Page 44 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“Who died, Matt?”

He reached out and picked up his wine glass. After several long sips he set it back down and looked her in the eye. “My brother. Adam.”

“Was he older than you or younger?”

“He was my twin.”

“Oh, Matt.” She felt a brief stab of pity for the boy who had lost so much at such an early age, but she forced herself to resume the conversation, carefully keeping the emotion out of her voice. “Tell me what happened.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair in a sign of irritation she was coming to recognize.

“It happened so long ago, Olivia. I don’t see any point in talking about it now.”

She wondered if he had ever seen the point and hoped that some adult had known enough to make him share the hurt when the wounds were fresh. “There doesn’t need to be a point. Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

His voice dropped lower and she leaned forward to hear what came next. “We were all swimming in the lake near our house, and he hit his head on a boulder.”

He seemed to expect her to say something, but she just sat quietly and waited for him to continue.

“None of us realized what had happened until it was too late. I thought he was just horsing around.”

“And your parents…”

“Blamed themselves. Fell apart. I don’t know, but they couldn’t seem to whip up any real enthusiasm for the two of us who were still alive.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

He stopped as if thinking about the answer for the first time, and she shuddered to think of the thirteen-year-old boy bottling up all that hurt and confusion. “Lonely. Guilty. Scared. And totally pissed off.”

“And what did you do?”

He shrugged again. “What does anybody do? I went on. It felt like shit, but I went on. And when my sister and I got tired of ordering pizza every night, we learned how to cook.”

“You became a gourmet cook at thirteen?”

He snorted his amusement. “Hardly. I had an aunt who bought my sister and me kids’ cookbooks one year for Christmas. We learned how to make meatloaf and mashed potatoes—got really good at pigs in a blanket—that kind of thing. We used to take turns cooking dinner."

“You didn’t cook like this when we knew each other in Chicago. Where did you learn all the fancy stuff?”

“The Food Network.”

“Ah, you didn’t mention that during my remote control lesson. So you also stop for...”

“Iron Chef. Guy Fieri… I can totally bingeDiners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Bobby Flay, Giada, Ina, Jamie Oliver, pretty much anyone standing in a kitchen who looks like they know what they’re doing.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m a real man of mystery, all right.” He sat back in his chair and studied her closely, so she studied him in return. His smile seemed a little freer, and his eyes were no longer so cautious.

He stood and carried the dishes to the sink and piled the pots and pans on the counter next to it. “I appreciate your interest in my past and all, Olivia. But the next time I want to root around in the Ransom family closet, I’ll let you know.”

He came back to the table, pulled out her chair, and escorted her into the kitchen. “In the meantime, you might want to get started on these dishes. I’ve got a show to get ready for.”

???

From his seat in the WTLK control room, Charles Crankower watched Olivia Moore wash dishes. There was no doubt she was an attractive woman, and it was kind of interesting to watch the intensity with which she applied herself to cleaning those pots and pans.

His gaze swung to Matt Ransom, who was also watching the doctor, though he was pretending not to. After observing Ransom’s progress over the last few days, Charles had to admit the guy hadn’t overestimated his ability with women.

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