. Iâ€™m delusional and Iâ€™m talking to household furnishings.â€

â€œDid you say something?â€

Angie swiveled around.

Meryl stood in the entryway between the kitchen and dining room. She was wearing Angieâ€™s robe, which was about a size too small.

â€œAnge? Did you say something?â€ Meryl repeated. She tilted her head to the side and twisted the ends of her hair with the towel.

â€œI was thinking out loud. Why donâ€™t you go to your hotel and change clothes? Iâ€™ll take a shower and pick you up in, what, an hour or so?â€

â€œItâ€™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.â€ Meryl walked over to Angie and gave her a soulful kiss. â€œMmm. I could do that forever. Last night was incredible, by the way, although I wouldnâ€™t think I had to tell you that.â€

â€œOh, I donâ€™t know. Itâ€™s still nice to hear.â€

â€œI can say it as many times as you like.â€ Meryl kissed her again. â€œIâ€™ll dress and walk back to the hotel while youâ€™re getting ready.â€

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.

â€œHi, Sally.â€

â€œDonâ€™t sound so thrilled to hear from me.â€ Sally crunched down on something.

â€œPlease donâ€™t let me get in the way of your snack.â€

â€œHey, I have to take what I can get anytime I can. Today it happens to be Fritos.â€ Another loud crunch. â€œI guess you figured out why Iâ€™m calling.â€

â€œWhat does S & S want now?â€

â€œA simple update on where you are on your ninth Derek Barker installment.â€

â€œThis week isnâ€™t a good one for me to write.â€

â€œTo write, period? Or just the Barker book?â€

Angie caught the edge to Sallyâ€™s voice.

â€œI havenâ€™t written anything the past couple of days, but Iâ€™ll start writing Barker again next week. Iâ€™ve never been late on a deadline, and I wonâ€™t start now.â€

â€œCan you tell me whatâ€™s going on thatâ€™s more important than writing?â€

â€œNo.â€

Another loud crunch assaulted Angieâ€™s eardrum.

â€œI guess I have to trust you on this,â€ Sally said.

â€œThank you.â€

â€œKeep me posted where youâ€™re at next week.â€

â€œWill do.â€

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.

â€œWhat are you thinking about?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œSometimes when I come here, I find myself thinking about home.â€

A look of sympathy crossed Merylâ€™s face.

â€œYou said youâ€™re still close to Jan, though, right?â€

â€œThank goodness. In fact, she called recently and asked when she can come to visit.â€

â€œIâ€™m not keeping her from coming, am I?â€

â€œNot at all. Iâ€™ve been working on my writing, and I told her I had a deadâ€”â€ Angie stopped in mid-sentence.

â€œYes? Youâ€™re with a publisher then?â€

â€œYeah.â€ Angie fumbled with the cloth napkin in her lap.

â€œMay I ask who?â€

Angie blurted out the name of the lesbian publishing house that had published her three books.

â€œThatâ€™s who you were with previously, right?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll do well there again. Youâ€™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 canâ€™t wait to read this next one. Is it a mystery?â€

â€œNo. More of a romance this time.â€

â€œNow I really want to read it,â€ Meryl said with a smile.

The waiter served their food.

â€œWhat brought you to Key West?â€ Meryl asked while squirting a lemon wedge onto her fish.

â€œFor one thing, itâ€™s 1200 miles away from my family.â€

â€œAh, okay.â€

â€œI also love it because itâ€™s so gay-friendly here, and itâ€™s a good place to hone my writing. As you said, Iâ€™ve adopted the brooding writer in Key West thing.â€

â€œDonâ€™t hold that comment against me. I was teasing,â€ Meryl said. â€œSort of.â€

â€œItâ€™s true.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve cultivated the perfect writer look in your years here.â€ Merylâ€™s tone was light. â€œSo, youâ€™ve been writing all along, but up until now, youâ€™ve had no luck getting published, other than those three mystery novels, right?â€

â€œRight. I was working on manuscripts, but just recently managed to get this one accepted for publication.â€ And the lies kept slipping off her tongue like melted butter.

â€œAs long as youâ€™re writing, then this is the place for you.â€

â€œAnd you?â€

Meryl paused in bringing her fork to her mouth. â€œWhat about me?â€

â€œHowâ€™s your relationship with your dad?â€

Merylâ€™s face turned ashen-white. She dropped her fork onto her plate.

Angie grabbed her hand. â€œForgive me for bringing it up, Meryl.â€

â€œNo. Itâ€™s all right.â€

â€œIf you donâ€™t want to talkâ€”â€

Meryl squeezed her hand. â€œMy fatherâ€™s dying of pancreatic cancer. I havenâ€™t seen or talked to him in several months. Not too long after I found out he was sick.â€

â€œIs this about the marriage?â€

â€œIt goes deeper than that. Iâ€™ll tell you sometime, Angie, just not right now.â€

Angie held her hand a little tighter. â€œIn your time.â€ She noticed the boats tied at the nearby docks. â€œHey, want to hear about my early exploits at piloting a boat? It wasnâ€™t pretty. Letâ€™s just say the other captains around here gave me a wide berth until Iâ€™d gotten a better handle on it.â€

Meryl laughed. â€œI can just picture you out there as a novice. You didnâ€™t wear one of those silly captainâ€™s hats did you?â€

â€œNow that you mention itâ€¦â€

Chapter 19

The rest of the week flew by. They searched for Zach Englandâ€™s nonexistent alter ego during the dayâ€”either on land or on Angieâ€™s boat. Angie was so lost in Meryl that sheâ€™d almost convinced herself there really was a Hal Morris.

On Friday, Angie took Meryl out again on The Pride of Youngstown.

â€œWe can make another pass to the south,â€ 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 Angieâ€™s ear. â€œItâ€™s all right. Weâ€™re not going to find him.â€

Angie tried to hide her surprise. â€œMeryl, donâ€™t give up.â€

â€œNo. You thought it might be Hal Morris, but Iâ€™m convinced itâ€™s not him. Either that or the people in this town are protecting him. Which is fine. Iâ€™m sure thatâ€™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 Iâ€™ve hit a dead end.â€

Dozens of feelings bombarded Angie at hearing those words, and relief was one of them. Immense relief. â€œIâ€™m sorry I couldnâ€™t have been of more help,â€ she said.

â€œItâ€™s okay. Itâ€™s not your fault.â€

â€œWould you like to stay out here tonight?â€ Angie asked.

â€œWe could do that?â€ Merylâ€™s face lit up.

â€œYeah.â€ Angie shifted the boat down to idle and shut off the engines. â€œHow about we anchor here for the evening?â€

â€œSounds perfect.â€

Angie dropped the anchors. Meryl stepped out from under the bimini top to join her.

â€œWhat a beautiful sunset.â€ Meryl stared out over the water.

Angie marveled as Merylâ€™s face glowed with the last golden rays of the late afternoon sun. â€œWhat a beautiful woman.â€

Meryl turned to her. â€œHmm?â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t we go below?â€

They stepped downstairs.

â€œWould you like a drink?â€ Angie asked.

â€œWhat do you have?â€ Meryl stood behind Angie at the bar, perusing the array of liquor. â€œChivas on the rocks?â€

â€œYou got it.â€

Angie dropped some ice in a tumbler and poured the Scotch into the glass. She handed it to Meryl.

â€œThanks.â€ Meryl took a sip and peered at Angie over her glass. â€œIf you love me, youâ€™ll let me cut your hair.â€

â€œHuh?â€

â€œYouâ€™re not afraid to let a femme cut your hair, are you?â€

â€œWell, no, itâ€™s thatâ€”â€

â€œItâ€™s that youâ€™re as particular now who you deem worthy to cut your hair as you were when we were at Lehigh. I take it you donâ€™t trust me?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t say that.â€

â€œThen where are your scissors and comb? Iâ€™m certain you have a comb on your person as we speak.â€ Meryl set her drink down. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. â€œFork it over.â€

Angie sighed. She took her small comb from the side pocket of her cargo shorts and handed it to Meryl.

â€œNow all we need are a pair of scissors.â€ Meryl went to the galley counter and rifled through the drawers.

Angie knew when she was beat. â€œThe top drawer on the left.â€

Meryl pulled out a large pair of scissors. â€œPerfect.â€ She reopened a few drawers. â€œTowel?â€

â€œBath towels are stowed in the locker in the hall.â€

â€œOoh, how nautical. Iâ€™ll let you go first so you can douse your head in the sink.â€

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 Angieâ€™s hand. â€œCome on. Letâ€™s do this on the deck where we can clean up the hair more easily.â€

â€œJesus, Meryl, how much are you cutting?â€

â€œStop being a baby.â€

Meryl pointed to one of the chairs. â€œSit.â€

â€œYes, maâ€™am.â€ Angie dropped into the vinyl seat.

Meryl pulled the towel from Angieâ€™s head and draped it around her shoulders. â€œHow much should I cut?â€

Angie glanced up at Meryl and noticed her playful grin. â€œYouâ€™re having way too much fun with this.â€

â€œYes, I am.â€ She leaned over and Angie could see the swell of her breasts in the V-opening of her tank top. â€œBut the prospect of cutting your hair is incredibly sexy.â€

Angie tingled at Merylâ€™s words. â€œAbout an inch.â€ She held the wet bangs off her forehead. â€œMake sure to cut these back.â€

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.

â€œWhat?â€ Meryl asked.

â€œYouâ€™re as intense as an artist painting a masterpiece.â€

Meryl waved the scissors in front of Angie. â€œHave you forgotten I still have these?â€

Angie held up her hand in defense. â€œI was only joking.â€

Meryl started cutting again. A few more minutes passed. Meryl did one more snip with a flourish. â€œVoilÃ¡!â€

Angie tried to judge the length in the back. It felt right.

â€œI know, I know,â€ Meryl said as she gathered the fallen hair and tossed it into the water. â€œYou want a mirror.â€

Angie doffed the towel, jumped up, and sprinted down the stairs. Merylâ€™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. â€œNot bad, not bad at all.â€

Meryl came in beside her and put her arm around her shoulder. â€œSo?â€

â€œYou can now be my official hairdresser.â€

Meryl ruffled what Angie had just smoothed down.

â€œHey!â€ Angie said in mock anger. She smoothed it back into place.

â€œOh, please!â€ Meryl ruffled her hair again.

Angie took hold of Merylâ€™s hand and pulled her to her body. â€œYou like it messed up, do you?â€

Meryl brought her mouth to Angieâ€™s and locked her in a long, intense kiss. â€œI think you need to get a shower to get rid of this hair.â€ She plucked a wet strand from Angieâ€™s shoulder and held it up.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you go into the sleeping berth?â€ Angie pointed to the left. â€œIâ€™ll be there soon.â€

â€œTwin or queen?â€ Meryl asked from around the corner.

â€œI think either would do given the way we sleep together, donâ€™t you?â€

Angie cranked on the water in the shower. She made short work rinsing off the loose hair clippings. She didnâ€™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 Merylâ€™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.

â€œI love you,â€ Meryl said as she trailed her fingers between Angieâ€™s breasts. â€œI never stopped loving you.â€ She rose up on her elbow and kissed Angie.

Angie pulled her even closer to deepen the kiss. â€œI love you, too.â€

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 parentsâ€™ 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 didnâ€™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.

â€œFilthy. Youâ€™re filthy,â€ her grandmother growled as she scrubbed hard between Merylâ€™s legs.

â€œNo!â€ Meryl cried out. â€œThat hurts.â€

But her grandmother wouldnâ€™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.

â€œDaddy!â€ 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.

â€œNo!â€ Meryl slammed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth in her pain. She tried to block it out. Tried to pretend it wasnâ€™t happening. But it was no use. The pain was still there. She pushed her grandmotherâ€™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.

* * *

â€œMeryl! Meryl. Wake up.â€

A hand gripped her shoulder. Meryl awakened and shrank in fear to the other side of the bed.

â€œHey, itâ€™s okay. Itâ€™s me. Angie.â€ 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 sheâ€™d hyperventilate.

â€œYou were having a nightmare.â€ Angie stroked Merylâ€™s cheek.

â€œHold me, Ange. Please hold me.â€

Angie sat up in the bed and took Meryl into her arms.

â€œShh. Iâ€™m with you now.â€ Angie rocked her gently and began humming a soft tune that comforted Meryl with its soothing melody.

Meryl kept her cheek pressed to Angieâ€™s chest, letting the sound vibrate in her ear. She held onto Angie even tighter.

â€œIâ€™m not going anywhere,â€ Angie whispered. â€œNever again.â€

Merylâ€™s breathing returned to normalâ€”enough so she could sit up next to Angie.

Angie took hold of her hand. â€œDo you want to talk about it?â€

â€œIâ€¦ Iâ€™ve been having nightmares about when I was a child. Something happened then.â€

Angie tensed beside her.

â€œThe first time I had one of the nightmares, I was with you. It was the first night weâ€™d slept together after watching Somewhere in Time.â€

â€œI remember. You cried out a few times in your sleep. Not just then, but other times when we were in bed.â€

â€œMy therapist told me it was because I felt safe with you. If weâ€™d stayed together, I think this wouldâ€™ve become much clearer years ago. But we didnâ€™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.â€

â€œHe didnâ€™tâ€¦â€ Angie gripped her hand.

â€œNo. He didnâ€™t physically do anything to me.â€

â€œBut someone else did?â€

â€œMy grandmother. My evil bitch of a grandmother.â€ As soon as the words left Merylâ€™s mouth, she began crying again.

Angie tightened her embrace.

â€œShe did it in the bathroom. Iâ€™m still not sure how old I was. I think I was old enough I didnâ€™t need someone giving me baths. But my father knew what was happening.â€

â€œOh, Jesus.â€

â€œI was in the bathtub. My grandmother was scrubbing meâ€¦ down there.â€ Meryl knew she sounded like a small child with her description. â€œAnd it hurt. It hurt so much. I asked her to stop. I did. I told her, â€˜Grammy, it hurts.â€™ But she didnâ€™t listen. She told me I was filthy. She kept repeating the word. And scrubbed even harder.â€ Meryl sobbed.

