“I want to say, right off, I’m sure sorry about Mr. Rizzo. I was at the memorial, but there were so many people, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You never did like crowds.”

“That hasn’t changed. So, ah, my cousin’s boy, Cliff, he was in there with y’all.”

“Cliff, sure, the football player. Like you.”

“Those were the days.” When he flashed a grin, a little dimple popped at the right corner of his mouth.

“I don’t want to hold you up. I just wondered if maybe you’d like to get a bite to eat, and catch up some.”

“Oh, well, we’re having a wrap party at the restaurant.”

He nodded, running the cap in circles in his hands. “Sometime then. Some other time.”

“Actually, the cast and crew are taking the back, probably spill out a bit. But I can get us a table. I’ve got pull with the owner.”

Adrian smiled. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll meet you there, Adrian. Is it still a pickup, Matt?”

“I brought the car, as I recollect you didn’t much care for riding in a truck.”

Adrian considered as she walked to her own car. Square-jawed, straw-colored hair going white at the temples, clean-shaven, shy, kind eyes. That flash of grin and dimple.

Interesting.

Additional interesting came at the end of the evening when Adrian went to settle up.

“I’m moving them out, Jan. Sorry, I know we’re right on top of closing.”

“No problem for me. We like big, happy, hungry groups in here.”

“We sure were all of that.” She glanced around, saw only a couple tables still occupied in the main dining room. “I don’t see my mother and her friend.”

“Oh, right. They left about a half hour ago. She asked me to tell you she was going over to have a look at Matt’s farm.” Jan handed Adrian the credit card and receipt. “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait up.”

“Thanks, I … What?”

With something close to a snicker, Jan leaned over the counter. “When you work as long in a restaurant as I have, you know how to read people. Body language, expressions, tones, gestures, all of that. What I saw is—I’ll call it two people moving toward a romantic finale. Old flames, honey.”

“Yeah, but …”

“I’ve known Matt for a long time. He’s a good man. I’ll add they both looked happy and had lots to talk about.”

“Well, that’s … something. I’m not sure what. I’ll move the stragglers along. Most of them are headed to my place anyway.”

She decided not to mention it, even to Harry and Mimi. Just too strange.

When they got home and Harry commented that it looked as if Lina had gone to bed, Adrian let out a strangled laugh and said, “Guess so.”

In the morning, she rose early, got in a shortened workout while the house slept on. In the kitchen she made frittatas for the farewell breakfast, slid them in the oven with her fingers mentally crossed.

She checked the coffee maker to be sure it had water, added fresh beans, then made a smoothie for herself.

She sat at the counter with her smoothie and her tablet to check viewer email. When she heard the front door open and close, she figured one of her houseguests had gone out for some morning air.

But looking up, she saw her mother walking back toward the kitchen.

She’d assumed Lina had come home late, hadn’t anticipated an overnight. After a moment’s consideration, she went with instinct.

“I’m sure you know you’re grounded.”

“Funny.”

When Lina reached for a mug, programmed the fancy machine for coffee, Adrian’s eyebrows shot up.

“Coffee? You?”

“Occasionally. It’s about moderation and good choices, not deprivation.”

“I wish you’d said that to a girl who loved Cokes.”

Lina glanced back. “So do I.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Forget that. And I’m having a Coke.”

She got up, pulled one out of the fridge. “So, so, so. You and Matt Weaver.”

“Nothing serious. Neither of us are looking for that.” With the mug of black coffee, Lina sat at the counter with Adrian.

“So no real buzz.”

“Oh, plenty of it.” Lina brushed at her smooth swing of hair. “Then and now. It was nice to see him again, to catch up on the past, God, three decades. He and his younger son work the farm. His oldest went to law school and practices in the next county. His daughter’s an RN and lives a handful of miles away. He’s been divorced for about a dozen years, and has five grandchildren.”

She sipped her coffee. “But now, as then, he’s rooted to his farm, and I’m rooted to my career. There was always something between us, and now I realize there always will be. But we want very different things for our lives. We had nostalgia sex, and it was lovely.”

Then she smiled. “And we agreed when I’m in town, as long as both of us remain unencumbered—which both of us appear to want—we’ll have more nostalgia sex.”

“Booty calls. My mother.”

“I haven’t gone thirty years without sex, Adrian. I simply know how to be selective and discreet. Something smells wonderful.”

“I’m making frittatas.”

“Frittatas.” Lina studied Adrian over her coffee. “The Rizzo gene seems to have planted in you.”

“I’m trying to nurture it along, which reminds me. I’m wondering if we should do a cookbook. Healthy—but tasty—recipes. Rizzo and Rizzo, Cook Yourself Fit. Or something.”

“We could see. We both know I’m no cook, but … Let me think about it, then we’ll talk about it more the next time I’m in town. But right now, I’m taking my coffee up, changing. Do they still call it the walk of shame?”

“Mostly as a joke, between friends.”

“I’ll just avoid that altogether.”

Amused, Adrian pulled her tablet back over. She saw a new email from the investigator on her personal account.

Adrian,

I’m back in DC, and would like to schedule a meeting with you this week, if possible. I will, of course, have a written report, but would like to speak to you personally.

Please let me know what day and time would work best, and I’ll schedule accordingly.

Best,

Rachael

 

Adrian checked her calendar, noted times she had appointments at the job site, with Teesha for business, with her young trainee for evaluation.

She responded, listing those dates and times as problematic, but opening the rest of the week.

She could shift her own work around to suit. The beauty of being self-employed, she thought.

Then she put the tablet away, put it out of her mind. Farewell breakfasts weren’t the time for dark thoughts.

PART THREE

LEGACIES

The future is purchased by the present.

—Samuel Johnson

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Adrian read the next poem midweek, hours before Rachael was due to arrive. The poet had reverted back to the single sheet, the simple white envelope.