His smile was a thousand watts. “My favorite too.” He slipped it on my finger. “Got the size right.” He pocketed the other rings and then retrieved a plain, worn white-gold band and showed it to me. “I still have mine, even though yours is probably at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.”

He put the band on the ring finger of his left hand. “We’ll work out the details later.”

“Chris, I can’t see Juleen with this on my finger. I’m divorcing her father. I need to explain things to her, okay?” I took the ring off. “Keep it for me. I’ll put it on when we see your clients.”

“Fair enough.” He pocketed the ring and raised his thick blond-white eyebrows. “I know it won’t be conventional. Nothing with me is ever conventional. But I do want to reach an understanding that works for both of us.” He exhaled. “I want this to work, Terry. I need this to work. I can’t take you leaving again. I won’t survive.” A long pause. “Then I have your commitment?”

“Yes, you have my commitment.” I answered without pause. Dr. Pragmatic. I’d sort things out later.

He nodded. “Then take as much time as you need to break it to your daughter.”

“Thank you. Can we …” I stopped myself.

“Yes, we can go now. You’re still wearing the earrings, by the way.”

“I know. I am never taking these off.”

He laughed. “I never figured you as a bling girl.”

“All women are bling girls. You just never offered me any. But don’t worry.” I kissed his mouth with my newly liberated tongue. “You have plenty of time to make up for it.”

THERE WAS ROASTED chicken with gravy, rice pilaf, ratatouille, a leafy green salad, and fresh-baked bread. The food as well as the dinner plates and utensils sat at the end of a wooden trestle table that accommodated twelve chairs—the dining set a relic from long ago when family and friends came for Sunday dinner. After everyone helped themselves, they returned to the front of the table and waited for the matriarch to pick up a fork and start eating. Ida Decker took her sweet time. No one was going to rush her. Finally, she attacked a piece of white meat chicken.

Randy Decker had put on a few pounds since Rina had known him. He was dark complexioned and about four inches shorter than Peter. They looked nothing alike. Why would they? Both Randy and Peter were adopted. Blossom—Randy’s fourth wife—was blond and buxom with a fully painted face. She had on leopard-print leggings, a gold lamé sweater, and gold sandals. She said, “It looks delicious, Ida.”

“I didn’t cook anything,” Ida answered. “When Rina’s here, she won’t let me near the kitchen. Like I have cooties or something.”