â€œWhat else do you remember?â€ Angie asked in a soft voice.

â€œThe bathroom door opened. My father stood there watching. I asked him to make her stop, but he just stood there. He didnâ€™t speak. He didnâ€™t do anything. Then he turned and shut the door behind him.â€ Meryl wiped at her tears. â€œMy 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. Weâ€™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.â€

Angie waited for Meryl to continue.

â€œMy 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 Iâ€™d become more ladylike. My therapist asked me once if I ever felt like a child or if Iâ€™d always felt older. Iâ€™ve felt like an adult for as long as I can remember.â€

Meryl ran her hand across her nose and sniffed. â€œThings 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 wasnâ€™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.â€ Meryl laughed derisively. â€œNow that Iâ€™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.â€

â€œDid you ever confront your dad?â€ Angie asked.

Meryl clenched her jaws in anger. â€œAfter the therapy session where I realized what had happened to me as a child, I flew home. Theyâ€™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.â€

â€œWhat did you say to him?â€

â€œI 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.â€ Merylâ€™s eyes burned with tears again, but this time, tears of anger. â€œHe fucking laughed at me. He said it had been in my best interest. My grandmother had told him what she suspected. He thought my grandmotherâ€™s â€˜solutionâ€™ would help. He didnâ€™t want his daughter growing up to be a pervert. The bastard.â€

â€œI wish I could have been there. Iâ€™d have cold-cocked him,â€ Angie said, her voice low with anger.

â€œI slapped him. He rubbed his jaw and sneered at me. He said at least heâ€™d kept me away from that woman.â€

â€œSon of a bitch.â€

â€œThat infuriated me even more. I told him I hoped he rotted in hell next to his mother. I left and havenâ€™t been home since.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry for all youâ€™ve been through, Meryl. God, that sounds so inadequate after what youâ€™ve told me. I only wish I could take away your pain.â€

â€œBeing in your armsâ€¦ itâ€™s enough. I feel so safe.â€ Then the image of her father standing in the doorway of the bathroom flashed into Merylâ€™s mind. â€œWhy? Why, Angie?â€ Meryl pushed her face into Angieâ€™s chest as she cried. â€œWhy wouldnâ€™t he save me? Iâ€™m his daughter.â€

Angie hugged her closer. â€œI donâ€™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.â€

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.

â€œI love you, Ange.â€ At first, Meryl thought Angie hadnâ€™t heard her.

â€œI love you, too,â€ Angie whispered into her ear.

Meryl drifted off into the most peaceful sleep sheâ€™d had in months.

* * *

Merylâ€™s measured breathing told Angie sheâ€™d fallen asleep. Her mind reeled with Merylâ€™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 Angieâ€™s nude body greeted her, but she resisted the urge to strip and join her. She needed some moments to herself.

â€œIâ€™m going up above,â€ Meryl said loudly.

â€œOkay. Iâ€™ll be there in a few.â€

â€œDonâ€™t hurry. Do you mind if I start a pot of coffee? I thought I saw a coffeemaker in the galley.â€

â€œHelp yourself.â€

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 Angieâ€™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 Angieâ€™s handwriting.

Meryl continued turning the pages. This was an original, edited manuscript.

â€œSorry it took me so long.â€

Meryl raised her head to see Angie combing back her wet hair. The comb stopped in mid-stroke, and Angie paled.

â€œI didnâ€™t mean to be nosy, but I couldnâ€™t help but notice.â€ Meryl held up the papers. â€œThis looks like an original manuscript.â€

â€œUhâ€¦â€ Angie rubbed her hand over her face. â€œIt is.â€

â€œAre youâ€¦ did youâ€¦â€ Meryl swallowed. â€œAre you Zach Englandâ€™s editor?â€

Angie walked toward her. â€œIâ€™ve wanted to tell you for days. Iâ€™d planned to tell you this morning.â€

â€œTell me what?â€ Meryl had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Angie sat beside her on the couch and took her hand.

â€œI wrote the book. I wrote all of the books.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œI wrote them under a pseudonym.â€

â€œWait. Youâ€™re Zach England?â€

â€œI can explainâ€”â€

â€œYou lied to me.â€ Meryl yanked her hand from Angieâ€™s grasp.

â€œI was going to tell you. You have to believe me. I was afraid if I told you right away, that youâ€™dâ€”â€

â€œThat Iâ€™d what? What, Angie? Tell me why you lied to me.â€

â€œThat youâ€™d leave. That youâ€™d take the story and leave. I was afraid Iâ€™d lose you again. It might sound irrational to you. And there was another reasonâ€”â€

â€œYouâ€™ve been lying to me this whole week. And I believed you.â€ Tears sprang to Merylâ€™s eyes. â€œI bared my soul to you last night, andâ€¦ andâ€¦â€

â€œIâ€™m so sorry. I love you. I never meant to hurt you.â€

â€œI trusted you. I trusted you enough to tell you about what happened to me as a child. Do you realize youâ€™re the only person besides my therapist who knows about the sexual abuse? Thatâ€™s how much I trusted you. And now this?â€

Meryl couldnâ€™t breathe. She needed to get out of there. To get off the boat. She jumped to her feet.

â€œWait.â€ Angie grabbed her arm.

Meryl wrenched free. â€œDonâ€™t touch me.â€

Meryl saw the hurt on Angieâ€™s face. She didnâ€™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. â€œPlease. Letâ€™s talk about this.â€

â€œTalk? What the hell is there to talk about? Youâ€™ve made a fool of me this week. I thought you loved me.â€ She laughed contemptuously. â€œAnd I thought I loved you, too.â€ She glowered and jutted her jaw. â€œThereâ€™s nothing more to discuss.â€ A horrible thought crossed her mind. â€œI suppose you lied to me to get me into bed.â€

â€œNo. God no.â€

â€œIt doesnâ€™t matter. Take me back to shore.â€ Meryl crossed her arms in front of her chest.

â€œMerylâ€¦â€

â€œNow, Angie!â€

Angieâ€™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.

â€œWait!â€ Angie shouted.

Meryl heard Angieâ€™s footsteps behind her.

â€œIâ€™ll find a taxi to take me to the hotel. You donâ€™t need to worry about it.â€ 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. â€œIâ€™m so sorry, Meryl. You have to believe me. You canâ€™t leave like this. Please. Not like this.â€

Meryl jerked free and sat down in the backseat. She looked up at Angie.

â€œAnd who the hell is Hal Morris, by the way?â€

Angie stared at her feet.

â€œThatâ€™s what I thought.â€

â€œWhere to, miss?â€ the cabbie asked.

â€œSouthernmost Point Resort.â€ Meryl reached for the door handle, but Angie stopped her from shutting the door. â€œI swear, if you donâ€™t let go, Iâ€™ll slam this on your hand.â€

Angie released her grip.

â€œGood-bye, Angie.â€ Meryl pulled the door closed with a loud thud. She turned to the driver. â€œGo.â€

Angie ran alongside the cab, pounding on the window.

The cabbie looked at Meryl in the rearview mirror.

â€œKeep going,â€ she said, choking out the words, â€œthe faster the better. Thereâ€™s nothing for me here.â€

* * *

Angie leaned over with her hands on her thighs and gasped for breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

â€œShit, shit, shit!â€

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 wasnâ€™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 driverâ€™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 oâ€™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 sheâ€™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 canâ€™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 Englandâ€™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 sheâ€™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 youâ€™ve neglected running for several weeks. And you deserve the pain.

It was Monday morning. The sun hadnâ€™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 wasnâ€™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 sheâ€™d left on Merylâ€™s cell phone. Sheâ€™d long since lost count and thought she was probably bordering on harassment. Time for the last resort.

â€œIâ€™ll call her at work.â€ Angie started back home. â€œAnd enough of this running crap.â€

* * *

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.

â€œHello. Could you please connect me to Meryl McClainâ€™s office?â€

â€œHold the line, please.â€

She heard a couple of clicks.

â€œMeryl McClainâ€™s office, Wade speaking.â€

â€œUh, yes, may I please speak with Ms. McClain?â€

â€œMay I tell her whoâ€™s calling?â€

Should she lie? Like I havenâ€™t done enough of that already.

â€œHello. May I tell her whoâ€™s calling, please?â€

â€œAngie. Angie Cantinnini.â€

â€œOne moment.â€

Another click. While on hold, Angie listened to Barry Manilow croon â€œMandy.â€ It segued into Neil Diamondâ€™s â€œLove on the Rocks.â€ Angie reflected on the irony of the lyrics. She realized sheâ€™d been on hold for over five minutes. Was that good or bad?

â€œMs. Cantinnini?â€

â€œYes, Iâ€™m still here.â€

â€œMs. McClainâ€™s unable to take your call.â€

â€œOkay. Can you take a message please?â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, but I canâ€™t do that.â€ He cleared his throat. â€œSheâ€™s asked me to tell you not to call here again.â€

Angieâ€™s face warmed with embarrassment. â€œAll right. Thank you.â€

She snapped her phone shut.

â€œDamn it.â€ 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 Merylâ€™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 hungover, 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.

â€œGoddammit! Letâ€™s at least have some enthusiasm, ladies!â€ 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.

â€œHowâ€™ve you been?â€ Ev asked as they took their seats. â€œIâ€™m assuming that all is well with Meryl.â€

Angie looked away.

â€œAngie?â€

Angie couldnâ€™t bear to look at her, so she stared at the Miller Lite poster behind Ev.

Ev touched Angieâ€™s hand. â€œPlease look at me.â€

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 wasnâ€™t as good as Ev.

â€œWhat happened?â€

â€œSheâ€™s obviously not here with me. She flew back to New York.â€

â€œAnd I take it not just to return to work?â€

Angie shook her head and sighed. â€œI donâ€™t know what else to say except you were so right.â€

Ev didnâ€™t respond.

â€œWell? Whereâ€™s the â€˜I told you soâ€™?â€ Angie didnâ€™t mean to sound so sarcastic and regretted the words as soon as she spoke them.

â€œI think you know me well enough to know Iâ€™d never say that to you.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. Iâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œI gather she found out about the infamous Zach England?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œDid you tell her or didâ€”â€

Angie interrupted her with a humorless laugh. â€œNo. That would make too much sense, right? No, she had to discover it by finding my marked-up manuscript of Dying to Meet You.â€

â€œWhat did she say?â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t even so much what she said. I saw the pain in her eyes. Iâ€™d betrayed her. I tried to apologize and explain myself. Listening to my words as they left my mouth, I wouldâ€™ve walked out on me, too, but we were out on my boat. She asked me to get her back to shore.â€

â€œHave you talked to her since?â€

â€œIâ€™ve left I donâ€™t know how many voicemail messages on her cell phone.â€

â€œDid you try her at work?â€

â€œI got a flat out â€˜donâ€™t call me anymoreâ€™ relayed from her assistant.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not good.â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s not.â€ Angie grew quiet.

â€œDo you love her?â€

â€œYeah, I do, Ev,â€ she whispered.

â€œAnd does she love you?â€

â€œShe did love me. She told me so when she was here. Whatâ€™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.â€ Angie squeezed her eyes tightly shut. â€œAnd now she thinks Iâ€™m nothing but a liar and someone she can never trust again.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t ask what it is, but it sounds like it was pretty important.â€

â€œVery.â€

â€œWhich makes this even more upsetting to her.â€

â€œYou think I donâ€™t know that?â€

Ev clasped Angieâ€™s hand again. â€œIâ€™m sure you do. But the question is whether you can regain that trust and get another chance with her.â€

â€œFunny thing is, I thought this was our second chance.â€

â€œItâ€™s up to you if thereâ€™s going to be a third chance. And if you get this chance, Angie, donâ€™t ever let her doubt your love or her trust in you again. What will you do?â€

â€œI have no idea. My brilliant plan before coming in here to talk to you was to get drunk every night so I could forget.â€ She held up her hand to cut off Evâ€™s reply. â€œIâ€™m very aware you wouldnâ€™t let me get away with that.â€

â€œYou got that right, kiddo.â€

â€œI think Iâ€™ll give her a little time.â€

â€œDo you think sheâ€™ll come forward with an article about the real Zach England?â€

â€œAt this point, I donâ€™t care. And please donâ€™t remind me about the irony of the whole damn thing.â€

â€œNo, I wouldnâ€™t think youâ€™d want to hear it.â€

Angie stood. â€œOne thing I need to do is touch base with Sally, something Iâ€™m not looking forward to at all.â€ She stretched. She hadnâ€™t slept well the past two nights and didnâ€™t anticipate getting a good nightâ€™s sleep in the near future. Her body ached. â€œI need to meet my first deadline for the Barker novel.â€

Ev rose from her chair. â€œAnd your other writing?â€

â€œI donâ€™t knowâ€¦â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t let this deter you from returning to your other writing. Value yourself.â€

â€œThatâ€™s kind of tough these days, and who knows if Stanley & Schilling will consider the manuscript for their gay and lesbian imprint. I donâ€™t know if itâ€™s worth it.â€

â€œDonâ€™t give it up, Angie.â€

Angie embraced Ev in another hug. â€œThank you, Ev.â€

Sageâ€™s voice stopped them as they were leaving the bar. â€œYouâ€™re leaving without a hug from me?â€ He stood in front of the stage wiping his face with a towel. The performers had already dispersed.

They hastened over. Ev hugged him. â€œSorry, you handsome young thing. I never want you to think Iâ€™m ignoring you.â€ She kissed his cheek. â€œWell, I need to get home to the boys.â€

â€œWish I could say that,â€ Sage said.

â€œYouâ€™re too much, Sage.â€ Ev waved at Angie and left.

He held out his arms for Angie. â€œTrying to leave without saying hello or good-bye. What am I going to do with you?â€

â€œIâ€™ve been a bit distracted.â€

His thin arms enveloped her. He pulled away and held Angieâ€™s face in his hands.

