The Other Side - J. D. Robb [158]
Imogene shrugged elegantly and turned back to stare out the window. “I don’t think it’s a place at all. I think it’s just the other side of life.”
Eight
“Now don’t let talking to Imogene set the mood for your date, darling,” Adeline told M.J. as she changed from jeans and a sweatshirt to a sweater and slacks for her date a few hours later. M.J. brushed her hair in her mother’s dusty mirror as the older woman watched from the middle of the bed. “She got very cynical and morose after little Ruffie died. That and her desperation to have another child finally drove Andrew away for good, so you mustn’t judge him too harshly. He did love her, you know.”
“Did he blame her for the boy’s accident?”
“Never, that I know of. That was all her thinking. But to be fair, I doubt there’s a mother in the world who wouldn’t feel the same. You feel responsible for everything that happens to your children.”
She turned and stood at attention for her mother’s approval. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.” Her eyes lowered to the square-shaped diamond that hung from a chain and sparkled like a star from the hollow of her daughter’s throat. “Come closer.”
Touching the stone that her mother had worn for as long as she could remember, she walked to the bed. “Do you mind if I wear it?”
“Of course not; it pleases me. You know your father gave that to me when you were born.”
“I know,” she said softly as the doorbell rang below. They looked at one another for a long moment, savoring a connected-ness they’d both longed for, intensely, for years. “Is it too late to say I miss you, Mom?”
Adeline smiled through the tears welling in her eyes and shook her head.
“What about I love you?”
“No, my darling, it’s never too late to love.”
Maribelle Joy Biderman was feeling pretty darn happy with the world in general when she opened the front door to Ryan Doyle—and more specifically, thrilled to see him standing there.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
They stood staring and grinning at one another like they each knew a secret the other was unaware of . . . unaware themselves that the excitement they felt was written all over their faces.
“I’d invite you in, but the batteries in my flashlight are weak, and I don’t have anything to drink but bottled water.”
“That’s all right. We have a reservation anyway.”
“Oh. Is what I’m wearing going to be okay?”
“You look great.” He made great sound like . . . mouthwatering or . . . scrumptious.
She turned to close and lock the door, hoping her face wouldn’t crack from the extreme pressure of her smile. She was conscious of the fact that computer geeks who spent so much time alone were notoriously bad dressers and let it speak to her ego that he’d donned navy slacks, a gray sports coat, and a silver-striped oxford shirt for their date—his one concession being the buttons undone at his throat.
“You do, too . . . Look great, I mean. I’m . . . ” She took a deep breath. “God, I’m nervous.”
A loud, surprised bark of laughter escaped him. “I feel like I haven’t been on a date since I was sixteen. I keep wondering what you’ll do if I try to hold your hand.”
“So you don’t date much?” She swallowed the word either just in time.
“An occasional blind date I haven’t been able to avoid, but since my wife died”—he shrugged—“I haven’t really had the desire. Until now.” For that one she’d let him hold her hand. She held it palm up between them, and he quickly zippered his fingers with hers. “I brought my car around in case you’d be wearing heels or didn’t want to walk, but it’s a nice evening, and the restaurant isn’t very far. . . . ”
“Then let’s walk. I enjoyed my walk down to King’s last weekend. Johnnie’s Bend has grown up so much since I lived here.”
There wasn’t a single lull in the conversation—not during their walk to the classic Italian restaurant on Main Street with its red and white checked tablecloths and Chianti bottle candlesticks—not throughout their fabulous dinner, which explained why the place was so crowded and reservations were wise—and not for the duration