Page 88 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

In the past, he would have ignored it, made a joke, let it go, but thanks to Olivia’s damned interference, he'd spent too many hours remembering, and he was too raw for that. “You’ve never once looked at me without wishing Adam were here.”

The smile froze on her lips, and he knew she wanted to deny it, but the truth radiated from the brown eyes she’d passed on to both her sons. “No,” she admitted. “I haven’t.”

Matt opened his mouth expecting to make a typically glib response, but came out with, “And I’ve been trying to live a big enough life for Adam and me. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up.”

He wasn't sure which of them was more surprised.

“Goodness, Matthew. Whatever happened to ‘hello’?”

Margaret Ransom went up on tiptoe to peck his cheek. He saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes and watched her blink them away before she turned on her heel to lead the way into the kitchen. He felt like a complete and utter shit.

“Your sister and the children are here. She and Dan just got back from Italy, and she’s made us some of her new specialty. It’s something, something over fettuccine.”

Matt dropped his bag in the foyer and followed his mother into the heart of the house. Funny that he thought of it that way when it was he and Sandra who had forced that heart to beat. He stepped into the kitchen and sniffed appreciatively, determined to drop the introspection and get back on more familiar emotional ground. He enjoyed food and cooked for his own amusement, but his sister had channeled their childhood discovery into an increasingly successful Italian restaurant.

“What’s that I smell? Pomodoro? Marinara? Something smells downright incredible.”

Matt’s nephews jumped up and threw themselves at him while his older sister looked on with an affectionate smile. “Downright? I think someone’s been in the South too long.”

He ruffled the twins’ hair. “Y'all think I have a funny accent?”

Kyle and Kenny giggled and tried to reach his head to ruffle him back.

“Hey, I’d be careful how I treated the uncle who’s holding some fine seats for tomorrow night’s Cubs game.”

There were shrieks of joy as Matt held up the proof. “Dugout level. Seven P.M. Be there or be square.”

“Matt Ransom, tomorrow night is a school night. The boys have—”

He walked to his sister and bussed her on the cheek. “Chill out, San. When you’re nine and your uncle comes to town, baseball is required. You and Dan can come, too, if you behave.”

He reached past her to the stove, lifted the lid of the largest pot, and studied its contents. “Here I thought you’d learned something new and exotic during your travels, but I see you’re still relying on Ragu.”

Sandra grabbed the lid back and pushed him out of the way. “Ha. You know better than to use that word in my presence. Now open that bottle of wine, pronto. I want to try this dish out on you.”

She looked him up and down. “And then I’d like to hear what in the world is going on between you and Dr. O.

Chapter Thirty-One

Just as she'd hoped, the trip to the beach had broken Olivia’s cycle of wallowing and hiding. She still had trouble falling asleep, and she woke way too early, but now she made a point of putting those late-night and predawn hours to good use.

She spent time every morning on the new book she’d pitched to her editor about why women were reluctant to ask for what they wanted most. When it got light out, she did a three-mile run, took a quick shower, and downed a bowl of cereal. By seven forty-five she was on her way to work.

There she funneled her energy into her callers and their problems, squashing speculation about why Matt hadn’t called and shrugging off offers of sympathy with a “win some, lose some” philosophy she wished she could actually feel.

At noon, whenLiv Livewas over, she went out for lunch with friends or used the time to do research for her book. She accepted a speaking engagement and was careful not to get too defensive when Matt’s name came up.

She knew from experience that if she continued to pretend that she was fine, at some point she would be. So she threw her shoulders back, held her head high, and strode through her life with all the gusto she could muster. Inside she was a quivering mass of Jell-O, but since nobody could see inside, she managed to keep the wobbliness to herself.

Though she would die before admitting it, some days she found herself in front of the TV for hours either glued toThe Food Networkor binging episodes ofLove is Blind.

Worse, she now seemed to hold onto the remote the entire time she was watching, intermittently clicking from one thing to the next in between binges and Braves games.

Diane was the only person who seemed aware of the terrible dichotomy between Olivia’s outer calm and her inner turmoil, and Olivia suspected her producer’s latest diet and exercise regimen had as much to do with trying to keep an eye on Olivia as it did with improving her health.

Olivia sat on her front porch step waiting for Diane to arrive for their after-dinner walk. The evening was mild, and the shouts of children playing in a nearby cul-de-sac mingled with the hum of a lawnmower two houses away. When Diane pulled up to the curb, Olivia ambled down the driveway to greet her. After a few basic stretches, they began their walk.

At the half-mile mark, Diane announced, “I swore off Twinkies this afternoon.”

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