Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [93]
“Ummmm, maybe . . .” Kendra said, then laughed. “You seem to be so close, you and he. I admit I had wondered.”
“We are close. But not that way.”
“What did you mean, about his grandma?”
“Well, she is one of the most important people in his life. He wouldn’t take you to meet her if he didn’t have something long term in mind.”
“He does seem to dote on her,” Kendra mused. “They really seem to have a special bond.”
“Did he tell you what they do on his mother’s birthday, he and his grandmother?”
“No.” Kendra reached for another berry. “What?”
“They spend the day together, Adam and his grandma. His mother is buried in one of those old cemeteries where you can still plant things on the graves? So every year on her birthday, they go there together and clean up the grave site and plant her favorite flowers.”
“Wow. Who’d have thought?” Kendra said softly. “Big tough FBI man . . .”
“When I said he was a special guy, I wasn’t kidding.” Miranda took a deep breath, and said, “Which is my way of saying, please don’t mess with him if you’re not serious about, well, if you’re not looking for a real relationship.” She held up one hand as if to ward off protest. “I know it’s none of my business, but I’d really hate to see him hurt. If you’re really interested in him, that’s fine. That’s great. Wonderful. Go for it. Just don’t mess with him.”
“I’m interested,” Kendra admitted. “I’m more than interested. It’s just been a weird couple of weeks, you know? All of those dead women . . . well, circumstances haven’t been conducive to romance, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” Miranda said dryly. “It’s the story of my life. It’s hard to separate it all sometimes. You work on a case and if you’re doing the job right, it dominates your life. And it has to. You can’t do this job nine to five. You drop the ball and someone could die.”
She took another sip of water, then added, “It’s hard to keep a relationship going forward when you’re distracted by something else, sometimes for weeks at a time. You really have to be committed to making it work.”
“Are you involved with anyone now?”
“No, not now,” Miranda replied.
“I’m sorry.” Kendra sensed the unspoken “not anymore.”
“Well, it was one of those things that would never have worked out anyway. We weren’t right for each other.” She patted Kendra on the foot that rested on the sofa cushion between them. “But you and Adam, you could be right. And those circumstances that aren’t conducive to romance that you talked about? Sometimes you just have to move them out of the way, even if it’s only for a night, or a weekend at a time. Otherwise, you’ll never get to know what could be. If you wait until there are no other ‘circumstances,’ you’ll lose any chance you might have to find out what the relationship could be. He’s not going to give up what he is . . . and neither are you. If you want him, you’re just going to have to work around it.”
Miranda stood up, then began to gather up the rumpled napkins and empty glasses from the table.
“And those were my unsolicited two cents on the subject. I won’t say another word.” She started toward the kitchen, her arms laden. “I’ll get rid of this stuff, then you can point me in the direction of my bed. You promised me a canoe trip tomorrow morning and I’m holding you to it.”
Kendra lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, trying to sort it all out. Her life had taken on the appearance of a canvas onto which the artist had crowded far too many images. Taken as a whole, it overwhelmed. Viewed separately, the components might begin to make sense.
Though she’d initially bristled at having been forced to bring Miranda home with her, she was grateful now that Adam had insisted. Besides the fact that she did feel safer having an armed FBI agent sleeping in the room across the hall—should there in fact be any danger, though she wasn’t convinced there was—Kendra couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent an evening with a friend eating and watching television and talking about men and laughing and talking and just being, well, just being girls. Maybe