A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos

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СКАЧАТЬ young enough to be her son—if she’d had a son. Neither of us had children, which suited us fine.

      Children complicated matters.

      They were messy.

      And selfish.

      Although I was happy with my life, something inside me stirred.

      Disappointment?

      Ridiculous.

      I was thirty-seven—tick-tock—time had run out.

      I’d gotten over the need to cradle a child in my arms. Plus, my chances of becoming a mother had died eighteen months ago along with Paul, my husband, the love of my life.

      The man whom I’d thought could do no wrong.

      But he’d betrayed me.

      Mallory pointed a manicured finger at our waiter. “Since you don’t have double fudge chocolate cake, then I’ll have raspberry swirled chocolate cheesecake.”

      He directed a killer grin at my friend.

      I wasn’t surprised. At thirty-nine, Mallory Bourque was the total package, a blond male magnet with hazel eyes, big breasts, long legs and a great personality. If Mallory were a flower she’d be a gardenia, not because she was fragile, but because men wanted to tend to her needs. Mallory owned the Ooh La La, a specialty lingerie shop in the Old Port area of Portland, Maine.

      “What about your friends?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze from Mallory.

      By his dazed expression, I knew he was a goner. He wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. By the time we got our tab, Mallory would have his phone number and the promise of a hot date. She preferred younger men, no strings attached. Just fun and games.

      “I’ll have the chocolate cheesecake.” I could tell my words hadn’t penetrated.

      Neither had Carrie’s, “Me, too.”

      Talk about being invisible.

      Mallory bowed her lower lip into a perfect pout. “They’ll have the same and bring us another round of drinks.”

      He blinked a couple times, I suspected, to clear his head.

      “Sure, be right back.” Then he forced himself to look away from the goddess who’d captured his heart—and if not his heart then surely his lust.

      Carrie straightened her napkin over her knees and turned toward Mallory. “I’d have a meltdown if a man looked at me like that.”

      “He is a cutie,” Mallory replied. “I wouldn’t mind having him for dessert.”

      Carrie Hudson was thirty-five, five-three, always on a diet and a single mother of seven-year-old twin boys. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she blushed easily. She reminded me of a pink carnation. Resilient and pretty.

      After my husband died, I’d eventually discovered I was like a dandelion. Not the prettiest flower, but strong, determined and, when push came to shove, I didn’t take no for an answer. There were worse things in life than being compared to a weed that persisted against all odds.

      Every Friday evening after work, the three of us met at DiMillo’s, a car ferry converted into a floating restaurant known for its good food and ambiance on the Portland waterfront. Soon it would be too cold to be outside so we’d decided to sit on the top deck, enjoy the unseasonably warm September weather and watch the boats going by.

      We always ordered a decadent dessert and drinks, which for me was usually a diet Pepsi, but tonight was special. I’d gotten the promotion I’d worked so hard for, and no one orders a Pepsi on such an occasion. So I’d decided to live dangerously and drink a martini. I wasn’t crazy about the taste, but I loved olives so I couldn’t lose.

      Below us in the marina, cruisers and sailboats in their slips swayed as gentle waves washed ashore. The smell of salt, seaweed and fish permeated the air. In the distance seagulls cawed and a bell buoy clanged.

      A light breeze ruffled my hair as I leaned back and thought with satisfaction about my promotion. I’d worked hard and deserved this. But a person didn’t always get what he/she deserved. I’d lucked out. My life was on a steep uphill path, and I’d equipped myself for the climb. Even my relationship with Tony was about to take a major turn. We loved each other. I was happy. Only now, I’d have to tell my mother-in-law, Violet, about him.

      “Hey, why the long face?” Mallory asked.

      “I was thinking about how everything is clicking into place, except…” I sucked in my lower lip, a bad habit I’d tried unsuccessfully to stop. “I’m meeting Violet tomorrow to break the news that Tony is moving in.”

      “You’re an adult, and you don’t owe your mother-in-law an explanation,” Mallory pointed out.

      “Yes I do. She’s been like a mother to me since my mom moved away. She’s the only family I’ve got. And I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t put off telling her about Tony any longer. She’ll never approve of my seeing another man. And to her, we’ll be living in sin.”

      Mallory rolled her eyes. “No one thinks like that anymore.”

      “You haven’t met Violet. She’s a staunch Catholic and very old-fashioned.”

      Carrie looked thoughtful. “Too bad you didn’t tell her about Tony months ago.”

      “I tried, but each time I’d start to tell her, she’d interrupt and say something about Paul. She worships her son’s memory, and to hear her talk you’d think he died yesterday. She isn’t ready to hear I’m with another man.”

      Mallory straightened. “Tell her what a jerk her precious son was.”

      “I couldn’t do that to her.”

      Carrie ran a finger over the condensation on the side of her glass. “This might be the wakeup call she needs to accept Paul’s death and go on with her life.”

      “Maybe,” I said, doubting that would happen.

      Violet would never give her blessing to Tony and me living together. Not that I needed her approval, but even before Paul’s death we’d formed a strong bond and a friendship that until now, I’d thought indestructible.

      “My, don’t you look pretty this morning,” Vi said as she opened the kitchen and caught me in a tight hug; her mouth brushed my cheek.

      I felt warm, safe and at home.

      Surely she’d understand. If only I’d told her sooner. She had a right to know that her son’s widow had fallen in love with another man.

      Panic swelled inside and threatened to cut off my breathing.

      Vi reminded me of a rose, delicate and beautiful.

      “You smell good,” I said amazed at how steady my voice sounded when she pulled away, took my hand and led me into the kitchen.

      “My Avon lady gave me a few samples СКАЧАТЬ