10

“I’m so glad I talked you into this,” Gia said.

She was dressed in faded jeans and a pink Polo shirt, and had taken the wheel of the Buick. Legally it was Gia’s ride. Jack had bought it, maintained it, and paid its monthly garage fee, but it was registered in Gia’s name and hers whenever she needed it. Both of them felt more comfortable riding in a car registered to a real person.

“Me too,” Jack replied, but not so sure he meant it.

Gia had been working on a painting when he’d stopped by her place. If he’d had any inkling she’d want to drive out to the Hamptons, he never would have mentioned it. But mention he did, and she’d jumped on the idea with such enthusiasm that he couldn’t say no.

It’ll be all right, he told himself. Just a cruise by Dragovic’s place, maybe a walk on the beach to see the ocean side of his property, and then back to the city. No risk, no danger to Gia and Vicky, just a couple and a child taking in the sights.

“I’ve never been out to the Hamptons,” Gia said. “Have you?”

Flecks of pigment still clung to her fingers as they gripped the steering wheel. Vicky sat in the backseat, engrossed in an old Nancy Drew hardcover Jack had found in a used bookstore. A good night’s sleep seemed to have been all she’d needed to recover from last night’s scare, although Jack wondered how she’d react next time Gia took her to the museum.

“A few times,” Jack said. “Just to see what it was like.”

They’d cruised the Long Island Expressway most of the way out, then switched to the two-lane Montauk Highway for the drive onto the south fork. They’d passed though West Hampton, Bridgehampton, This-hampton, That-hampton, and lots of fields between. Farm country out here—the potato fields had been plowed and planted; cornstalks stood ankle-high under the late May sun. All the windows were open and the breeze ruffled Gia’s short blond hair, lifting and twirling little golden wings.

“South Hampton College,” Jack said as they passed the road sign pointing to the right. “Home of the Fighting Quahogs.”

“What?” Gia laughed and glanced at him. “It didn’t say that! Did it?”

“Of course it did. Would I make up something like that?”

“Yes. Most certainly yes.” She hit the brake. “I’m going to turn around and go back to that sign, and if you’re lying…”

“OK, OK. I made up the Fighting Quahogs. But if they’re not the Fighting Quahogs, they should be, don’t you think? That’s one tough clam.”

“Enough about clams. What about your trips out here? Were you with anyone?”

Jack smiled. Gia was always looking for clues about his pre-Gia love life.

“All by myself. Went all the way to Montauk one time. Put in calls to Paul Simon, Billy Joel, Sting, Paul McCartney, and Kim Bassinger to let them know I was coming—they all live out here, you know.”