Susan Crosby - Private Indiscretions

Tonight hadn’t been any different, and yet it had been. The mix of people wasn’t as diverse. Dana could also see that Lilith wasn’t feeling well. They’d gone into her office to look at the birth announcements she’d already started designing on her computer, which was the only excuse Dana could think of for getting Lilith alone for a few minutes.

“You crafty person,” Dana said, admiring the design. “I don’t know how you find the time.”

“When it’s fun, you make the time.”

Dana settled a hand on her friend’s shoulder and looked closely at her. “You don’t seem yourself tonight. Are you doing too much?”

Lilith laid a protective hand on her belly. “Braxton Hicks,” she said, as if Dana was supposed to know what that meant. Lilith explained that they were contractions, but not the kind indicating imminent birth, just discomfort.

Because Lilith wasn’t up to par everyone agreed to make it an early evening, which was fine with Dana. The patent attorney asked if he could call her, and she’d given him her office number then headed home.

When she heard the television on in her housekeeper’s room, she knocked on the door and waited. Hilda would never call out for her to enter but would come to the door, wearing her pristine white chenille robe like a suit of armor. She’d been with Randall’s family forever and was in no hurry to stop working, even though she was eligible for social security and Medicare. She also believed in a strict employer/employee relationship, much to Dana’s disappointment. She could have used a friendly face around the house in the months after Randall died.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Hilda said.

“Hi. How were your days off with your daughter and grandchildren?”

“Fine, thank you. How was your evening at the Pauls’?”

“Very nice.” Invite me in. Let’s open a bottle of wine, and talk. “Any messages?” Did Randall have secrets?

“I heard your private line ring, but no one called otherwise.”

Her tone wasn’t hostile or condescending, but efficient. Dana stifled a sigh. “Thank you, Hilda. Good night.”

Mission not accomplished, but she would keep trying. One day she’d get past Hilda’s reserve.

In the foyer Dana touched the small stack of mail, hesitated, then flipped through it. Nothing but ads. She blew out a little breath before climbing the stairs. She plopped onto her bed, pushed the message button on her answering machine and began unbuttoning her dress.

“Hello, dear.” Her mother. “Dad and I are having too much fun. We’re staying an extra week in Orlando before we hit the road. Talk to you soon. We love you.”

“Senator, it’s Amanda.” Her press secretary. “I need a meeting with you first thing in the morning, if that’s possible. If not, please let me know. Otherwise I’ll be there at eight. Thanks.”

“Hi, Dana, this is Candi. I’m sorry to leave this on your machine but Mr. G. passed away. I knew you’d want to know. The funeral’s on Saturday. Mrs. Giannini would like you to say a few words, if you plan to come. Let me know, okay?”

Dana recalled Mr. G. fondly but more as her father’s friend than as a teacher. She wondered if her parents would alter their plans to be home in time for the funeral. They would have to drive their motor home straight through.

“Dana, it’s Sam Remington.”

She’d just slipped her dress off her shoulders, exposing one of the new bras she’d spent her lunch hour purchasing in a rare moment of indulgence—sexy bras, panties and a couple of negligees—even though Sam had made it clear he wasn’t going to contact her again.

“It’s 8:10,” he continued, his voice alone causing her body to react. Oh, she had it bad for him. “I’m at LAX, headed back to San Francisco. If you could give me a call sometime, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

He wanted her to call? After the way he’d left the other night? Shock fought with hope in her mind. She looked at the clock—ten-fifteen. He was probably en route, which meant she had to wait until morning to return the call.

Or, if she waited half an hour, she might catch him before he went to bed.

She got ready for bed expectantly, even looking forward to filling the time with a budget analysis for a meeting the next day. A half hour later she dragged the phone into her lap then dialed his cell number. Her skin felt prickly, her breath short.

“Sam Remington.”

“Hi, it’s Dana.”

“I didn’t mean you had to call tonight, Senator.”

“I’m still up working. Where are you?”

“In my car. Not far from my hotel.”

“Would you rather call me back when you get there?”

“Why?”

“So that you don’t have to drive and talk at the same time.”

“I find that mildly insulting,” he said, a smile in his voice.

She wedged her shoulders into her pillows and relaxed. “Do you know how many accidents are caused by people on cell phones?”

“How many?”

She grinned at the ceiling. “I don’t remember exactly, Brainiac, but a lot.”

“Get back to me with the statistics and we’ll talk about it.”

“I’ll do that.” A promise was a promise. “How was your trip?”

“Quick.”

She wished he would elaborate. “Candi left a message tonight that Mr. G. died.”

A beat of silence, then, “I heard.”

That surprised her. “The services are on Saturday. Are you going?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” She’d thought they could go together. She wrapped the phone cord around her finger, wishing he would tell her why he wanted to see her, but he said nothing. “So, what was your message about? Why do you want to meet with me?”

“I have something to give you. If tomorrow after work suits you, I can stop by.”

“Sure. Should I call you when I’m leaving my office? It’ll be after six, I imagine, and before eight.”

“That’ll work.”

“Sam?” she said in a hurry, afraid he would hang up. “Why did you come to the reunion?”

“To see you.”

Her heart lurched. To see me? Just to see me? “How did you know I would be there?”

“Have you missed a reunion yet?”

His tone of voice indicated it was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. “No.”

“Okay.” Static almost covered his words. “I’m pulling in to the hotel.”

She heard the line go dead. Lost reception or had he hung up? “Good night,” she said, in case he could hear her.

She returned the phone to her nightstand and reached for the budget report again, forcing herself to concentrate. But when she turned out the light an hour later, she was free to think of Sam. She tried to imagine what he planned to give her but—

No. It better not be.

Before she could let a contrary voice dictate her actions, she phoned him.

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