â€œYouâ€™re not sleeping, love. You have more bags under your eyes than I do, and trust me, thatâ€™s not good.â€

â€œLike I said, a lotâ€™s going on.â€

â€œIs there something I can do?â€

â€œYou canâ€™t fix this one, Sage.â€ She patted him on the arm. â€œI really donâ€™t want to talk about it right now. Do you understand?â€

â€œItâ€™s okay, dear heart. Youâ€™ll talk to me when youâ€™re ready.â€

Angie started toward the door again.

â€œAnd no drinking to drown whatever sorrow that woman laid at your feet!â€ 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 duckâ€™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 Robertâ€™s office. She sighed and stood up, but had to sidestep three kids running toward the water.

â€œMom! Can we feed the ducks?â€

A harried-looking woman rushed to catch up with them.

â€œNot so close to the water.â€ The woman turned to Meryl. â€œI apologize for their enthusiasm. They donâ€™t watch where theyâ€™re going when they have their minds made up.â€

â€œItâ€™s okay,â€ Meryl said with a smile. â€œI remember what it was like.â€

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.

* * *

â€œCoffee?â€ Robert asked while she took her customary seat on the couch.

â€œYes. Please.â€

He carried over two steaming mugs, handed her one, and sat across from her in his chair. â€œHow was your trip? I believe you said you had to go on assignment?â€

â€œIt was okay.â€ Meryl didnâ€™t meet his eyes.

As always, he waited for her to continue.

â€œIt started out with a shock.â€

â€œOh?â€

â€œYes. I ran into Angie.â€

He raised his eyebrows and set down his mug. â€œAnd what did you say to her?â€

â€œLike 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.â€ Meryl waited for his reaction.

â€œGo on.â€

â€œAngie followed me out of the bar after she saw me in the crowd. We talked. I helped her get home. Sheâ€™d had a little too much to drink.â€

â€œWhat happened at her place?â€

â€œWe didnâ€™t tear each otherâ€™s clothes off, if thatâ€™s what youâ€™re asking.â€

Robert smiled. â€œThatâ€™s not what I was getting at.â€

â€œShe 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 donâ€™t need to say this, but Iâ€™ll say it anyway. What Iâ€™m about to tell you has to stay here. I havenâ€™t even shared this with my editor.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. You donâ€™t need to tell me, but I understand your concern, considering what you do for a living.â€

â€œLet 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?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œAngie 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 didnâ€™t want to be found.â€

â€œAnd how were you both during the week?â€

Meryl shifted in her seat. â€œThis is where I tell you that fairly early on, we ripped our clothes off and made love. The entire week.â€

â€œHow did you feel?â€

Meryl smiled sadly. â€œIt was fantastic. It was everything Iâ€™d dreamed of and hoped for over the years when Iâ€™d imagine seeing Angie again. We even said how much we loved each other.â€ She stopped.

â€œSomething happened to change all of that?â€

â€œIt all ended Saturday morning. We were anchored out on her boat a long way from the dock.â€ Meryl stared down at her coffee mug. She set it on the table in front of her. She didnâ€™t meet Robertâ€™s eyes, but plucked at a piece of lint on her linen pants. â€œThe speculation about Zach England being a pseudonym for a woman was right.â€

â€œHow did you find that out?â€

â€œI found an original manuscript of Englandâ€™s latest novel in the cabin of Angieâ€™s boat.â€

â€œDid she explain how it got there?â€

â€œSheâ€™s Zach England.â€

Robertâ€™s eyes widened.

â€œYeah, big shock for me, too.â€

â€œSheâ€™d told you she thought it might be this Hal Morris person?â€

â€œSheâ€™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.â€ Without warning, tears began rolling down Merylâ€™s cheeks.

â€œWhat did you say to her?â€ Robert asked.

â€œI confronted her. She said sheâ€™d planned to tell me that morning. How convenient,â€ Meryl said bitterly. â€œI pretty much lost it and told her to take me to shore. She tried to talk to me, but I didnâ€™t want to hear any of her excuses. I flew home later that morning.â€

â€œHave you talked to her since?â€

â€œWhy should I? She lied to me. I trusted her with my heart, and she lied. Sheâ€™s left messages on my cell phone. Iâ€™ve ignored them. Then she called me at work on Monday. I had my assistant tell her never to call there again.â€

Robert did the steeple thing with his hands and brought the index fingers to his mouth.

â€œThat fucking annoys the shit out of me when you do that!â€ Meryl said. â€œDo you know how many damn gestures you have? And I hate that one the most. I feel like Iâ€™m being analyzed like a bug.â€

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.

â€œWhy are you so angry?â€ he asked.

â€œWhy shouldnâ€™t I be angry?â€ She sat up straighter on the couch.

â€œI understand your being angry about the deceit. I think this is about more than that.â€

â€œAnd I suppose youâ€™re going to tell me what that is?â€

â€œI think you already know.â€

Meryl stared at him. â€œI stripped my soul bare with the one woman I trusted most in this world, only to find sheâ€™d been deceiving me for a week.â€

â€œAre you saying you donâ€™t believe she was about to tell you?â€

â€œIâ€™m saying itâ€™s a damn convenient thing to come up with after I confronted her with the truth.â€

Robert crossed his legs. â€œHas she changed?â€

The question threw Meryl. â€œWhat?â€

â€œAngie. Has she changed from the woman you loved from college? The one youâ€™d talk about to me in these sessions. Has she changed?â€

â€œAside from the fact that she lied to me?â€

â€œDid you ask her why she needed to use a pseudonym?â€

â€œNo. I was too angry.â€ Meryl thought back. â€œShe was about to tell me something.â€

â€œBut you didnâ€™t give her a chance to explain. Meryl, I realize this is upsetting to you, but to me, your reaction stems from the fact youâ€™d shared something very revealing to her, and you felt sheâ€™d betrayed you.â€

â€œDamn right Iâ€”â€

â€œPlease let me finish.â€

Meryl closed her mouth.

â€œLetâ€™s separate the two, if you can. Your revelation of your childhood sexual abuseâ€â€”Robert held out one hand, palm upâ€”â€œand Angie withholding the information about being Zach England.â€ He held out his other hand, also palm up.

â€œThatâ€™s kind of difficult to do, donâ€™t you think?â€

â€œI believe if you hadnâ€™t told her the night before about the abuse, you might have stayed to listen to her side of the story regarding her deceit.â€

Meryl sat there stunned. â€œYouâ€™re taking her side. Youâ€™re my therapist, and youâ€™re taking her side.â€

â€œMerylâ€¦â€

She jumped to her feet. â€œYou know what? Fuck you!â€ Meryl stomped out of his office to the waiting area outside.

Robert followed. â€œMeryl, wait. We should discuss this.â€

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 Robertâ€™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

â€œHey, Sal.â€

â€œAngie, how you doing?â€

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. â€œIâ€™m doing okay. Thanks for asking.â€

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 â€œnoon,â€ he didnâ€™t qualify as an alcoholic. What did that make her?

â€œIâ€™ve finished four more chapters since Monday. I should meet our deadline.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not pushing yourself too hard, are you? I told Eric you might be a little late.â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s flowing for me right now.â€

She thought it was her best Zach England writing in some time. Angie heard a phone ring on the other end.

â€œHang on a sec, Angie. I need to pick that up. Itâ€™s New York.â€

Angieâ€™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 Englandâ€™s true identity.

Sally came back on the line. â€œOkay. I was waiting to hear back from a publisher regarding one of my other clients.â€

Thank God. â€œGood news?â€

â€œYes. Sheâ€™s a very promising author. Childrenâ€™s books. Theyâ€™re interested after hearing my pitch and reading the manuscript.â€

â€œThatâ€™s good.â€ Angie was debating how sheâ€™d get to the real reason sheâ€™d phoned Sally. She stared at the Cleveland Browns clock and watched it tick five seconds before she spoke again. â€œUh, Sally, I need to tell you some things.â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t let one of them be youâ€™re ready to give up on Derek Barker.â€

â€œNo. At least not yet anyway.â€

Sally sighed on the other end. â€œYouâ€™ve hit a little rough patch with your writing, but you can get through this.â€

â€œMeryl McClain knows about Zach England.â€ There. All out in the open now. Angie waited for Sallyâ€™s outburst. There was silence, which was worse than if Sally had started shouting at her.

â€œCould you please repeat that?â€

â€œI said Meryl McClain knows that Iâ€™m Zach England.â€

â€œOkay, Iâ€™m going to hang up,â€ Sally said, enunciating each word. â€œBut Iâ€™ll call right back. Doâ€¦ youâ€¦ understand?â€

â€œDo I have to answer the phone?â€

The line went dead. Two seconds later, Angieâ€™s cell rang. She tapped her foot until one more ring would send it to voicemail. She hit the talk button.

â€œHow the fuck did she find out, Angie?â€

â€œWellâ€¦â€ Angie felt her face warm. â€œShe 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.â€

â€œYou didnâ€™t call me when she showed up? What were you fucking thinking? And wait a minute. How did she get on your fucking boat?â€

Angie took a deep drink of her Corona and, this time, waited ten seconds before speaking.

â€œSally, thereâ€™s something I didnâ€™t tell you because I never thought Iâ€™d have to.â€

â€œYou mean thereâ€™s something worse than a New York Banner book editor knowing the true identity of Zach England?â€

Angie ignored her comment. â€œMeryl McClain and I were lovers twelve years ago in college.â€

There was another vintage Sally Copelman pause on the line. Angie decided to wait it out.

â€œYou didnâ€™t think this was something you should share with your agent?â€

Angie caught the shaking in Sallyâ€™s voice.

â€œIt was very personal to me. She was the love of my life. I didnâ€™t think Iâ€™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 couldnâ€™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.â€

â€œItâ€™s either â€˜cherry on the sundaeâ€™ or â€˜icing on the cake.â€™ Pick one or the other. Christ! What is with some authors and mixed metaphors?â€

Angie chuckled, but sobered when Sally shouted in her ear.

â€œDo you think this is fucking funny?â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. Itâ€™s not funny at all.â€ 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.

â€œI still canâ€™t believe you didnâ€™t tell me about the two of you. I could have insisted you leave Key West instead of merely suggesting it.â€ A string of expletives followed. â€œAnd 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?â€

â€œThatâ€™s not fair.â€

â€œDonâ€™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 Englandâ€™s true identity. Goddammit, Angie!â€

Angie had imagined the conversation going badly, but not this badlyâ€”which was scary. She tried to defend herself. â€œSheâ€™s had this information since last Saturday, and there hasnâ€™t been anything in the Banner, has there?â€

â€œNo, but that doesnâ€™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.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t tell her right away. She didnâ€™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.â€

Sally huffed on the far end of the line. â€œAt least I have to give you that, I guess.â€

â€œI should have told her, Sally.â€

â€œCome again? This is your livelihood. This is my livelihood. And if you havenâ€™t forgotten, you signed a confidentiality agreement and itâ€™s written in your contract about keeping your identity secret.â€

â€œBecause of who she was in my lifeâ€”who I hoped she might still beâ€”she deserved to know. We could have then worked out if or how to release the information to the world.â€

â€œI donâ€™t even want to ask how your convoluted reasoning came to that conclusion, but it wouldnâ€™t have worked. Especially since youâ€™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?â€

â€œI canâ€™t un-tell her.â€

â€œHave you talked to her?â€

â€œShe wonâ€™t take my calls. I lied to her, Sally.â€ Angie thought about the other reason Meryl was so upset, but tried to shut it out from her mind. â€œWeâ€™re lovers.â€ Angie stopped herself. â€œOr 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?â€

â€œNo, I guess not.â€ The phone rang again in the background. â€œI need to take this call. Do me a favor. Donâ€™t do anything rash. Stay low. Continue to write. Iâ€™ll do a little investigating of my own and find out if thereâ€™s been any inkling of a major story about to hit the press.â€

Angie gripped the phone tighter. She was so tired of deception.

â€œAngie?â€

â€œOkay, okay. Iâ€™ll stay quiet.â€

â€œGood. Iâ€™ll talk to you soon.â€ Sally let out another stream of profanity that Angie probably wasnâ€™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. â€œThis isnâ€™t the answer to my problems.â€

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 Janâ€™s door as a heavy rumble shook the house. Janâ€™s voice would call out for her to come in. Sheâ€™d run into Janâ€™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. Lifeâ€™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 sheâ€™d promised her mother, she phoned when she returned from Key West. She refused to inquire about her fatherâ€™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. Sheâ€™d never stormed out of his office, not even when theyâ€™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.

â€œâ€¦which brings us to Merylâ€™s recent trip to Key West.â€

Meryl looked at what sheâ€™d drawn. It was the sun rising over the water, like sheâ€™d seen it do in Key West.

â€œMeryl?â€

â€œPardon?â€

Thom Pratters bunched his gray eyebrows together. â€œWeâ€™d like a report of your trip to Key West.â€

Meryl glanced around the conference table. Expectant faces awaited.

â€œIt was a dead end. As I reported to you when I was there, either Zach England doesnâ€™t want anyone to find him, or heâ€™s not even in Key West. The townspeople are very close-mouthed. Itâ€™s part of the nature of the Conch Republic.â€

Sheâ€™d decided before the meeting to keep Angieâ€™s secret safe. Meryl was hurt and angry, but she could find no reason to betray Angie.

â€œConch Republic?â€

Meryl turned toward Zelda Landers, the head of the Movie and Arts Department.

â€œItâ€™s what the locals call Key West. The history of the name dates back many, many years.â€

â€œNo luck, huh?â€ Zelda peered over her half-glasses with a smug expression.

â€œRight. No luck.â€

â€œAt least you gave it your best shot,â€ Pratters said. He glanced down at his notebook. â€œWhatâ€™s next on our agenda?â€

Their voices faded in the background. Meryl recalled Robertâ€™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 fatherâ€™s indifference than with Angie and her betrayal. Although sheâ€™d never been angry enough to storm out of his office, it didnâ€™t mean he hadnâ€™t ticked her off before. And it was normally when she knew deep down he was right.

