Rebecca York - Her Baby's Father

They were both silent for several minutes. The accident hadn’t happened before. Neither had this conversation. Or driving past the very hill where she’d been killed. Or would be killed. It was still hard to sort out the references to past and future.

She shook her head.

“What?” Jack asked.

It seemed so natural then to reach out and cover his large hand with her smaller one, to press her palm against his knuckles.

“I get nervous every time I pass this place,” she murmured. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking about the route we were going to take.”

“I get nervous in thunderstorms,” he answered. “The thunder is like being in battle.”

“Sorry.”

“I have to deal with it.”

Reluctantly she took her hand away.

Switching to a different subject, he asked, “How did you get into the business of…staging houses?”

“My mom had an antiques shop in Ellicott City.”

“Which shop?”

“Well, antiques and…weird stuff. She called it Past Is Prologue.”

“I remember it. I used to wonder what was in there. But it’s closed now?”

“Yes. She died a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she realized they’d said that twice now.

“I miss her.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“No. My dad…” She should tell him what had happened to her father, but she simply couldn’t make herself do it. Not yet. “He left us on our own.”

“Rough.”

“We managed, but we didn’t have a lot of extra cash. At least it taught me to be frugal. I was making a lot of my own clothes by the time I was in middle school.”

He was probably thinking about how different her life had been from his, even though they’d grown up in the same Maryland county. It was one of the wealthiest in the country. She just hadn’t gotten much advantage from that.

“How come you didn’t want to run the store?” he asked.

“I saw what kind of hours she kept, and I didn’t want to be tied to a shop all the time. But I loved arranging the merchandise. And picking up items at estate sales and auctions. Then when I was home from college on summer vacation, a real-estate agent I knew asked if I could stage a house for her with some of the merchandise from Mom’s shop. I agreed. She liked what I’d done and recommended me to her friends. I haven’t done any advertising. My business comes from word of mouth in the real-estate community.”

“Which means you’re good at what you do.”

“I hope so.”

He took the scenic way into town, the long hill that wound down through restored houses, even a couple of log cabins, to the commercial area where Main Street was confined by the sides of the river gorge.

“Did your mom’s shop get caught in any floods?” Jack asked.

“A couple of times. Everybody did in the old days. Until we had some serious flood control on the river.” She pointed down the hill. “Genevieve’s is near the train station.”

He continued down the narrow street toward the stone building that had been the first terminus of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and was now a museum.

Parking in the old mill town was always at a premium, but Jack found a space not far from the restaurant.

It was getting dark. Darker down here in the river valley, and Sara told herself not to be nervous as she got out of the car. Still, she was remembering that something bad had happened when they’d come out of the restaurant the first time around.

But this wasn’t even the same town.

Still, she was on the alert as they strolled along the sidewalk. And she breathed out a little sigh as they stepped into Genevieve’s.

It was owned by a husband and wife team, Patrick and Laura Walsh, both in their early forties. Laura was the chef, and Pat manned the front. They had owned a restaurant in New York City and had come to central Maryland to find a less hectic way of life.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Pat said when he spotted Sara. He was a slightly overweight man who obviously enjoyed his wife’s cooking.

“I’ve been busy. But I’m happy to be here now. What’s good tonight?”

“Laura has a yen for spring cuisine. She’s got a killer asparagus soup. A spinach salad to die for. Lamb kebabs. But you should sit down and look at the menu.”

He led them to a quiet table in the back where Jack winced as he sat down.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked like he wished she hadn’t asked, but he said, “I was wounded in Afghanistan. The leg gives me some trouble. And don’t say you’re sorry.”

She laughed. “Yeah, let’s not make that the word of the day.”

He grinned at her. “Wine would help. One glass, and I’ll still be okay to drive.”

They had already exchanged a good deal of information in the car. At dinner they each ordered different dishes and had a taste of the other’s selection. Sara got the asparagus soup and lasagna, and Jack ordered the spinach salad and the shish kebab, all of which were excellent.

They kept the conversation light, discussing music they liked. She already knew his tastes, but it was fun talking to him about the Eagles, Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, Fleet-wood Mac.

Still, she felt tension gathering inside her as the meal drew to a close. She was waiting for two things–one of them good and one of them bad.

They were finishing a shared piece of key lime pie when Jack looked at his watch. “It’s after ten. You probably need to get some sleep.”

“I guess dinner woke me up. And the conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“Me, too. But I’d better get you home. Especially since you have to drop me off first.”

“Right. I wasn’t thinking about that,” she lied. Of course she was thinking about it.

“Or I could call Ted.”

“Don’t bother him. Well, unless you live in the next county.”

“No. My address is actually Ellicott City. But not the old part.”

After he’d paid the bill, she felt a stab of disappointment. Last time…

Instead of standing up, he leaned toward her.

“I was thinking about your job.”

Her pulse started to pound.

“It’s not so different from an interior decorator,” he continued.

“Not exactly,” she felt duty bound to say.

“But close enough.” He cleared his throat. “Morgan Enterprises is planning to move to a new building. I was wondering if you might be interested in doing some of the decorating for us.”

She dragged in a breath, then let it out. “I’m overwhelmed. That’s a dream job for me. But are you sure the company would go along with it?”

“It’s my decision.” He laughed. “They’re trying to get me more involved. I’ll tell them what I saw that’s unique in your work, and why I think you’re the right person to hire.”

“Okay. Then yes.”

“You haven’t even asked what we’re paying.”

Because she already knew. She laughed. “Oh, right. What?”

He named a figure that would have made her blink if she hadn’t heard it before.

“That’s fantastic.”

“If you don’t have to work tomorrow, I can show you what we need done.”

“As far as I know, I’m free tomorrow,” she answered, feeling light-headed. She’d been afraid it wasn’t going to happen, but he’d asked her to work with him—which meant that they would be seeing a lot of each other.

“I’m glad that’s settled.” He stood, and she did, too.

He glanced around. “It looks like we’re closing up the restaurant.”

As they walked through the almost-empty establishment, she was thinking that the other test was coming up.

Patrick said goodbye and held the door open for them. Then they were on the street.

Sara kept her eyes open and her ears peeled for trouble. As they approached the car, she breathed out a little sigh.