last few infinitely trying seconds. His eyes ran the length of her once
more before searching her soul.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly.
"I love you," she replied.
"But it's different for a woman, isn't it?"
"Not when she's in love."
"Then you'll be mine?"
She grinned. "If you keep me waiting much longer, I may attack you."
The waiting ended. He possessed her as the pale purple of early evening
bathed them in its glow, and it was good from the very first. Good ...
better ... all-consuming ... exhausting ... absolutely, positively
mind-blowing.
Arms and legs entwined, they slept, the deep and satisfied sleep of two
who were spent and content. Long forgotten was the maple syrup on the
stove, cooling to a thick amber perfection, and the French toast that
was to have showcased it. They were oblivious when dusk faded to a dark
and moonlit night.
When Anne awoke some time later, the only things she cared about were
the warm chest pillowing her head and the lean hip under her palm. Her
first movement brought a tightening of the arm across her back and the
reverent caress of a hand. Smiling, she kissed the matted hair on his
chest, then tipped her head to see him. His chin was strong but relaxed,
the angled jaw likewise. His hair fell in waves over his forehead,
lending a boyish charm. But his eyes-his eyes held hers, speaking of
love.
"How are you?" he asked gently.
She traced the line of his jaw. "I've never been better."
"I love you. You know that now, don't you?"
She nodded. He could never have made love to her the way he had if it
hadn't come from the heart. But he repeated the words as the night
passed, reassuring her again and again, and Anne had never known such a
night. She would collapse, breathless, weary of limb and shuddering in
the aftermath of passion, only to discover before long that Mitch had a
new way to say it.
The sun was high in the late-morning sky when they finally awoke. They
lay in bed, face to face, studying, marveling, smiling.
"How am I going to drive back to New York today?" she finally asked.
Forget her heart. Her body was done in.
"You're not. When I go to make my phone call later today, I'll make any
you need to make. I'm sure the O'Gradys won't mind."
"The O'Gradys?"
"Our neighbors, about two miles to the east. I found them by accident
once, but they're used to me now. I always call Rachel from there."
Anne smiled. "Rachel. You're daughter. That's so special, Mitch. I'm
glad you keep in touch with her while you're away. I feel guilty that
you left her at all to meet me, especially when she was sick."
"She was better by the time I left. But don't worry your pretty head
about that. What you need to worry about is whether I'll let you out of
this bed before Monday."
She feigned shock. "You wouldn't keep me here that long."
"No?"
She took another tack. "You couldn't."
"No?" His eyes held a naughty gleam. Then he slid over her and proved
her wrong.
Saturday night they had cause to celebrate, toasting each other by first
and last names, making merry despite the fact that they had both decided
to leave the next day. Mitch had a Monday morning board meeting, Anne
needed to deliver a promised piece of work. The real world waited.
She dreaded the moment of parting. What they had was so new, so fragile,
so precious that she would have liked nothing more than to stay in the
cottage forever.
But Mitch grew preoccupied as that moment of parting drew near. Finally,
cautiously, he said, "The next few weeks are going to be impossible for
me, Annie. I have some business matters coming to a head, and I'll want
to spend extra time with Rachel. Let me call you as soon as things clear
up. Is that okay?"
Given their intimacy and the number of times he'd said he loved her,
Anne might have been puzzled by his unsureness, but she was starting to
grow preoccupied herself. The court hearing on the matter of her law
suit was only a week and a half off.
She took a resigned breath and gave him a hopeful smile. "I'll be
waiting.
Wait she did, day after day, night after night. The knowledge that Mitch
was suffering through a busy spell was small solace. Only the belief
that he loved her carried her through to the evening before her court
appearance, when the phone finally rang.
"How are you, Annie?" He sounded caring, but a little guarded.
"Fine. But I miss you." She had no pride.
"Same here, honey. Are you all set for tomorrow?"
She was touched that he remembered the date, touched that he was calling
to give her last-minute encouragement. "I don't think I'll ever be
ready," she answered honestly. "But my family and Jeff's will be coming
to get me first thing in the morning. I think they're not sure that I'll
show up on my own."
"They'll all be there?"
"Most of them. I'll have plenty of emotional support."
"I'm glad."
A silence fell. To lighten it, she asked, "How's Rachel?"
"Fine. Thanks for asking. A few scabs still left, but she's back at
school." Again a pause, even heavier this time. "Anne?"
"Yes?"
"I love you very much." His voice was melancholy. Anne wanted to believe
that he was as bothered by the separation as she was.
"I love you, too. When will I see you?"
"Soon, honey, soon. I'll talk with you again soon. Just remember that I
love you."
Tears filled her eyes. Something felt wrong. But he said he loved her.
She had to hold on to that.
The next day was warm by April standards, but Anne woke up feeling
chilled. At nine o'clock sharp, Jeff's father rang her bell.
She kissed him, feeling the same fondness she always had, and reached
for her coat and purse. "Are the others downstairs?" She was eager to be
gone. The sooner the day was done, the better. She had been unable to
touch any breakfast, and her stomach continued to knot.
"Actually, no. There's been a slight change. Our lawyer got the call
this morning."
"What kind of change?"
He took her arm and directed her back into the room. "Sit for a minute
and I'll explain." When they were seated on the sofa, he said, "The
hearing has been called off."
"What?" After dreading the day for so long, the last thing Anne wanted
was to have to go through the agony of anticipation all over again.
"Why?"
"It's good news, really. There will probably be an out-of-court
settlement."
A wave of relief swept her. "You mean, there won't be a hearing at all?"
He shook his head. "I doubt it."