He wasnâ€™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

â€œOkay, Iâ€™m here in Miami,â€ Sally said. â€œWhatâ€™s so important we couldnâ€™t discuss it over the phone?â€

Two weeks had passed since Angie had told Sally about Meryl. Angie still hadnâ€™t had any luck reaching Meryl via cell phone. The rebuff from Merylâ€™s assistant had convinced her not to bother trying her office again. Thereâ€™d been nothing on Zach England in the Banner, from Meryl or anyone else at the newspaper, but that didnâ€™t mean the crisis had passed.

â€œLet me get you another margarita.â€ Angie motioned for the server.

â€œPlying me with alcohol wonâ€™t help.â€

â€œHave you had a chance to get the buzz in New York?â€ Angie asked, ignoring the comment while the waiter set a jumbo margarita in front of Sally.

â€œAnother vodka collins?â€ the server asked Angie.

â€œYes, thank you.â€ He left the table. Angie pointed to Sallyâ€™s drink. â€œWhy donâ€™t you take a sip?â€

â€œI donâ€™t like the sound of this,â€ Sally said before complying. â€œBut to answer your question, as best I can tell, no one has said anything about you, Zach England, or that youâ€™re one and the same person. Either Meryl McClain is being loyal to you, which plays in our favor, or sheâ€™s compiling a series of articles thatâ€™ll hit the paper on any given day and is keeping it quiet. Iâ€™d think she has enough to go on by now to blow the story wide open. Iâ€™m leaning toward the loyalty thing.â€ Sally saluted Angie with her drink. â€œGood for you.â€

The waiter brought her drink. She waited until he was out of earshot. â€œIâ€™m the one whoâ€™ll blow it wide open.â€

Sally sputtered on her margarita. â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œMe. Iâ€™m coming out.â€ Angie watched Sallyâ€™s reaction.

Sally leaned over the table. â€œWhat are you talking about? As a lesbian? Havenâ€™t you done that already with your other novels?â€

â€œIâ€™m not talking about my sexuality. Iâ€™m talking about my identity as Zach England, world famous detective novelist. I want to let people know that I write the books.â€

Sally leaned in even farther, getting very much in Angieâ€™s personal space. â€œHave you lost your fucking mind?â€

Obviously two jumbo margaritas hadnâ€™t done the trick.

â€œI think Iâ€™ve finally found my mind. I do know with certainty that my muse has returned.â€ Angie reached into her leather briefcase and pulled out a memory stick. She slid it across the table in front of Sally.

â€œAnd this is?â€ Sally waved the stick in the air.

â€œItâ€™s the ninth and last book in the Derek Barker crime series. It fulfills my final contract with Stanley & Schilling.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Sally looked like she was about to leap across the table.

â€œYou heard me. Iâ€™ve finished it. Itâ€™s my best work in years, and Iâ€™m giving it to you months before the deadline.â€

â€œDo you realize how Stanley & Schilling will react to this? You expect me to march in their offices and say, â€˜Hey, guys. Sorry. Angie slipped up with her lover, who happens to be the New York Banner book editor, and revealed sheâ€™s Zach England. Hereâ€™s the ninth Barker book and, oh, by the way, Angie doesnâ€™t want to make you any more money.â€

â€œIâ€™ve got enough to pay them off if necessary. I quite frankly donâ€™t give a damn how they react.â€

â€œWell, frankly, Rhett, I do.â€ Sally spoke loudly enough to draw the attention of a few occupants of nearby tables. She lowered her voice. â€œYou cannot legally do this.â€

â€œCall them. If you need me to go with you to New York to meet with them, Iâ€™ll go. Call them, Sally, or I will.â€

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 Englandâ€™s career, was a stark contrast to the rainy, winter day in Chicago when theyâ€™d created him.

Sally sat mute for a long while. At length, she looked at Angie again.

â€œOkay, let me fly up to New York.â€

â€œI can joinâ€”â€

â€œNo!â€ Sally almost shouted. â€œNo. I donâ€™t want you talking with them until we get this hammered out. This wonâ€™t be a one-day meeting, either. It could be several days or a week, however long it takes.â€ Sally stared off above Angieâ€™s head and started nodding.

Uh-oh. Angie had seen that expression before.

Sally tapped her fingers on the tablecloth. â€œIâ€™ll spin it as big publicity for their company. Iâ€™ll tell them we can boost the sales of your backlist. I can see it now: â€˜Hot Crime Author, Zach England, Revealed as a Woman.â€™â€ 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 Kentâ€™s editor. Whenever he did it, it was always something sensational.

Sally grinned. â€œHot damn! It could work.â€

Angie rapped her fist on the table to make a point. â€œSally Copelman, I am not doing this for publicity or to make more money.â€

Sally threw her hands up in the air. â€œThen why are you doing it now?â€

â€œBecause Iâ€™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.â€

Sally squinted at her through her trendy narrow-rimmed glasses. â€œAnd maybe youâ€™re doing it to get a certain editor and reviewer back in your life?â€

â€œNo. Itâ€™s the right thing to do, and I want to give the story to Meryl.â€

â€œYouâ€™re kidding.â€

â€œDoes it sound like Iâ€™m kidding? She sat on the story. I want to tell her itâ€™s okay to go forward.â€

â€œNo no no. Weâ€™re doing this the right way after I talk to S & S. Weâ€™ll book you on the talk shows. Norah Hall will eat this shit up.â€

â€œThe hell we are, Sally!â€ Angie glanced around at the faces turned their way. She regained her composure. â€œLook, I know Norahâ€™s the most popular host on talk television, but I can do without being the subject of one of her emotional, heartfelt grillings. Weâ€™re doing it my way. Period.â€

â€œAnd this has nothing to do with trying to get Meryl back?â€

â€œItâ€™s too late for that.â€

Sally stared at her. â€œIâ€™ll call New York and tell them I need a face-to-face. Weâ€™ll go from there.â€

Angie motioned for the check. â€œLet me know when youâ€™ve scheduled the meeting,â€ she said while handing her credit card to the server.

â€œRemember this wonâ€™t be a quick powwow. Not at all.â€ Sally stood and smiled at Angie.

â€œWhatâ€™s that look for?â€ Angie asked.

â€œYou amaze me sometimes.â€

â€œHow?â€

â€œYouâ€™re my best client, yet youâ€™re the least egotistical out of all of them. You wanted to make money. Weâ€™ve done that. But now youâ€™re willing to let it all go. Because you have principle.â€

â€œI sure as hell didnâ€™t have principle the week Meryl was down in Key West.â€

â€œDonâ€™t sell yourself short, Angie. Most authors in your position wouldnâ€™t risk giving up what you have, no matter what the reason.â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t make me out to be some sort of martyr, because Iâ€™m not.â€

Sally drained the last of the margarita. She pointed at Angie. â€œIâ€™ll call you.â€

Angie waited on the server to bring her the receipt. She signed it and left the bar. Sheâ€™d wait for Sallyâ€™s call. As soon as she got the go-ahead, sheâ€™d make an appointment with Meryl. Yeah, but how would Angie get a meeting with her if she wouldnâ€™t even take her calls?

She stopped in mid-stride as inspiration struck. That might work.

* * *

Sally called the next week to tell Angie sheâ€™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.

â€œHey, you havenâ€™t been in here in quite a while,â€ Christi said with evident pleasure. â€œThatâ€™s a compliment for how well I do my job, but I still miss seeing you. Pamâ€™s popped in asking for you a few times.â€

â€œIâ€™ve been a little busy.â€

â€œDoing what? Waxing your boat?â€ Sage asked.

Angie sat down on the stool beside him and punched him in the arm.

â€œOw. You do realize I can get you for sexual harassment. This has been pointed out to you in your sensitivity training, correct?â€

â€œWhat sensitivity training?â€ Angie asked. She nodded to Christi. â€œCan I get a Coke?â€ She teased Sage a bit more. â€œDo you mean the sensitivity training put on by the Key West Lesbian Bar Owners Local Number 69? Afraid I was out sick that day.â€

â€œYouâ€™re such a bitch,â€ Sage said. He poured himself some ice water from the pitcher on the bar.

Angie noticed. â€œNo mimosa?â€

He pointed at the water. â€œIâ€™ll have you know Iâ€™ve cut back. You havenâ€™t witnessed it because youâ€™ve been off waxing your boat.â€

â€œIâ€™ve not been waxing my boat. Jesus.â€

â€œYou two are so funny together.â€ Christi handed Angie her Coke.

â€œGlad you think so.â€ Angie took a drink.

Sage wouldnâ€™t let it go. â€œWhatâ€™ve you been doing then? Sailing down to Cuba?â€

Angie glared at him. â€œThere was a notice in the â€˜Jobs Wantedâ€™ section in Key West on the Town that someone was searching for an entertainment director position. I think Iâ€™ll go home, dig out the ad, and give the queen a call.â€

Christi laughed.

â€œYou think thatâ€™s funny?â€ Sage asked.

â€œActually, yeah.â€

â€œIâ€™m so abused.â€

â€œGood Lord, Sage. Spare me the dramatics,â€ Angie said.

He threw his arm around Angie and leaned his head on her shoulder. â€œAdmit it. You love me.â€

â€œSure I do.â€

â€œBut you still havenâ€™t told me what youâ€™ve been up to these past few weeks.â€ He straightened and clinked the ice in his water glass.

â€œWriting. Iâ€™ve been writing.â€

â€œReally? Iâ€™m aware you wrote those three novels, but youâ€™re writing more?â€

â€œYes. I finished a novel this past week.â€

â€œYou knowâ€¦â€ He swirled his finger around the outside of his glass. â€œIâ€™ve never asked you this because I never wanted to pry. And because I value the paycheck you give me every week. Butâ€¦â€

â€œBut what?â€ Angie asked.

â€œThose 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 canâ€™t make the money you seem to have raked in.â€ He nudged her elbow. â€œCome on. You can tell old Sage. Do you run guns for the Cubans?â€

â€œGood grief. This isnâ€™t the sixties, and I donâ€™t work for the CIA.â€

Christi snickered. â€œNow that Iâ€™d like to see.â€

â€œDonâ€™t encourage him, Christi.â€

â€œDrugs?â€ Sage asked.

â€œWhat about them?â€

â€œYou know, do you sell drugs?â€ His grin was playful, but he almost appeared to believe what he was asking.

â€œDo I look like someone whoâ€™d sell drugs?â€ Angie was getting annoyed.

â€œThatâ€™s part of the plan, isnâ€™t it? Youâ€™re supposed to blend in and be inconspicuous.â€

â€œChristi, help me out.â€

â€œHey, Iâ€™m not sure I can on this one.â€ Christi stepped down to the other end of the bar to take a drink order.

â€œIâ€™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.â€

â€œThat sounds rather cryptic.â€ He did his typical imaginary flip of his hair.

â€œIt has to stay that way a little longer. Youâ€™ll find out soon enough.â€

Sage crinkled his brow as he contemplated her words. â€œHmm.â€

Angieâ€™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. â€œGotta go.â€

â€œYou realize this waiting will drive me crazy, donâ€™t you?â€ Sage yelled at her as she stepped outside to take the call.

Angie blew him a kiss.

â€œBitch!â€ he shouted.

She stepped out into the heat. Was she ready to hear this? She answered the phone.

â€œWait, Sal.â€ Angie sat down on the bench in front of another bar two doors from the Cozy Conch. â€œOkay.â€ She braced herself for whatever was to come.

â€œYouâ€™re sitting down?â€

At least Sally didnâ€™t sound strained, and she wasnâ€™t shouting. â€œYes.â€

â€œThey fucking love it.â€

â€œYouâ€™re joking.â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m not joking,â€ Sally said. â€œBut this hasnâ€™t been easy. Believe me. Ted Stein tossed around the word â€˜lawsuitâ€™ more than once. Lawyers entered the picture, of course, including ours. Iâ€™m not stupid. I went into that meeting prepared. Itâ€™s not been a fun week. You do know who Ted Stein is, donâ€™t you?â€

Angie pinched the bridge of her nose with her index fingers. â€œYes, Sally. Heâ€™s the second in command there at Stanley & Schilling.â€

â€œThen 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.â€

â€œWhy would they need to do research?â€

â€œTo find out how this will play in Peoria. There was no way theyâ€™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.â€

â€œAnd?â€

â€œThey love the idea. Itâ€™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 youâ€™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.â€

â€œWhat did Stein say to all of this?â€ Angieâ€™s anxiety level kicked up several notches.

â€œHis exact words were, â€˜Copelman, youâ€™re the damn agent, why didnâ€™t you think of this before? We couldâ€™ve made millions more.â€™ I didnâ€™t point out to the arrogant prick that it was their idea you use the pseudonym in the first place.â€

â€œSally, Iâ€™m not doing this to make more money. I told you that.â€

â€œPlease donâ€™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.â€

Angieâ€™s heart skipped a beat. She had no intention of doing this for publicity. What did they expect her to do?

â€œNorah Hallâ€™s name came up a few times.â€

â€œGoddammit! Iâ€™m not going on Norah.â€

â€œChill, okay?â€

Angie heard horns honking and traffic noise in the background.

â€œWhere are you?â€

â€œI just stepped out of the building and am walking down Sixth Avenue.â€

â€œDid you tell them this was my last book?â€ There was no answer. â€œSally?â€

â€œYes. I broke down and told them when they started making plans for your new contract. I said youâ€™d written the last Derek Barker novel.â€

â€œAnd their response was?â€

â€œThis is the part you wonâ€™t like. The only way they wonâ€™t sue us is if you continue the Barker series. Theyâ€™re anticipating even bigger sales on your future titles, as well as your backlist.â€

â€œThe Barker character freaking gets killed in this last book.â€ Angie resisted the urge to lose her lunch in the nearby bush. This wasnâ€™t what she had in mind.

â€œYou killed him off?â€

â€œYes, I did.â€

â€œThen you better resurrect him because, trust me, theyâ€™ll refuse that manuscript. Iâ€™ll lose my business, and youâ€™ll be out of millions.â€

Angie leaned over and put her elbows on her knees. She gripped the phone tighter and grabbed her hair with her other hand. â€œWhat the fuck?â€ she said in a whisper.

