* * *

My hands were still shaking ten minutes later.

I was too angry to drive (not to mention the two vodkas), so I walked around out to the park, sloppily dodging dogs, joggers and kids on tricycles. It was wide-open here and flat, not like Bixby Park with its woods and paths. Not like Prospect, which was practically a forest.

I got to the lookout and stared at the new bridge. Sailboats dotted the blue of the water and speedboats motored past, coming in and out of the marina. Somewhere behind me, a band played Van Morrison’s old hit “Brown Eyed Girl.”

I had brown eyes. Had Nathan and I ever heard this song together? Had he ever called me his brown-eyed girl? We’d never danced to it; we’d danced only a couple of times, at one of his parents’ benefits, and it was more of the Benny Goodman type of event.

Well, meeting Madeleine had been a huge mistake. Hopefully, she wouldn’t sue me.

I pulled my phone out of my backpack and called Eloise. “Hi, it’s Kate,” I said.

“Kate, deah, how are you?”

“I’m... Listen, I’d like to get rid of that bench in Bixby Park, okay? It’s upsetting me.”

“Of course. Let me make the call, deah. No need for you to do it. I agree. It was very inappropriate of her.”

We made plans for lunch, and this time, it didn’t feel so awful. It felt, in fact, like I had an ally.

Speaking of allies, I called Ainsley. The call went to voice mail. Shit. Wasn’t it always the way? Just when I wanted to talk, she wasn’t around. “Hey, I’m down at the river walk in Tarrytown,” I said. “I’ll be later than I thought.” Because I got a little drunk with Nathan’s ex-wife and dumped food on her head.

I wandered over to a tree and sat down, leaning against the trunk. Took my camera out of my bag and shot the bridge, the boats, some kids, a dog. None of the shots were any good. Everything looked fake and staged.

Also, the tree trunk was grinding into my spine. So I lay down instead. The grass prickled my arms. The sky was so fiercely blue I had to close my eyes.

Are you up there, Nathan? Are you okay? Did you really love me, or was she right?

I didn’t get an answer. Instead, I fell asleep.

I woke up sometime later with one of those sharp snore-snorts, then blinked. The sky wasn’t quite as blue as before.

Daniel the Hot Firefighter was sitting next to me. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi. Hope you don’t mind, but we just had sex.”

I snorted again—laughter this time. “Did we emotionally scar any children?”

He gave me a steamy look, sleepy eyes and raised eyebrow. “You were pretty dirty.”

“What are you doing here? Other than molesting sleeping widows?”

“I was helping Jane with her horrible kids. Thought I’d get a beer and called your landline. Had it mixed up with your cell phone, and your sister told me you were down here.”

“Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

“I thought I saw you at the Re-Enter Center a couple weeks ago. At the fund-raiser?”

“I made an appearance.”

“You left pretty early.” He started picking blades of grass.

“I did. My sister and I had plans.”

My cheeks felt hot, whether from the drinks, the sun, the nap or the fact that D the HF was sitting next to me, I wasn’t sure.

It was also a little embarrassing to admit that I’d left a party because he’d shown up with a date.

“So how are things?” he asked.

“Good.”

“You read those emails.”

I nodded.

“And they made you feel like shit?”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve listened to Uncle Dan.” He stretched out next to me, all male beauty and muscle. “What did they say?”

I watched as a little girl ran after her older brother, which reminded me—Sean hadn’t called in a while. Too busy living his perfect life.

I cleared my throat. “His ex still loved him and wanted him to leave me, but he was very content with me and didn’t want to hurt me.” My words were careful.

“That’s it?”

“I thought it was pretty earthshaking.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad to me.” I cut him a look. “But then again, I’m a guy, so I’m thick.” We were quiet for a minute. “No, it’s not so bad,” he said. “Content is pretty great. You want what you have and have what you want. Nothing wrong with content.”

“She said he was going to leave me. He just felt guilty.”

“So? What does she know? He didn’t leave you. Let it go, Kate.”

I sighed. “It’s just that if I had known any of this was going on, I would never have married him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was...torn.”

“Was he? He married you. That seems pretty decisive.”

“And then he died, Daniel. I’m a widow. If I’d known he’d been uncertain or conflicted or whatever, I would’ve said no, let’s wait. And then...maybe he’d even be alive today.”

He gave a huge sigh. “But he’s not. It happened. You want some ice cream? I hear the truck.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“You need more than ice cream?” He stood up in one quick, athletic move. “Come on.” He offered his hand, and I took it.

He didn’t let go, either. For maybe twelve or thirteen paces, he kept holding my hand, and it was only when a soccer ball rolled our way did he let go, run up to the ball and kick it back to a kid.

I ordered a Good Humor vanilla nut cone and let him pay.

“Did you ask Paige to teach at the Re-Enter Center?” I asked as I wolfed the thing down (my lunch having gone on Madeleine’s head).

“No,” he said, licking the side of his hand where ice cream was melting. “Somebody did, though. Why?”

“I was just surprised to see her there. I asked her to teach a dozen times back in the day.”

“Well, she’s there now. Being quite a pain in the ass, from what I hear, trying to run the place. You should come back. Everyone misses you.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “Especially me.”

“Aw, thanks, you big lug.”

He smiled around his cone. He was just pointlessly beautiful, Daniel was.

Even better, he was nice.

“Walk you back to your car?” he asked.

“Sure.”

There was no hand-holding on the way back to the car. I was irritated that I even thought about it.

“Thanks for the ice cream, mister,” I said when we got to my car.

“You’re welcome.” He gave me a hug, practically crushing me in his big brawny arms, then messed up my hair. “Let’s have dinner sometime, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, I got in the car and drove home, feeling a lot better than I had before.

Daniel Breton was a very nice man. A good friend.

Who would’ve guessed?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ainsley

Stupid-Head didn’t call on Sunday. I checked my phone maniacally all the livelong day. Stayed home, even, in case he wanted to swing by.

He didn’t.

So on Monday morning, feeling very pissy indeed, I stomped into work at 8:29.

He was on the phone in his office. I glared in his general direction.

“How was your weekend?” Rachelle asked.

“It was great!” I said—it was half-true. A quarter true, at least. I dropped the glare and smiled at her. “How about you?”