"Then today?" The first thing she could think of was changing out of her
suit and into jeans, and putting the whole matter behind her at last.
"Today we go to the lawyer's office. The lawyer representing the
airline, that is. It seems that Southeast American Air has counter-filed
a suit, one against the manufacturer of the aircraft itself." He waited
for her nod, just as Jeff would have done. Then he went on. "The latest
investigation points to a weakness in the design of the craft as the
cause of the accident, rather than pilot error or substandard
maintenance procedures. Southeast American Air has a fine reputation on
those scores."
Anne didn't understand. "Then isn't this the end between the airline and
me? Why do I need to do anything more?"
Theodore Boulton took her cold hand. "They need a deposition from you, a
statement of what you suffered and will suffer in the future because of
the accident. The lawyer asks questions and you answer under oath. You
see," he explained, "in order to arrange a settlement, there has to be
some assessment of damages, of losses. Not only will our lawyer, the
airline's lawyer, and its president be there, but there will be similar
representation by the airplane manufacturer."
She sighed. What he described sounded less threatening than a court
hearing. Still, the prospect of a question-and-answer session was less
than pleasant. "What will I be asked?"
He gave a negligent shrug. "They'll want to know about you and Jeff. How
old you were when you met him. How long you were married. Where he
worked. How much money he earned."
"But aren't those things matters of record, already?"
"Yes, but a deposition is a sworn statement of them. It's legal and
binding. It's just a formality, but an important one."
Anne rested against the back of the sofa. "I see," she said when there
seemed nothing else to say. "Are my parents meeting us at the
courthouse?"
"My wife will have called them by now. There's no need for them to be
there, not at a meeting like this."
She nodded, then searched the room for memories of Jeff that were warm
and treasured, memories that had finally found their place. When her
eyes completed the circle, they fell once more on her father-in-law.
"Shouldn't we be going?"
He glanced at his watch. "We don't have to be there until eleven. Was
there something else you wanted to do first?"
She laughed sadly. "I'd pretty much chalked off the day, not to mention
the next few."
"Do you have much work to do?"
"Right now? No. I was expecting the worst from this hearing, so I gave
myself a week's vacation."
"I hear you got a good rest in Vermont the week before last."
"You've been talking to my mother," she accused lightly, astonished at
how the mere mention of Vermont could cheer her.
"We all worry about you, Anne. But you've been looking more yourself
lately. Something is working for you."
It was the perfect opening, but she couldn't get herself to tell him
about Mitch. It seemed so soon, and, in light of the day's happenings,
inappropriate.
She blushed-but her father-in-law couldn't know why. "I've accepted
Jeff's death, which is why this whole legal thing is so hard. It helps
spending time away from it all in Vermont."
"I suspect you'd like to be there now."
Her grin was sheepish. "Oh, I wouldn't mind it, no offense to present
company, of course."
"Have you started to date yet, Anne?"
She took a breath the wrong way and coughed. "Not.. . really." She and
Mitch had never actually "dated."
Theodore Boulton was sober. "We think you should, Anne. You're young and
beautiful. I know how much you and Jeff loved each other, but he's gone.
Dot and I have accepted that, too. He was our son. Not a day goes by
when we don't think about him. But it's been over a year now, and life
has to go on. You're only twenty-eight. You should be enjoying yourself
and your friends, finding someone else to love, having babies." His
cheeks reddened. "Come the day you do have a baby, I'll think of it as
my own grandchild."
Anne's eyes filled with tears. Reaching out, she hugged him soundly.
"Thank you." He had lifted a burden from her shoulders. She felt better
knowing that when she told them about Mitch, they would support her. She
prayed that that day would come soon, particularly once this one was
over. The midmorning traffic was heavy. Sitting in it on Manhattan's
residential side streets, Anne looked around for a distraction from the
upcoming interview. Her eyes fell on the first of the flowers that had
appeared in window boxes, then, when the car reached the wider avenues,
on trees that were beginning to bud. They were tall, thin, and pale,
compared to her memory of the trees in Vermont.
Those Vermont trees, being farther north and later to blossom, would be
barely swelling with buds now, but those buds held promise of a rich and
fruitful spring.
Soon, Mitch had said. Soon they would talk again. Soon they would see
each other, and the waiting would be done.
Her father-in-law touched her hand as they waited for a traffic light to
change. "Such a wistful look."
She sighed. "I'll just be glad when this is over."
He smiled Jeff's warm and reassuring smile. "It's going to be fine,
Anne. Just fine."
Within minutes, he pulled into a parking lot and guided Anne into the
posh skyscraper that housed the offices of the attorney for Southeast
American Air. The elevator ride to the sixty-eighth floor seemed
endless. Her palms were moist and her stomach jumpy by the time they
finally reached the law firm.
The Boulton family attorney, Terrence Carpenter, met then in the outer
waiting room. He spent several minutes explaining the types of questions
Anne would be asked, then led her through the double doors. They walked
down long corridors of secretaries' stations, past open doors of office
after office to one at the very end of the hall.
It was a conference room, dominated by a long, rectangular table of a
rich wood, surrounded by large leather chairs. On the opposite side was
the window, but the city seemed far away from this height. The wall to
her left held oil paintings of past partners, the one to her right
offered blackboards and panels, a television set, and a bar.
Others were already in the room, a woman and several men talking
intently, but they quickly grew silent. Anne felt every pair of their
eyes turn her way.
"Coffee, Mrs. Boulton?" her attorney asked, gesturing toward the
percolator at the side of the room.
"Yes-ah-no," she whispered. Caffeine was the last thing her jangling