â€œListen to me and think about this. Youâ€™re getting what you wanted. Youâ€™re getting your freedom to live your life as Angelina Cantinnini who happens to write as Zach England. Everyone will know now, and you wonâ€™t have to worry about hiding anymore.â€

â€œI donâ€™t want to have my personal space invaded by reporters out for an interview.â€

â€œWell, 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.â€ Sallyâ€™s voice continued to rise. â€œYou have a responsibility. Youâ€™re a grown-up. Iâ€™d think you wouldâ€™ve figured these things out by now.â€

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.

â€œHello?â€

â€œIâ€™m here!â€ Angie shouted into the phone. â€œIâ€™m here,â€ she added in a calmer voice.

â€œThis may not be what you envisioned, but itâ€™s the reality of the situation.â€

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.

â€œAngieâ€¦â€ Sally used her gentle â€œIâ€™m-going-to-get-my-way-why-donâ€™t-you-just-accept-it?â€ agent voice. â€œYou really donâ€™t have much of a choice.â€ Sally sounded more chipper. â€œHey, I have some news that should cheer you up.â€

â€œYeah? Stanley & Schilling is going under?â€

â€œNo, smart-ass. I told them you were writing a lesbian novel and had inquired about their gay and lesbian imprint, Outside the Lines Books.â€

Angie straightened. â€œWhat did they say?â€

â€œThey said that theyâ€™d look at it. Even though they have the leverage of suing us, they still want you happy. Eric sounded encouraging.â€

Angie sat with one arm across her chest and her hand tucked under her other arm while she pressed the phone to her ear.

â€œAngie?â€

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. â€œIâ€™ll do it. Iâ€™ll rewrite the Barker novel and sign another contract. Like you said, I donâ€™t have much of a choice.â€

â€œThatâ€™s my girl!â€

â€œDonâ€™t get carried away.â€

Sally laughed.

â€œTwo 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.â€

â€œThey want Norahâ€”â€

â€œI swear to God, Sally, if you say Norah freaking Hallâ€™s name one more time, Iâ€™m hanging up.â€

â€œCalm down.â€ The background noise vanished on Sallyâ€™s end of the line. â€œHang on. Iâ€™m taking a seat in the hotel lobbyâ€¦ there. Okay. I have one question. If Meryl McClain isnâ€™t taking your calls, how will you get her to see you?â€

â€œUnfortunately, it involves deception again, but this time, itâ€™s for a good cause. Make a call to Merylâ€™s office. Identify yourself as â€˜Sally Copelman, agent to Pulitzer winners.â€™â€

Sally grunted. â€œYeah, right.â€

â€œTell Meryl you have a new up-and-coming author in the literary field that youâ€™d like her to interview.â€

â€œHow will she agree to that?â€ Sally sounded skeptical.

â€œIf you could get me to go along with this Zach England thing eight years ago, you can pull this off.â€

â€œAnd who do I say is this â€˜up-and-coming authorâ€™?â€

â€œGive her the name â€˜Grace Ireland.â€™â€

â€œEngland. Ireland. I get it. Cute. Very cute.â€

* * *

Angie waited nervously outside Merylâ€™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 wasnâ€™t in the news department and this wasnâ€™t the movies.

Wade approached her.

â€œMs. McClain will see you now.â€

He led her down the hall to a glassed-in office with Merylâ€™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.

â€œMs. Ireland is here to see you, Meryl,â€ 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. â€œWhat the hell are you doing here?â€

â€œMeryl, let meâ€”â€

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.

â€œTake your hand away now.â€ Meryl spoke each word distinctly.

â€œPlease hear me out first. If you donâ€™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 youâ€™ll never see me again.â€ Angie searched Merylâ€™s eyes. â€œAnd you have no idea how hard it is for me to say that.â€

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. â€œObviously, 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?â€

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.

â€œAngie?â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry? My mind isnâ€™t working. Would you mind repeating what you asked me?â€

Meryl repeated the question.

â€œYes. Sally can be quite persuasive, as Iâ€™m sure you found out over the phone. Sheâ€™s the one who convinced me to go along with this ruse eight years ago.â€

â€œDonâ€™t try to put this all on her. You could have said no.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. I could have.â€

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you?â€

Angie tugged on her pants some more. â€œIâ€™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.â€

â€œI donâ€™t understand.â€

â€œI want you to interview me. I want you to reveal who Zach England really is.â€

Meryl had been rocking back in her chair, listening to Angie. She dropped her chair down and slapped her palms on the desk. â€œWhat did you say?â€

â€œI want you to have the scoop. Iâ€™m not sure why you havenâ€™t revealed my identity, butâ€”â€ With a wave of her hand, Angie stopped Meryl before she could speak. â€œBut it doesnâ€™t matter. I want you to have the story. That is if you want it.â€

Meryl stared at Angie. Then anger welled up.

â€œWhy, Angie? More money? Donâ€™t you have enough?â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m doing this because itâ€™s the right thing to do. What I did beforeâ€¦â€ Angieâ€™s voice shook. â€œWhat I did before was wrong and hurtful. I betrayed your trust. Iâ€™m so sorry.â€

Meryl softened her expression, but then she thought of something else. â€œIf you think this will get me backâ€¦â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m doing this because itâ€™s the right thing to do. Iâ€™m afraid Iâ€™ve already lost you.â€ Tears welled in Angieâ€™s eyes and rolled down her face. â€œShit.â€ She wiped them away. â€œIâ€™m saying I want you to have the story before itâ€™s released anywhere else. I want you to break the news.â€

â€œAnd your publisher?â€ Meryl kept her tone businesslike.

â€œThey 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 werenâ€™t doing it at all.â€

Meryl watched as Angie continued to fidget in her chair.

â€œAll right,â€ Meryl said. â€œAll right.â€ She pulled out a small tape recorder from her briefcase. â€œLetâ€™s get started. Weâ€™ll begin with my initial questionâ€”why did you do this?â€

Dead silence.

â€œWe canâ€™t do this if you donâ€™t answer the questions.â€ Meryl let her anger register.

Angie straightened in her chair.

â€œIt 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 companyâ€¦â€

* * *

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. Heâ€™d told her to â€œkeep talking as if Iâ€™m not here.â€ That was easy for her to do, especially since she couldnâ€™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.

â€œWell, I guess thatâ€™s it,â€ 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. â€œWhat I did was wrong. But I was afraid Iâ€™d lose you if you didnâ€™t have any leads in Key West. I thought youâ€™d take off to New York, and I wouldnâ€™t see you again.â€

Still no response.

â€œThat may sound far-fetched. But there it is. And yes, I was worried about my contract with Stanley & Schilling.â€ Angie looked away to gather her courage. â€œBut, let me ask you something. If you hadnâ€™t told me what you did the night before, would you have at least given me a chance to explain myself?â€ She met Merylâ€™s eyes.

â€œYouâ€™re trying to blame me now?â€ Meryl snapped.

â€œI simply asked a question. That must have been very difficult for you to relive what happened to you as a child.â€

â€œThatâ€™s just it, Angie. You have no clue how it felt to spill my guts to you, thinking I could trust you.â€

â€œGive me another chance,â€ Angie whispered.

â€œBecause I felt likeâ€¦â€ Meryl looked at her incredulously. â€œWhat did you say?â€

â€œI asked you to give me another chance.â€

â€œRight. Sure. Let me open myself up so you can stomp on my heart again.â€

Angie drew one last drop of courage. â€œMeryl, Iâ€™m not your father.â€

The color drained from Merylâ€™s face.

â€œGet out.â€ Meryl came from behind her desk and pushed Angie through the door. â€œNow.â€

â€œMerylâ€¦â€

â€œDo I have to call security?â€ Merylâ€™s jaw tightened.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Angie hurried down the hallway. She pounded on the Down button for the elevator.

â€œCome on! Shit!â€ The doors slid open. From the lobby, Angie stepped out into the bright sunshine and hailed a taxi.

â€œRitz Carlton,â€ 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.

â€œEverything okay?â€ 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. â€œKeep it.â€

â€œHey, thanks, lady!â€

She pushed through the revolving doors into the opulent lobby.

As the elevator took her to her floor, she thought how sheâ€™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 wouldnâ€™t even use. She sure as hell wasnâ€™t staying in New York tonight.

Chapter 24

A week later, the story broke. There was a blurb about Merylâ€™s article on the front page of the Sunday New York Banner directing the reader to the entertainment section.

Angie sat in the captainâ€™s seat of The Pride of Youngstown. Sheâ€™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 Merylâ€™s office.

The headline read, â€œLesbian Author Rocks Literary World Writing as Zach England.â€ Sally hadnâ€™t been too far off. Sheâ€™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 Englandâ€™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.

â€œIt 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.â€

Meryl had asked if Angie thought sheâ€™d sold out and turned her back on the lesbian publishing field.

â€œIf Iâ€™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 meâ€”very freeing.

â€œBut 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 Iâ€™m concerned. You didnâ€™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.

â€œI lost myself in doing this work as Zach England. I hope to regain my identity and my voiceâ€”as a writer of lesbian fiction and as a detective novelist who happens to be a lesbian. I also hope the latest Barker novel Iâ€™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.â€

Meryl summed up the interview with, â€œOnly time will tell if the literary world will accept Ms. Cantinnini again with open arms.â€

Angie folded the paper and carried it down to the cabin. She climbed the stairs to the deck and stood behind the shipâ€™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 itâ€™d be.

â€œWhatâ€™d you think, Sally?â€

â€œI think I love Meryl McClain.â€

â€œIf I recall, you wanted to have her fired not that long ago.â€

â€œShe kind of grows on you, doesnâ€™t she? Of course I donâ€™t need to be telling you that.â€

Angie heard what sounded like ice clinking in a glass. Sally apparently was having a celebratory drink. Angie couldnâ€™t blame her.

â€œSpeaking of whom, have you heard from her?â€ Sally asked.

â€œNo. I havenâ€™t. I didnâ€™t really expect to.â€

Angie grabbed a bottled water and flopped down on the couch. â€œHave you heard any other feedback? Iâ€™m aware it only hit this morning, but Iâ€™m curious.â€

â€œYou of all people should know how fast the proverbial shit hits the fan in the media. Have you been online?â€

â€œIâ€™ve been out on the boat all day.â€

â€œFire up your computer, darling.â€ Sally slurped her drink. â€œAnd discover what your words hath wrought.â€

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.

â€œHoly shit.â€

â€œYeah, ainâ€™t it, though? Go to another one. Iâ€™ll wait.â€

Angie opened several other cable news and major newspaper Web sites. Her story was the lead on every one of them.

â€œOh my God.â€

â€œI told you this was big, but I donâ€™t think you understood the magnitude.â€

â€œNo, I didnâ€™t.â€

â€œWell, Ms. Cantinnini, trust me when I say you canâ€™t stave off the Norahs and the guys on the late-night talk show circuit. Youâ€™ll have to give in.â€

Angieâ€™s stomach fluttered. â€œYou donâ€™t think reporters will show up down here, do you?â€

That was Angieâ€™s greatest fear. Sheâ€™d been living a â€œCatch 22â€ these past eight years. Sheâ€™d hated the deception, but at the same time, sheâ€™d valued her privacy.

â€œYou might be all right unless someone down there starts talking. Youâ€™re unlisted, and no one knows where you live. Meryl didnâ€™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.â€

â€œStarting with?â€

â€œNorah.â€

Angie sighed. â€œHow did I know youâ€™d say that?â€

* * *

â€œSheâ€™s even cuter than her picture,â€ Rhonda said.

Meryl carried a glass of iced tea to Rhonda where she perched on the couch and took a seat beside her.

â€œYes,â€ Meryl said, â€œsheâ€™s definitely cute.â€

Rhonda had shown up unannounced at Merylâ€™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 wasnâ€™t the real reason.

Angie wore a peach jacket over a white cotton blouse that sheâ€™d tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. Meryl smiled. Angie still wasnâ€™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. Sheâ€™d seen that body language before.

â€œIs there anything youâ€™ve regretted over the years in choosing this life of Zach England?â€ Norah asked, tilting her head to the side.

Angie blushed under her dark tan. No one else may have noticed, but Meryl caught it.

Angieâ€™s eyes became moist. â€œI 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 Iâ€™m sorry. Iâ€™ll live my life in the open, as an author and as a lesbian.â€

â€œWell, 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.â€

As the words left Norahâ€™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.

â€œSheâ€™s beyond cute,â€ Rhonda said. â€œSheâ€™s adorable.â€

Meryl switched off the TV.

â€œYou canâ€™t tell me youâ€™re not still attracted to her. For Godâ€™s sake, you sat in the same room with her while you interviewed her. And yet youâ€”â€

â€œThereâ€™s something I left out when telling you how that interview came about.â€

â€œAll right. Tell me about it.â€

â€œRemember my trip to Key West in search of Zach England?â€ Meryl told Rhonda about meeting Angie there, Angieâ€™s deception, and then finding out the truth that Saturday morning. She didnâ€™t tell Rhonda about her confession to Angie about her grandmother sexually abusing her.

â€œAnd you didnâ€™t talk it out?â€ Rhonda asked.

â€œNo, we didnâ€™t. I was so angry, I left Key West that day.â€

â€œGirl, you need to get over your damn self and call that woman.â€

â€œYou still donâ€™t know the whole story.â€

â€œWell, since youâ€™re not telling me everything, Iâ€™ll go on what I can see with my very own eyes. And what I see is that youâ€™re still in love with her.â€

â€œRhondaâ€¦â€

â€œLet 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.â€

Meryl said nothing.

â€œThatâ€™s right. You donâ€™t have an answer to that, do you?â€ Rhonda flipped her wrist around to check her watch. â€œOkay. Gotta go.â€ She set her glass down and stood up. â€œCome on, at least give your best friend a hug.â€

Meryl embraced her.

