Page 57 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“Who?” Nikki asked, not really caring.

“Sean,” she said with a little glimmer in her eye, and Nikki inwardly groaned.

“Sean Hawke? What was he doing here?”

“He just stopped by to see me. His mother and I did go to school together, you know.”

Nikki remembered. Though she didn’t want to.

“He asked about you.”

“I already talked to him.”

“And?” One of her mother’s eyebrows rose.

“And nothing. He wanted to get together. I thought it was a bad idea.”

“Really? But I always liked Sean.” She lifted her hands to the sides of her head as if to ward off a blow. “I know, I know. It didn’t work out. He was interested in someone else, but you know, you were both too young, then. Maybe now—”

“Never, Mom, and I can’t believe you’re saying this. Sean was and is a snake. End of subject.” Nikki couldn’t help but be irritated. Charlene seemed to think she was an old maid just because she was over thirty. Which was ridiculous. “Dad never liked him,” she pointed out and thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, a curt nod of Sandra’s head.

“Your father is suspicious of everyone.” Charlene folded her arms under her small breasts. Her jaw was set in that hard, uncompromising line Nikki had seen all too often. “That attitude comes from being involved with the law and seeing the dark side of life every day.”

Nikki heard the garage door open. “Speak of the devil.”

Her mother’s spine stiffened slightly, as if she were bracing herself, and Nikki felt a pang of wistfulness. What had happened to her parents, who, when they were younger, had danced and laughed, their eyes crinkling at each other’s jokes, each trying to outdo the other? They had seemed devoted, yet independent, and above all else, respec

tful of each other. They had been kind. They had been happy. They had been in love, even after four children and over two decades together. Their happiness had eroded over the years, worn away by Andrew’s death and their own perceptions of ever-nearing mortality. Age and sorrow had sapped Charlene of her wit and her vitality, while those same two demons had embittered her father.

Sandra swept away the final crumbs of the nuts as the retired Honorable Judge Ronald Gillette opened the door from the garage and stepped into the warm light of the kitchen.

His cheeks were ruddy, his nose always red these days, his blue eyes sparkling despite too many visible veins. Some people thought he looked like Santa Claus, but he reminded Nikki of Burl Ives’s portrayal of Big Daddy in an old movie version of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. “Hey, Firecracker!” he boomed and gave his youngest child the bear hug she’d come to expect. He smelled of cigar smoke, rye whiskey and rain. “So, you finally made page one! Congratulations!” Another squeeze.

Nikki was grinning ear to ear as the embrace ended. “Finally being the integral word in that sentence.”

Big Ron chuckled. “It’s not as if you’re over the hill.”

“Yet.”

“Well, maybe we should have a drink to celebrate. Char—?”

“No.” She shook her head and tried to hide the knots of disapproval pinching the corners of her mouth.

“You will, though?” he asked Nikki.

She thought of her scheduled meeting with Cliff. “I’ll have to take a rain check, Dad. I’ve got work to do.”

“It’s only one drink.” He was already walking toward the den. Her mother turned her attention toward the darkened windows and Nikki caught sight of Charlene’s pale reflection in the glass, saw the pain and disapproval in that ghostly image.

“You okay, Mom?”

Charlene blinked, managed a smile. “Right as rain.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would ya?” Nikki plopped onto the cushion next to her and hugged her mother. Charlene smelled of Estee Lauder and powder. “You saw the doctor yesterday. What did he say?”

“What he always does. That everything is all in my head.” With a glance toward the hallway where her husband disappeared, she added, “He suggested I visit a psychiatrist.”

Nikki took her mother’s hand and was surprised that it felt bony and small. Her rings were so loose the stones kept sliding toward her palm. “Would that be so bad?”

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