Her father gave her a brief, meaningful look. “You know that Tiff’s death was more complicated than that. It was more than just bad luck. Just because you agree with Tiff’s choices doesn’t mean your mother has to. Besides, grief rarely makes sense, sweetheart. Your mother drew her own conclusions, and to her, the only way to square all the corners was to decide that Tiff had been wrong all along. An orderly, expected life was the only way to protect oneself against the random pain of the world.”

“But—”

“Are you coming to watch with me?” her mother’s quiet voice cut into their conversation. Mary looked over at her mother and felt an unexpected swell of affection for the woman standing there. Her hair was stylishly short, dyed dark blond at the roots and lighter at the choppy ends. She’d changed into an after-dinner housedress, long and silken like a kimono. With one manicured hand, she clutched the overlapping collar of the robe and looked nervously between Trevor and Mary.

Mary knew that look on her mother’s face. The closest to chagrin and apology that her plastic surgeon allowed her to get. The brandy had softened her, but so had the distance from the dinner conversation. She was regretful of her vehemence, Mary was certain, though not of her message. But still, Naomi didn’t want to sit alone at night in a room watching television by herself, and who did? Mary didn’t blame her.

Who didn’t want companionship?

Mary sighed and gripped her cup in both hands. “On our way, Mom. Be right there.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

AT SEVEN FIFTY-FIVE on the dot, just as they’d planned, John watched Mary stride into the Brooklyn Heights restaurant. Mellow was a relaxed, darkened establishment that had a curved, shadowed bar on one end, which was why they’d chosen it. Mary had reserved a specific table near the window where she could see John back in the corner, but Elijah, if and when he showed, wouldn’t likely notice him.

John sighed as he watched Mary speak to the hostess, a huge smile on her face. Of course she’d worn yellow pants. And a buttoned shirt and her hair in a high bun. The outfit was stylish and ridiculous and looked utterly perfect on her. On any other woman, John would have thought it made her look sunny-side up. But Mary just looked...good.

He groaned to himself as he watched her sit down at the table and then immediately peer through the gloom to seek John out. She shot him a little secret smile that made John groan again. Twice in about ten seconds.

“You all right, buddy?” the bartender asked.

“What? Oh. Yeah. Just kicking myself for something. Sorry.” John nodded back at Mary. The bartender looked between them. “There a story there? One worth groaning over?”