â€œIâ€™ll talk to you over the weekend,â€ Rhonda said as she was leaving. â€œMaybe we can go shopping. That always cheers you up.â€

â€œShopping might not be such a bad idea.â€

Meryl shut the door behind Rhonda and locked the deadbolt. Malachi chose that moment to saunter in from the bedroom.

â€œQuiet now, hmm, boy?â€

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.

â€œWhat do you think, Malachi?â€ She rubbed her cheek against his. â€œAm I being unfair to Angie?â€

He meowed.

â€œSometimes, Iâ€™m really glad you canâ€™t talk.â€

Chapter 25

A whirlwind week of interviews followed Angieâ€™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.

â€œHowâ€™s the world-famous Angelina Zach Cantinnini England these days?â€ Ev asked.

â€œTired as hell,â€ Angie said with a huff, dropping her luggage into Evâ€™s minivan as they climbed in. â€œI want to go home and reacquaint myself with my bed.â€

Ev pulled out of the airport parking lot. â€œIâ€™m taking you straight there. I know itâ€™s been rough on you.â€

Angie laid her head against the headrest. She had to fight to stay awake. â€œI canâ€™t remember the last time I was this exhausted.â€

â€œWeâ€™ll get you home, and Iâ€™ll tuck you into bed. Howâ€™s that sound?â€

â€œCan I have a cookie and some milk, too, Mom?â€

Ev grinned. â€œChocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?â€

They arrived at Angieâ€™s house. Ev helped Angie take her luggage inside.

â€œThanks for picking me up. I think Iâ€™ll hit the hay.â€

Ev gave her a hug. The energy source from the embrace seemed to take all of the kinks out of Angieâ€™s sore muscles.

â€œYou really need to bottle that stuff,â€ Angie said after Ev released her.

â€œWhat stuff?â€

â€œYou know what Iâ€™m talking about. That medicine woman stuff.â€

â€œSorry. Itâ€™s a Cherokee secret.â€ Ev headed for the door. â€œYou get some rest.â€

â€œThanks again, Ev.â€

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.

* * *

â€œWeâ€™re hoping to interview Stephen King as soon as his schedule allows,â€ Meryl said. â€œAs most of you may know, heâ€™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.â€

â€œThank you, Meryl.â€ Thom Pratters turned to Zelda Landers. â€œHowâ€™s your joint interview with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie shaping up?â€

â€œWeâ€™re still on for Wednesday afternoon.â€ Zelda gave Meryl a pointed glance over her glasses.

God, Iâ€™d love to slap that look off her face.

The door to the conference room opened and Wade appeared.

â€œWhat is it?â€ Pratters asked with some annoyance.

â€œMr. Pratters, I hate to interrupt.â€ Wade turned toward Meryl. â€œThereâ€™s an emergency phone call for you.â€

Meryl jumped to her feet.

â€œExcuse me. I think I need to leave.â€

â€œGo, Meryl. And donâ€™t apologize.â€ Pratters motioned her out the door.

â€œItâ€™s your mother,â€ Wade said, almost running to keep up with Merylâ€™s long strides. â€œShe sounded very upset. When I told her you were in a meeting, she insisted I interrupt you.â€

â€œYou did everything right, Wade. Donâ€™t worry.â€

â€œSheâ€™s still on the line.â€

Meryl hurried to her phone and punched the button beside the blinking red light. â€œMother?â€

â€œHeâ€™s gone, Meryl,â€ her mother cried. â€œYour fatherâ€™s gone.â€

Meryl grabbed hold of the desk as her legs gave out. She reached behind her for the chair.

â€œWhen did heâ€”â€

â€œAbout forty-five minutes ago. At three-eighteen to be exact. I know it was three-eighteen because thatâ€™s what the doctor said when he recited the time to the nurse. â€˜Three-eighteen.â€™â€

Meryl held her head in her hands. â€œMother, Iâ€™m sorâ€”â€

â€œCan you come home now? Can you at least come here for the funeral?â€

â€œYes. Of course. Iâ€™ll take the next available flight.â€

Meryl saw Wade watching her through the glass. She waved him into the office. â€œIâ€™ll make the arrangements now. Is Aunt Suzanne there?â€

â€œSheâ€™s staying with me. Will you please call to tell me when youâ€™re on your way? Iâ€™ll have Edward pick you up at the airport.â€

â€œIâ€™ll get an airport limo to bring me there.â€

â€œRidiculous.â€ Her mother had recovered enough for her voice to return to its no-nonsense tenor. â€œThatâ€™s what Edwardâ€™s for.â€

Meryl didnâ€™t argue. â€œIâ€™ll call when I find out the arrival time and the airline gate.â€

â€œGood.â€ There was a pause. â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re coming home.â€

â€œIâ€™ll be there soon.â€ Meryl replaced the receiver in its cradle.

She thought of her motherâ€™s words. It was the house where sheâ€™d spent her youth. But it no longer felt like home.

* * *

â€œRobert Tarkington is not available right now. Please leave your name, number, and message after the toneâ€¦â€

Damn it. Why wasnâ€™t he there?

â€œRobert, itâ€™s Meryl McClain. My father died this morning, and Iâ€¦â€ She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but was unsuccessful. â€œAnd, Christ, Iâ€™m crying. Can you please call me back and tell me why Iâ€™m crying?â€ 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. â€œWhy is this affecting me this way? I mean, shouldnâ€™t I be relieved?â€

â€œWhere are you right now?â€ Robert asked.

â€œIâ€™m at my apartment.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t you sit down, take a few deep breaths, and exhale slowly. Remember the relaxation technique I taught you?â€

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.

â€œBreathe in. Hold it. Slowly release it.â€

He repeated the mantra until Meryl became more relaxed.

â€œIâ€™m better now, I think,â€ Meryl said and sniffed. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table.

â€œWhat youâ€™re experiencing is a normal reaction. Youâ€™re grieving the loss of something you never hadâ€”the love of your father. How is your mother?â€

â€œAbout how youâ€™d expect. Sheâ€™s devastated, but at the same time, I think sheâ€™s disappointed in me.â€

â€œYouâ€™re flying in for the funeral?â€

â€œYes.â€ Meryl glanced at the clock. â€œMy flight leaves in about three hours. Iâ€™ll arrive there late, probably around nine-thirty this evening, if there are no delays.â€

â€œI think itâ€™s time to tell your mother about what happened to you as a child.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know that I can.â€ Merylâ€™s head throbbed at the prospect.

â€œWho are you really protecting, Meryl?â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œJust what I asked.â€

â€œYou think Iâ€™m protecting the memory of my father?â€ Her stomach lurched at the suggestion.

Silence was Robertâ€™s only answer.

â€œYou think Iâ€™m trying to protect myself?â€

He still didnâ€™t answer.

â€œWell?â€

â€œI think youâ€™ve endured a lot these past few months. Youâ€™ve come to the truth, but I think youâ€™re afraid youâ€™ll have to delve into this even more with your mother by returning home.â€

â€œHow much deeper am I supposed to delve?â€ Anger gnawed at her.

â€œI never said this would be easy.â€

Meryl gave a sarcastic laugh. â€œThatâ€™s good. Because itâ€™s the most horrific thing Iâ€™ve ever experienced.â€

â€œIâ€™ve told you this during our sessions, but you need to believe me. This will get better. Itâ€™s a healing process.â€

â€œWhy is it the tough stuff always takes so long to work through?â€ Meryl pulled another tissue from the box.

â€œBecause itâ€™s been buried all these years. See it as digging through layers. Youâ€™re almost there, Meryl.â€

Malachi jumped onto Merylâ€™s lap.

â€œMy catâ€™s feeling neglected. I need to pack and ask my neighbor if sheâ€™ll watch him while Iâ€™m gone.â€ Meryl hesitated. â€œUm, about the other dayâ€¦â€

â€œDonâ€™t worry about it. Youâ€™re not the first patient Iâ€™ve had walk out on a session, and you wonâ€™t be the last.â€

â€œAnd about Angieâ€¦â€

â€œWeâ€™ll talk about her when you return. Please know Iâ€™ll be thinking about you and your mother these next few days.â€

â€œThank you, Robert.â€

â€œTake care.â€

Meryl scratched behind Malachiâ€™s ears a few minutes before breaking out of her thoughts.

â€œLetâ€™s see if Deidre can watch you, boy.â€

His purring increased in volume.

â€œYeah, tell me about it. She feeds you better than I do.â€

* * *

Merylâ€™s plane landed on time. She saw Edward standing near the bottom of the escalator.

â€œIâ€™ll get a cart for your luggage, Miss Meryl,â€ he said.

Meryl touched his arm before he left for the rack. â€œItâ€™s not needed, Edward. This is all I have.â€

Edward took the bag from Meryl, and they walked out into the muggy air.

â€œIf you wait here, Iâ€™ll bring the car around.â€

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.

â€œThere are refreshments there, Miss Meryl, as always,â€ 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 didnâ€™t realize sheâ€™d dozed off until the cessation of motion awakened her.

Edward opened the door. â€œIâ€™ll see to your bag.â€ His chiseled features softened. â€œItâ€™s good to have you home.â€

â€œThank you.â€

The front door opened. The inside light backlit the solitary figure in the doorway.

â€œI see your flight arrived on time.â€ Candace McClain greeted her as Meryl approached.

Meryl stepped up into the entryway. â€œYes. No delays.â€ Meryl felt awkward at first, but then kissed her mother on the cheek and embraced her. â€œIâ€™m sorry, Mother.â€

Her mother leaned into her, as though drawing strength from Merylâ€™s presence. â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re here.â€

They moved into the living room. Merylâ€™s Aunt Suzanne, her motherâ€™s only sibling, stood to greet Meryl. â€œWeâ€™re pleased you could make it, my dear.â€ Her aunt gave her air kisses to both cheeks. She leaned back, grasping Merylâ€™s hands in hers. â€œLook at you. All grown up and as beautiful as always.â€

Meryl blushed. â€œI donâ€™t know about that.â€

â€œYou were always so shy about your beauty. Trust me. The right manâ€™s still out there for you.â€

Meryl stiffened.

â€œSuzanne, would you mind giving us a moment?â€ her mother asked in an icy tone.

â€œItâ€™s late. Iâ€™ll retire now for the evening and see you both in the morning.â€

Meryl watched Suzanne as she ascended the stairs. She turned around and caught the full brunt of her motherâ€™s stare.

â€œLetâ€™s have a seat, shall we?â€

Merylâ€™s stomach fluttered.

They sat down on the leather couch.

â€œWould you like some tea?â€

â€œNo, thank you.â€ 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. â€œItâ€™s time for you to tell me why youâ€™ve stayed away.â€

â€œMother, Iâ€”â€

â€œNo, Meryl, this canâ€™t wait any longer. I donâ€™t want to hear this after your fatherâ€™s funeral. I want to hear it now.â€

Meryl still hesitated.

Her mother squeezed her hand. â€œPlease, dear. Something happened between you and your father that you havenâ€™t told me. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep you away. Tell me.â€

Meryl closed her eyes to gather her courage. She opened them. Her motherâ€™s gray eyes searched hers.

â€œIt happened long ago when I was a child. I donâ€™t know how old I was when it first happened. I donâ€™t know how many times it happened. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that it did happen.â€

Her mother gripped the cushion of the couch with her other hand.

Once Meryl began to speak, the words tumbled out. â€œGrandmother McClain molested me. It happened while she bathed me. Sheâ€¦ she kept rubbing me in myâ€¦ myâ€”â€

Candace held up her hand, and her face turned ashen. â€œYou donâ€™t need to say.â€

â€œThe one dream thatâ€™s so vividâ€¦ Father was there. He opened the door to the bathroom, saw what was happening, and didnâ€™t stop it. I told him I was hurting. I told him.â€

â€œAnd heâ€¦â€

â€œHe turned away and shut the door behind him. And she kept on and kept on.â€ 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. â€œYou confronted your father, didnâ€™t you?â€ Candace asked while still facing the window.

â€œYes.â€ Meryl began crying. â€œMother, I couldnâ€™t tell you. By the time I understood what all my bad dreams were really about, he was already dying. I didnâ€™t want to take away your last days with him. Iâ€™m so sorry.â€

Her mother turned around. â€œOh, honey.â€ Tears streamed down her cheeks. â€œDo you think I believe this is your fault?â€ She approached Meryl and cupped her face in her hands. â€œYou poor girl. If Iâ€™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.â€

Meryl suddenly was a child again. â€œMommy, it hurt so much,â€ she sobbed.

Candace sat down beside her and took Meryl into her arms. She pressed Merylâ€™s head under her chin and rocked her. â€œMy poor, poor little Meryl. They canâ€™t hurt you anymore. Iâ€™m here. Mommyâ€™s here.â€

Meryl welcomed her motherâ€™s soothing words and pressed even farther into her embrace. It took Meryl back to the night on Angieâ€™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. Sheâ€™d check in first with everyone and then get in her run to the lighthouse. She hadnâ€™t had any physical activity for the past few weeks, and sheâ€™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 Angieâ€™s nostrils.

â€œMan, when you guys clean, you clean,â€ Angie said.

Christi glanced over her shoulder at Angie. â€œWe have this boss who insists on a spotless bar.â€

Angie chuckled. â€œIf thatâ€™s the case, I hope she gives yâ€™all a raise.â€

â€œGosh, thatâ€™d be kind of nice,â€ Christi said while squeezing out her rag.

â€œI thought youâ€™d like that one.â€ Angie stepped behind the bar and pulled out a bottled water from the refrigerator. â€œYou both have everything under control. Iâ€™m taking this out to the beach to do some jogging.â€

Sage walked in from the rear. â€œBe careful. Itâ€™s supposed to be a scorcher today, Miss World-Famous-Author-Who-Rarely-Graces-Our-Presence.â€

â€œWhich is why Iâ€™m only jogging a mile rather than three, Mister May-Not-Have-a-Job-Soon-if-He-Keeps-Mouthing-Off.â€

â€œGo on. Work on toning those legs, darling,â€ he shot back. â€œYouâ€™re looking a little out of shape.â€

â€œYouâ€™re such an asshole.â€

â€œSaid the woman who kept her secret from her most trusted friend.â€

â€œWhatever, Sage.â€ 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. Thereâ€™d been no calls. No contact. Angie was beginning to accept that it was over. But for her, â€œoverâ€ would mean sheâ€™d return to living her life as she had before, hoping against hope that one day theyâ€™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.

