Page 108 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Behind them, Deborah said, “What can I get you to drink? I opened a pinot grigio to go with the meal.”

“Just water for me,” Aspen said.

“I’ll have the same.” Garrett occasionally sipped a glass of wine with dinner, but if Aspen didn’t want any, he’d skip it too. She seemed uncomfortable enough already, and the last thing he wanted to do was make that worse.

Maybe she was nervous because this was akin to meeting his parents? If that was the case, he didn’t mind knowing she cared enough about him to want to make a good impression.

Deborah got them both glasses of water, poured some wine for herself and Dean, and then sliced a loaf of Italian bread Dean had been warming in the oven.

By the time it was steaming from a basket in the center of the table, Dean had carried over the bowl of pasta and a green salad.

“Looks delicious,” Garrett said.

“It does.” Aspen had her hands in her lap, but he could see they were clasped together.

“Garrett,” Deborah said, “since you brought the guest of honor, will you pray for us?” Deborah’s hands went to Dean on one side and Garrett on the other at the round table.

Garrett took it and reached for Aspen’s.

She took his hand, then settled her other into Dean’s with a tight smile.

Garrett thanked God for the food and for Aspen’s presence at their table. He asked for God’s blessing on the meal and the conversation. Silently, he added a prayer that Aspen would relax and feel comfortable.

After the chorus of amens, they dug into the feast.

Dean’s gaze kept slipping to Aspen at his side. When she turned his way and caught him looking, he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just so strange.”

“Uncanny.” Deborah added, smiling. “How much you look like your mother.”

Aspen seemed to take the remark as an invitation. She said to Dean, “You knew her too.”

“Not as well as Deb. But yeah.” Though Dean seemed to think he’d lobbed the conversation ball back into her court, Aspen said nothing. After an awkward moment, he added, “She was…unique. I’ve never known anybody with her passion.”

“Brent Salcito said the same.”

Dean’s hands stilled over his meal. “You talked to Salcito?”

“We had coffee on Tuesday. He said she was the female Bill Clinton.”

The moniker was amusing, and Garrett chuckled.

Dean only nodded. He’d always been on the quiet side, but his behavior tonight bordered on rude.

“Are you still close with Brent?” Aspen asked.

“No.” He twirled a forkful of angel hair pasta and popped it in his mouth.

Deborah’s laugh felt forced. “We went our separate ways after…college.”

Garrett heard the hesitation and wasn’t surprised when Aspen called her on it. “After college? Or after the bombing.”

Deborah’s skin paled a little. She set her fork down, keeping her gaze on Aspen. “We were all questioned about it, you know. Us and Brent, and the rest of the club. But they mostly focused on us because we were closest to your mother. It’s not that big a school. Everybody knew what happened, and a lot of people knew we were friends with your mother. It became…awkward.”

“Maybe this isn’t the time to talk about all that.” Garrett tried to think of a segue to a lighter topic.

Dean shoved another forkful of food into his mouth as if, by keeping it full, he would be spared having to speak.

“I’m sorry.” Aspen attempted a smile. “It’s been a really long day, and my mind is…” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to bring that up over dinner.”

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