“Good morning,” she said warmly. “Would you like some breakfast? Eggs? Waffles?”

I looked over at Marion’s plate, which by now looked rather unappetizing. My usual breakfast of poached eggs and toast didn’t seem appealing at all.

“Maybe just a muffin or a bagel, something like that?” I answered.

“Of course. Right away.”

She took Marion’s plate and left the room.

“How did your husband die, Callie?” Marion asked once we were alone. “Tom only said that it was an accident.”

I took a deep breath, wondering how long it had been since I shared this particular story with anyone. I didn’t like talking about myself or my problems—especially not the saga of my late husband’s death.

“We were on vacation,” I said reluctantly. “A boating accident.”

“Oh, my.”

“Bryan was water-skiing. I was his spotter, and—”

“His what?”

“His spotter. I watched him from the boat while his brother was driving.”

“I see.” She listened earnestly, her eyes glued to my face, almost as if she hoped to find comfort in my sad story.

“Anyway,” I continued, “Bryan was a good skier. But it was getting near the end of the day and he was tired. He gave me a wave and let go of the rope. We were turning the boat around to swing back and pick him up out of the water when another boat came around the bend—one of those big, expensive cigarette boats. The guy driving it was drunk, going much too fast, not even watching where he was going. Before we could do anything about it, he drove that boat right into Bryan. Killed him instantly.”

“Oh, my.”

“By the time we reached Bryan, he was—” I stopped. The sight of my husband, floating dead in our wake, was an image I would live with the rest of my life. “He never had a chance.”

“You poor dear.”

“In any event,” I said, shaking my head, shaking the picture from my mind, “I survived. As you will survive.”

“I suppose we have no choice, do we?”

Angelina entered with a warm blueberry muffin and a glass of milk, which she placed in front of me. I ate slowly, remembering the pain of those first days of mourning. I wondered why the Lord saw fit to put me in a situation now where I was having to revisit so many of those feelings.

“I have a question for you,” I said finally, changing the subject. “I’ve been wondering about Alan Bennet. Has he worked at Smythe for very long?”

“About a year and a half. Judith has been pleased with his work.”

I know, I thought. I saw how pleased she was with him last night.

“Is he married?” I asked.

Marion shot me a wry glance.

“Handsome fellow, isn’t he?” she said. I colored, knowing that she thought I was interested in him personally.

“Just curious.”

“He’s single,” she replied. “Though there never seems to be a shortage of beauties in his orbit.”

“I can imagine.”