â€œKept telling you Iâ€™d show up unannounced.â€ Jan spread out her arms. â€œHere I am.â€

Angie quickened her pace and gave Jan a big hug.

â€œGosh, I didnâ€™t expect this, but itâ€™s nice to know you missed me,â€ Jan said.

â€œSorry. Iâ€™m all sweaty. Let me help you with those.â€ Angie picked up Janâ€™s suitcases. â€œPlanning to stay awhile?â€

â€œOh, maybe a week. You know me and packing. I canâ€™t just put in a weekâ€™s worth of clothing. I stand there and say, â€˜if we go out, then Iâ€™ll need thatâ€™ or â€˜if I spill something on my nice, white suit, Iâ€™ll need this.â€™â€

â€œIâ€™m glad my big sister hasnâ€™t changed.â€

They entered the living room.

â€œTake a load off,â€ Angie said, pointing to the couch. â€œIâ€™ll get you some juice. I have orange, grape, apple, cranberryâ€”â€

â€œGood God. When did you go all health nutty on me?â€

â€œAbout five years ago,â€ Angie shouted from the kitchen. â€œYou havenâ€™t answered my question.â€

â€œSurprise me.â€

Angie handed Jan a bottle of apple juice and opened a bottle of water for herself.

â€œAngie, you remember how much I hate this stuff.â€

â€œBut you saidâ€”â€

Jan broke into a big grin. She smacked Angie on her leg after Angie sat down beside her. â€œIâ€™m joking. What happened to your sense of humor?â€

â€œI think it left me a few weeks ago.â€ Angie took a drink of water.

Jan pulled down the sunglasses perched on top of her head and tossed them onto the table. â€œA lotâ€™s happened to you in the past few weeks. You seemed so down whenever we talked. Iâ€™d think this would be a freeing experience for you.â€

â€œIt has been.â€ Angie glanced over at Jan and turned away.

â€œBut? I sense a â€˜butâ€™ coming on. What about you and Meryl?â€

â€œShe got the interview of her career, I guess.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not what Iâ€™m talking about, and you know it.â€

â€œWhat do you want to hear? That I havenâ€™t heard from her since the day of the interview?â€

â€œAnd why is that?â€

â€œI donâ€™t want to talk about it. Letâ€™s talk about something else. What did Mom and Dad think about everything? And Lou, too, for that matter?â€

â€œThey were in shock. Lou especially. Of course, heâ€™s a horseâ€™s ass, so thatâ€™s to be expected. Mom didnâ€™t say anything. You know how she is. But Daddy?â€

â€œYeah?â€

Jan smiled. â€œDaddy was very proud.â€

â€œReally?â€

â€œYes, really. We talked for a long time about it. He told me he always knew youâ€™d do something special in your life with your writing. He went out and bought all of the Barker books, even your latest.â€

â€œYet, he canâ€™t call me and tell me all of this himself.â€

Jan grasped her hand. â€œGive him a little time, Angie. When he found out I was coming down here, he told me to tell you he loved you and heâ€™d call soon.â€

â€œUntil Mom finds out and puts a quick stop to it,â€ Angie said.

â€œNot this time.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ Angieâ€™s heart skipped a beat.

â€œJust what I said. This timeâ€™s different. He talked about getting older and having regrets in his lifeâ€”the biggest one being how heâ€™s treated you. He said heâ€™d talk to Mom in the next couple of weeks. This time, he told me, thereâ€™d be no giving in to her wishes.â€

â€œOh, Jan.â€ Angie choked out the words.

Jan moved closer and put her arm around Angie. â€œI said heâ€™d come around. Of course, itâ€™s much later than Iâ€™d hoped. But as long as it brings you together before he passes, thatâ€™s all that matters.â€ She kissed Angie on the forehead. â€œHow about you tell me what happened between you and Meryl.â€

Angie shook her head. â€œItâ€™s all my fault.â€

â€œOkay, whatâ€™s all your fault?â€

Angie downed the rest of her water and set the empty plastic bottle on the coffee table.

â€œWhy do I think you wished that was something stronger?â€ Jan asked with a raised eyebrow.

â€œBecause youâ€™d be right.â€ Angie ran her fingers through her wet hair.

â€œNow youâ€™re giving me a big clue how bad this is by that gesture alone. Itâ€™s usually your stall tactic when youâ€™ve done something wrong.â€

â€œI never could keep anything from you.â€

â€œAnd this is bad, how?â€

Angie tried to muster a smile, but could only grimace. â€œMeryl 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.â€

â€œYeah, I remember that article. Please donâ€™t say what I think youâ€™re going to say.â€

â€œIf itâ€™s that you donâ€™t want to hear I kept it from her that I was Zach England, okay, then I wonâ€™t tell you.â€

â€œOh Lord.â€

â€œAnd do you want to hear the topper?â€

â€œThereâ€™s something worse?â€

â€œI had us searching for the guy who was suspected to be Zach England, one Hal Morris.â€

â€œThe baseball player?â€

â€œOnly youâ€™d remember that. Of course, you defied the family and became a Reds fan rather than an Indians fan.â€

â€œJust to piss off Lou. Jesus, Angie, I canâ€™t believe you did that. I take it she found out?â€

â€œIâ€™d left one of my marked-up manuscripts lying out. At first, she thought I was Englandâ€™s editor. The sad thing is Iâ€™d planned to tell her that morning. But it was too late.â€

â€œMan, oh man. When you screw up, you really screw up.â€

â€œThanks, Jan. Youâ€™re real supportive.â€

â€œHey, Iâ€™m your big sister. Iâ€™m supposed to get on you about shit like this. Itâ€™s my job.â€ Jan made a face. â€œAnd now that her father died, Iâ€™m sure itâ€™ll be even more difficult for you to connect with her again. She probably feels like sheâ€™s being bombarded with all this emotional upheaval.â€

Angie bolted up from her slouch. â€œWhat did you say?â€

â€œI said that she probably feels like sheâ€™s being bombardedâ€”â€

â€œNo. Did you say her father died?â€

â€œYeah. 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.â€

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 heâ€™d inflicted during her childhood.

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ Jan asked.

â€œI need to go there.â€

â€œWhere? You donâ€™t meanâ€¦â€

â€œYes. To Pittsburgh, or rather Mount Lebanon. Did the paper say when theyâ€™re holding the services?â€

â€œI think it said the viewingâ€™s today and the funeralâ€™s tomorrow.â€ Jan went to Angie and gripped her shoulders.

Angie stopped.

â€œYouâ€™re making me dizzy. Are you even sure sheâ€™d want you there?â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m not. But I still love her.â€

Angie hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, stripping while she ran.

â€œAnd just like when we were kids, Iâ€™m picking up after you.â€ Jan snatched up Angieâ€™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.

â€œIf youâ€™re going to do this, which it seems damn well likely you are, can I help out in any way?â€ Jan asked.

â€œYeah. Get online and find out about flights leaving Miami for Pittsburgh. Iâ€™d like to get there this evening so I can catch my breath before tomorrow.â€

â€œYou mean to tell me that Zach England doesnâ€™t own a private jet?â€

Angie slid the shower door open enough to poke her head out. â€œQuit being a shit and find me a flight.â€

â€œAnd what about little olâ€™ me? I just got here.â€

â€œOh, crap. I didnâ€™t even think about that. Youâ€™re welcome to stay. Iâ€™ll even give you my spare key.â€

â€œYeah, yeah, yeah. Go on. Leave me alone.â€

â€œButâ€”â€

Jan grinned as she stood up. â€œIâ€™m just joshing with you. Matters of the heart come first. Iâ€™ll find a flight for you. Go to her, Angie.â€

* * *

Meryl sat next to her mother at the gravesite. They held hands as the minister spoke.

â€œChanning 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 fatherâ€™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 childrenâ€™s hospital that later shared his name.â€

Meryl stared straight ahead as the minister continued to sing her fatherâ€™s praises.

The minister looked at her and her mother. â€œBut above all things, he was a good father and a loving husband to Meryl and Candace.â€

Candace tightened her grip of Merylâ€™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 motherâ€™s. Candace turned to her, acknowledging Merylâ€™s touch.

Neither had shed tears at the viewing, nor the funeral. And now they both sat expressionless in front of her fatherâ€™s casket. Meryl blocked out the rest of the ministerâ€™s words. They stood at the appropriate time when he read the Lordâ€™s Prayer. Meryl intoned the words as if someone had flipped a switch in her brain.

â€œAnd 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.â€

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 otherâ€™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.

â€œMeryl? Are you all right?â€ Candace peered up at her.

The dark-haired woman across the road turned and walked to a car parked nearby.

â€œYe-yes. I think so.â€

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.

â€œAre you sure youâ€™re okay?â€ Candace asked her. â€œYouâ€™re very pale. These have been a difficult few days for you. Perhaps you should rest when we get home.â€

â€œIâ€™m fine. I thought I saw someoneâ€¦â€

â€œSomeone you knew?â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€ She turned to her mother and smiled. â€œReally, Iâ€™m okay.â€

Candace nodded. â€œEdward, take us home.â€

* * *

â€œMeryl, Mrs. McClain, Iâ€™m so sorry for your loss.â€

Gertrude Billingsley, her fatherâ€™s long-time aide, shook their hands. Sheâ€™d retired years ago but still had made the funeral despite failing health.

â€œThank you, Gertrude. Channing always spoke so highly of you. He wouldnâ€™t have made it without your assistanceâ€”especially with the stains on his ties. You saved him, I donâ€™t know how many times, with your endless supply.â€

Meryl was only half-listening to her mother. She heard murmuring behind her. Her mother looked over Merylâ€™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.

â€œMeryl, I came to offer you my sympathy,â€ Angie said. â€œI know this is difficult for you.â€ Her dark eyes shifted to Merylâ€™s mother. â€œAnd for you, Mrs. McClain. Youâ€™re both in my prayers.â€

Candace moved forward. â€œMeryl, I donâ€™t believe youâ€™ve ever introduced us.â€

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.

â€œHoney?â€ her mother said.

â€œIâ€™m sorry. Mother, this is Angie Cantinnini. Angie, my mother, Candace McClain.â€

â€œMrs. McClain.â€ Angie took Candaceâ€™s hand in both of hers. â€œIâ€™m sorry for your loss.â€

â€œThank you, dear.â€ Candace glanced at her daughter and back to Angie. â€œThank you, too, for coming to offer your condolences, Ms. Cantinnini,â€ her mother added.

â€œItâ€™s Angie.â€

Her mother smiled. â€œAngie it is then. Please. Stay with us and eat.â€

Angie looked at Meryl as if for her approval, but Meryl said nothing. â€œI think it best I not stay.â€

â€œYouâ€™re sure?â€ her mother asked.

â€œI can catch an afternoon flight to Miami. I should be leaving.â€ Angie stepped forward, searching Merylâ€™s face. Then she embraced her. She brought her lips to Merylâ€™s ear. â€œI still love you, and I always will,â€ 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.

â€œSo, that was Angie.â€

â€œYes.â€ Meryl stroked her cheek where Angie had kissed her.

â€œStriking woman.â€

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 motherâ€™s sake and for the family name, replying with hollow words she didnâ€™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 sheâ€™d be disappointed. Angie was gone.

* * *

Angie stood under the flight information display at the airport and scanned it for her flight to Miami. â€œDamn it.â€

â€œDelayedâ€ 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. Sheâ€™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, sheâ€™d have to sit there with the other passengers. She wanted to be aloneâ€”hard to do in a busy airport. Maybe sheâ€™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 didnâ€™t help Angieâ€™s mood.

She just wanted to go home.

* * *

Meryl sat in a chaise lounge in the spacious backyard. She wiped at her eyes. She hadnâ€™t stopped crying since sheâ€™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 motherâ€™s voice.

â€œYouâ€™ve been out here for quite some time. And youâ€™re crying.â€ Candace pulled out a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and handed it to Meryl.

â€œThank you.â€ Why was it mothers always carried handkerchiefs? Meryl dabbed at her eyes.

â€œCome into the house, and Iâ€™ll fix us some hot tea.â€

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. â€œDrink some of that. It always made you feel better when you were young.â€

Meryl blew into the cup and took a tentative sip.

â€œDo you want to talk about it?â€ Candace asked.

â€œThereâ€™s not much to say.â€

â€œSometimes itâ€™s better that way. Tell me what youâ€™re feeling.â€

Meryl set her cup down. â€œItâ€™s Angie.â€

Candace smiled. â€œThat I knew.â€

â€œWhat am I going to do?â€

â€œWhat does your heart tell you?â€

Meryl twisted the handkerchief in her hand. â€œThat I love her. But itâ€™s not that simple.â€

Candace leaned her elbow onto the table and put her chin in her hand. She observed Meryl for a long moment. â€œI can see why you fell in love with her. Sheâ€™s a beautiful woman, and she obviously still loves you. Did something happen between the two of you thatâ€™s causing you to doubt what you feel?â€

â€œYes,â€ Meryl said, but didnâ€™t offer more.

â€œYou donâ€™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.â€ She caressed Merylâ€™s face. â€œAnd what she still means to you.â€

â€œMother, Iâ€™m not sure.â€

â€œMeryl McClain, youâ€™ve been like this only one other time in your life and that was when you were at Lehigh. When youâ€™d come home for visits that junior year, you wore this same love-struck look. Nothingâ€™s changed.â€ Her mother tilted her chin up. â€œYes, a few slight lines of aging, but youâ€™re still that same young woman who lost her heart all those years ago.â€

â€œWhat if itâ€™s all an illusion?â€ Meryl fought to keep her voice steady.

