Page 40 of Elusive Promise

She nodded, moving over to the table where he'd put out two place settings. "This was nice of you to do. With this being the city of incredible takeout, it would have been easier for you to order something."

"I've done that a lot. I felt like a good piece of meat." He brought their plates to the table and then grabbed the glass of wine he'd been enjoying while he was cooking.

She cut into the filet, and it was a perfect shade of pink. "Just the way I like it," she said.

"I should have asked."

"It's perfect." In fact, she couldn't remember having a steak this good in a very long time. Or maybe she was just that hungry.

As they ate, she couldn't help thinking that Jared hadn't asked a lot of questions about her earlier phone call with Damon. Was that because he'd gotten his own information from some other source? She'd been asleep a long time. Long enough for him to have shopped for food, cooked dinner, and probably talked to whoever he worked for or with.

"So, tell me more about you, Parisa," he said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What do you want to know?" she asked warily.

"I was wondering about your mother and stepfather. You said they were good friends with the Kumars. Why weren't they at the party?"

"They're out of the country. My stepfather retired last year, and he and my mother travel often for pleasure. They're in Bali now, on a month-long spiritual and meditative retreat."

"That sounds…relaxing."

She smiled at his choice of adjective. "Does it? It sounds stressful to me. Forced quiet is not my kind of thing. But apparently getting in touch with your soul requires structure and rules. My parents seem to love it. This is the third time they've gone on one of these retreats in the last year. I guess it's good they both enjoy it. It would be more difficult if only one wanted to go."

"Sounds like they have a happy marriage."

"They do. Harry married my mom when I was eight years old. My real dad left when I was three, so I barely remember him. Harry has been the only dad I've known. He's a good man, very smart, well educated, well spoken. He cares a great deal about the world. He has lived a life of service, and it has often inspired me."

"What about your mother? What's she like?"

"She was born in India. Her name is Riya. She came to the US when she was eleven with her parents. She's creative and kind, quiet and beautiful."

"Like her daughter."

She smiled at his words. "Nice of you to say, thank you. I'm not that creative. I try to be kind. Quiet—not so much, and beautiful, well, I do look like her, although my skin is a bit lighter than hers, probably because my biological father was blond and pale."

"Does your mother work?"

"She worked in a university admissions office before she met Harry. After they fell in love, she focused on being his wife and my mother. We traveled to whatever post Harry was assigned to. It was a nomadic life, but it was happy." She paused. "My mother and stepfather have had a powerful love story since they first met. They've always been extremely devoted to each other. Sometimes, I felt a little outside of their story, not that they ever wanted me to feel that way. It's just the way it was. It probably would have been different if I'd had a sibling. I wouldn't have felt so alone." She took a sip of her wine. "Now it's your turn. Tell me about your family."

His expression tensed. "There's not much to tell."

"Then it won't take long," she said, giving him a pointed look. "And think about your answer. Make sure it's truthful, like mine just was."

Their gazes clung together, and then he gave her a subtle nod. "All right. I can give you the truth." He got up from the table and walked over to the desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. He came back with a folded piece of paper that had yellowed with age. He sat down and slid it across the table to her.

She felt a bit of nervous trepidation as she unfolded the paper, not sure what she was about to learn, but sensing that it was going to be important.

The paper was a copy of a newspaper clipping. There was a black-and-white photo of a smiling woman with dark hair and light eyes, whose features looked quite similar to Jared's. Next to the photo was an obituary. The date was September 15, 2001. The woman's name was Carol Montgomery.

Her stomach churned as she skimmed through the obit. Carol Montgomery, a loving mother and wife, had died in her office in the World Trade Center on 9/11. She was survived by her husband, Brett, her two sons, Jared and Will, and her father Gilbert.

"Oh, my God," she murmured, glancing over at Jared. He'd lost his normal cocky smirk, his green eyes dark and serious, his expression tense. "This is your mother?"

"Yes. She was an accountant. She spent her days adding up profits and losses for a real-estate firm. She was sitting at her desk when the first plane hit the building, right at her floor. Everyone said she probably never knew what happened, that she was killed instantly. I pray that's the way it went down. I don't want to think about her being scared, knowing she wasn't going to see us again. But the truth is—I don't know. They didn't find her for hours. She was buried in rubble."

A sickening feeling swept through her. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"I was sixteen years old. My brother Will was twelve. My father, Brett, was a high school teacher. He and I were at the same school. I still remember when he came into my classroom with terror in his eyes. And then we ran six blocks to the middle school to find Will. The sky was black. The air was thick; it was difficult to breathe. And there were so many sirens. We lived fifteen blocks from Ground Zero. We could see my mom's office from our rooftop deck."

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