Candace shook her head slightly. â€œI think I know whatâ€™s real, honey. And what I saw today between the two of you is as real as it gets. I didnâ€™t stand up for you in this house twelve years ago, but Godâ€™s given me another chance to right a wrong. Go after her. And when you reach her, hold onto her with everything you have.â€

Meryl stood up and gave her mother a hug. â€œI love you.â€

â€œI love you, too, sweetie.â€ Candace then turned Meryl to face the doorway that led to the stairs. She gave her a gentle push. â€œNow get packed and go to her.â€

* * *

â€œHey, Jan,â€ Angie hollered from the kitchen. She drank the rest of her juice. â€œIâ€™m taking off on my run. I can stop by the donut shop when Iâ€™m done and pick you up something, if you want.â€

Jan emerged from the hallway, still clothed in her pajama shorts and tank top. Her dark hair stuck out in all directions. â€œWho 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?â€

Angie laughed. â€œI told you. I started running a few years ago. Now what about a donut?â€

â€œAnd I suppose youâ€™re abstaining because itâ€™s unhealthy.â€ Jan moved past her to switch on the coffeemaker.

â€œIf itâ€™ll make you feel better, Iâ€™ll get some sugar donuts for myself.â€

â€œDonâ€™t make it sound like such a sacrifice.â€ Jan leaned onto the counter and stared at the water dripping into the container. â€œDoes this go any faster?â€

â€œJan. Hello. Donuts?â€

â€œPick me up one of those pecan chewy thingies.â€

Angie turned to leave.

â€œAngie?â€

â€œYeah?â€

â€œYou were pretty down when you got in. You said maybe two words to me last night. Iâ€™m sorry about Meryl. You okay?â€

â€œIâ€™m surviving.â€ Angie hurried for the door to avoid any further conversation. â€œIâ€™ll be back in an hour.â€

Jan mumbled something about the obscenity of her little sisterâ€™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, â€œHey! What about my broken heart?â€

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. Angieâ€™s heart leapt to her throat.

Meryl was running toward her. Jan stood in the distance, wiping at her eyes.

Merylâ€™s pace slowed as she drew closer.

Angie ran to her and stopped, gasping for air. â€œMeryl, Iâ€”â€

Meryl moved within inches of Angie and put her fingers to Angieâ€™s lips. â€œJust donâ€™t ever lie to me again, okay?â€ Meryl searched her eyes.

â€œNever.â€

â€œGood.â€ Merylâ€™s smile was playful. â€œBecause Iâ€™ve done a lot of soul-searching, and Iâ€™ve come to a conclusion.â€

â€œAnd whatâ€™s that?â€

â€œThat I couldnâ€™t live without a certain Italianâ€™s cooking.â€

Angie pulled Meryl close. â€œYeah?â€

â€œYes. But even more than thatâ€â€”Meryl brought her lips to Angieâ€™sâ€”â€œI couldnâ€™t live without a certain Italian.â€

Epilogue

â€œYou owe me on this one, little sis.â€ Jan plopped down on Angieâ€™s bed.

â€œWhy?â€ Angie stood in front of her full-length mirror and looked at her sisterâ€™s reflection while she spoke.

â€œLetâ€™s say having Dad grip my hand until all feeling left my fingers on the flight from Cleveland to Miami wasnâ€™t a picnic.â€

â€œI donâ€™t imagine it would be.â€

â€œOh, but thereâ€™s more. He didnâ€™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, â€˜Just how long is this thing?â€™â€

Angie laughed. Over the past several weeks, she and her father had made amends. Her mother? Her mother was another matter. But Angie wouldnâ€™t let it spoil this special day.

â€œIâ€™m glad you find this amusing,â€ Jan said.

â€œCome here and be useful. I canâ€™t get this tie right.â€

Jan spun Angie around to face her. She undid the sloppy knot in the tie and started a new one. She patted it when sheâ€™d finished. â€œThere.â€

Angie turned toward the mirror again. â€œWow, howâ€™d you learn to do that?â€ Angie fiddled with the tie some more to make it perfect.

â€œHey, my husband has worn a tux from time to time. Weâ€™re not totally uncouth, you know.â€

Angie, dressed in a white tuxedo, white bow tie, and white boots, faced Jan again. â€œWhat do you think?â€

Jan looked like she was about to cry. â€œI think youâ€™re a gorgeous groomette on her wedding day.â€ She brushed her fingers over the lapels on Angieâ€™s jacket. â€œI only wish Mom had come around.â€

Angie hugged Jan. â€œItâ€™s okay. The people who love me are here, and thatâ€™s what matters.â€

â€œI think itâ€™s so cool Meryl wants Daddy to give her away,â€ Jan said.

Angie tried not to choke up thinking about it, but she didnâ€™t have much success. â€œIt means a lot to me and to Meryl.â€

Jan smiled. â€œMe, too.â€ She smoothed out her peach-colored dress that stopped right below her knees. She linked her arm in Angieâ€™s. â€œCome on. Itâ€™s almost time. You have a wedding to make.â€

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 Merylâ€™s mother and Angieâ€™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 â€œbest manâ€ poked her lightly in the side. Janâ€™s smile reassured her.

The music started. Everyone stood as Angieâ€™s father walked Meryl down the aisle. Angieâ€™s tears began to flow the moment she saw Meryl. She wore a white strapless gown adorned with pearls and lace. Sheâ€™d pulled her hair back into a barrette. Her eyes never left Angieâ€™s as she took each slow step with Angieâ€™s father.

When her father placed Merylâ€™s hand in hers, he met Angieâ€™s gaze. She saw what sheâ€™d always longed for there. Acceptance. He took a seat beside Merylâ€™s mother.

For the rest of the ceremony, Angie was in a daze. The ministerâ€™s words were forgettable, but she knew the love emanating from Merylâ€™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 didnâ€™t bother rolling up her pant legs. She took Merylâ€™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 Merylâ€™s hair. â€œWeâ€™ve said our vows, but I wanted to save this special moment just for us.â€ The water lapped at their feet. â€œYou captured me with your eyes that first day we met.â€ She ran her fingers through the soft strands falling around Merylâ€™s face. â€œWithout you, Iâ€™ve been lost. But youâ€™ve come back to me, and Iâ€™ve found my anchor in the harbor.â€

Meryl caressed Angieâ€™s cheek. â€œI know with your love, Iâ€™m safe. Always.â€

And Meryl kissed her. A kiss that held the answers to every question of their future.

Author Chris Paynter Photo Credit: Phyllis Manfredi

About the Author

Chris was born in a British hospital and happily lived the nomadic life of an Air Force brat until her father retired from the service. Sheâ€™s resided in New York, Montana, and Ohio. She received a Bachelorâ€™s degree in journalism from Indiana University with a minor in her true first love, history. She worked as a general assignment reporter and sports reporter before settling into her current position as editorial specialist for a law journal.

She lives in Indianapolis with her wife and their beagle, Buddy the Wonder Dog. She is a voracious reader and continues to work on her own writing, including the continuing saga of Amy Perry and Lisa Collins in the Playing for First series.

You can visit her website at www.ckpaynter.com.

Two For the Show Excerpt

If you enjoyed this book, be sure to look out for Chris Paynterâ€™s next book in the Playing for First series,

Two For the Show

Available Soon, only from

â€œAmy! Amy! Over here!â€

Amy blinked as another flash blinded her. The Reds tried to treat this as a normal call-up, but the reporters and photographers didnâ€™t oblige. They descended on Amy as she stepped out of her car at Great American. She headed toward the entrance to the park, but had to run the gauntlet through about twenty members of the media.

â€œHowâ€™s it feel getting the call again?â€

â€œAre you ready to stay up this time?â€

â€œDid you bring your partner with you, and do you anticipate it being a distraction?â€

At the last question, Amy zeroed in on a short, scrawny reporter who appeared to be sixteen years old. She ignored him and pushed her way through the human maze. She made it to the gate, where a security guard opened it for her and held up his hand to the throng trying to push past him.

â€œThis is far as you go, everybody.â€ He closed the gate with a clang.

â€œHey, Amy?â€

She stopped and waited for the guard to catch up to her.

â€œUhâ€¦ my kid sister is one of your biggest fans. She asked me ifâ€¦ wellâ€¦â€

Amy set her bag down, reached in, and grabbed one of her batting gloves.

â€œDonâ€™t suppose you have a pen or marker?â€ she asked him.

â€œAs a matter of fact, I do.â€

Amy smiled when he whipped out a Sharpie from his front shirt pocket, handing it to her.

â€œHer nameâ€™s Colleen.â€

â€œCan you turn around?â€

The guard obliged. Amy pressed the glove against his back as she scribbled out, â€œTo Colleen, best, Amy Perryâ€ in the palm of the leather. She handed it to him when she finished.

â€œThanks, Amy. She already thinks youâ€™re the best. This?â€ He held up the glove. â€œSheâ€™ll be a fan for life.â€

â€œTell her to keep playing the game, because Iâ€™m assuming she plays, right?â€

â€œFast pitch softball. She argued to get on the boyâ€™s baseball team. You realize you started something, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œGlad I could speed along the process,â€ she said, picking up her bag.

â€œGood luck tonight.â€

â€œThank you.â€

Amy continued toward the rear entrance to the clubhouse. Another guard opened the door for her. She nodded at the bulky woman. The guard gave her a wink when Amy moved past her.

Guess Iâ€™d better get used to that.

â€œAmy, welcome back.â€ Phil, the easygoing, rotund equipment manager, greeted her as she entered the clubhouse. â€œGot your locker all ready. Right over here.â€

Amy followed him to a locker with a red nameplate stenciled with white lettering, â€œPerry 22,â€ above it. The Reds put her in between Nick Sanders, the veteran power-hitting third baseman, and Tim Rawls, the starting second baseman whoâ€™d made the team out of spring training.

Phil watched her check out the other names.

â€œYouâ€™ll like those two. Theyâ€™ll give you a fair shake.â€

Amy didnâ€™t respond, thinking, weâ€™ll see. Sheâ€™d finished emptying out her bag when Max Murphy strolled by in street clothes. He came over to her.

â€œGood to have you back, Perry. Why donâ€™t you follow me to my office, and weâ€™ll chat. I know you want to get out there to get in your batting practice, but you have a few minutes.â€

She followed him to his spacious office.

â€œTake a seat.â€ He took off his shirt and pulled down the uniform draped across a hanger on top of his door. â€œHowâ€™re you feeling?â€ he asked her as he finished buttoning the jersey. He sat down behind his desk.

â€œA little nervous, but anxious to get going at the same time.â€

â€œThatâ€™s good. The nervous thing should keep you on your toes. The anxious stuff should keep you on top of your game.â€

â€œHope so.â€

â€œAmy, Iâ€™m not going to lie and paint some rosy picture about how things will be for you. You found out some of this last year when you were up for the month. Youâ€™ll get cheers, youâ€™ll get boos, youâ€™ll catch crap from other players, and youâ€™ll have other guys tell you theyâ€™re glad you got a shot. But you havenâ€™t been up since your press conference earlier this spring.â€ His voice took on a more serious tone.

Amy gripped the arm of the chair a little tighter, fearing she was about to get a rebuke for announcing her lesbianism before the Indiansâ€™ season opener. Sheâ€™d only played the one month under Murphy. Lisa had told her he was a fair manager, but she still dreaded hearing negativity about her sexuality.

â€œI expect Iâ€™ll catch grief, Murph. I was aware of it when I held the press conference.â€

â€œDo you have a thick skin, and can you be hard of hearing?â€

â€œI can be if needed. Chattanooga wasnâ€™t exactly a cakewalk at first.â€ Most of her teammates eventually accepted her presence on the team. Thatâ€™s all she askedâ€”accept her or leave her the hell alone.

â€œGood, good.â€ Murphy ran his thick hand through his red hair. â€œIâ€™ll keep an eye on this team. Iâ€™ll step in if needed. But I canâ€™t control the other shit.â€

â€œI had my share of unruly crowds down in the south. I think I can handle it.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t you dress and get out onto the field? If I remember, you like to get your batting practice in to the point Donny had to yank you kicking and screaming out of the box.â€

She laughed. â€œHey, he should be happy I like to work on my hitting.â€

He stood up. â€œDonâ€™t go giving my hitting coach a heart attack on your first night back, you hear?â€

He held out his hand.

â€œIâ€™ll do my best for you,â€ she said, shaking his hand. â€œAlways.â€

â€œIâ€™ve never doubted it for a minute. Now go and get suited up.â€

Other players had straggled into the clubhouse. A few of them looked in her direction. Nick Sanders sat in front of his locker, shirtless in his sanitary pants. He was a mountain of a manâ€”over six feet tall and all muscles. She stepped in beside him. He glanced at her as he rolled up the stirrups over his socks.

â€œHey.â€ He greeted her with a slight smile.

â€œHey.â€

Might as well go for it, Amy thought. She lifted off her T-shirt, keeping her jeans on as she put on a red undershirt. She found the guys werenâ€™t so nervous if she undressed in increments.

Sanders stood and pulled his uniform pants out of his locker. As he did, Amy stripped off her jeans. She tugged on a pair of sanitary shorts that came to her mid-thigh and clung to her muscles. She sneaked a peek over at Sanders who remained facing his locker while he finished dressing.

Amy dressed in silence, accepting that the thick-necked blond third baseman had nothing to say to her. She had her head down while looping her red belt through her uniform pants.

Sanders started to walk away, but then stopped. â€œAnybody gives you any shit, tell me, all right?â€

Shocked, Amy looked up from what she was doing to meet his pale blue eyes.

â€œAll right?â€ he repeated.

â€œSure.â€

She watched his back as he headed toward the tunnel to the field. The rustle of a newspaper caught her attention.

Phil sat in the corner with his feet propped up on another chair. He peered over the paper, gave her a slight nod, and then went back to reading.

â€œIâ€™ll be damned,â€ Amy said under her breath.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Author

Two For the Show Excerpt

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