Part 12 (2/2)

It was over in an instant. Her vision returned. She could read in Veronica's expression that she knew. But the boy? She couldn't tell. He just stood there looking at her out of those eyes. What was it about his expression? Apprehension? Yes, Veronica must have told him. How could she do that? What did she say to him? Justin, your dad's widow is coming to dinner?

”How could you do this to your son?” The words jumped out of her mouth like horses. The words tore at her throat like the hooves were shredding it.

She didn't realize she'd moved until she felt Veronica's hand on her arm-cool, as if it had no blood in it.

”Rae, please.”

Rae jerked her arm away. Her hand became a fist drawn back. No! The effort not to hit Veronica set the blood pounding in her temples. Not in front of the boy. It wasn't his fault.

She heard him mumble something to his mom. The wet-eyed look that pa.s.sed between mother and son made Rae wish she could cry, too. But her eyes were so dry she couldn't even blink and get rid of the sight of the two of them.

”Yes, it's okay. Go on over to Bobby's. We may not eat till late,” she heard Veronica tell him.

Then he was gone. Justin. Did he know he had a brother and a sister? And two nephews? Did he have a picture of Anthony in his room?

”It's not what you think,” said Veronica.

”I'm sure,” said Rae, ”that it was an immaculate conception.”

”You're closer than you think. If it'd been...what you're thinking...would I have invited you over here to explain? With my son present? Justin is my life.”

”Be careful what you call your life. It may not be what it seems.” Rae twisted the words into Veronica like knives.

”I know you think you have every reason to hate me, but--”

”Please! You're not worth my hate.”

Rae looked away from Veronica, but everywhere she looked, there was Anthony. Naked.

”I knew it might pose a problem, but I never thought it would turn so ugly,” said Veronica. ”I had to find out before you signed the contract with our office. It would have been much worse if we were in the middle of the case and you found out by accident. I thought this way I'd have a chance to explain.”

”What explanation could there possibly be,” said Rae. Though posed as a question, she left no room for an answer as she stared Veronica down.

Veronica, with every hair in place, oh, she was a cool one now that the boy was safely somewhere else. Probably hadn't even broken a sweat. Rae felt her own heat rise up, the red tide of impending menopause combined with rage shooting up her neck. Sweat bled through her ecru silk blouse. Yes, she'd even dressed up for the occasion of this dinner meeting. And she knew if she looked under either arm, she'd see humongous dark brown rings staining the new blouse.

”There was no affair,” said Veronica.

”Oh, please. Tell me another.”

”He loved you. Only you. Will you just let me explain what happened?”

”No,” said Rae. The image of naked Anthony with Veronica wouldn't let her be. She bolted for her car.

Once inside, Rae's hands trembled so badly that she couldn't get the keys into the ignition. Don't drive like this, said a little voice in her head.

She sat back and took deep breaths. She looked at the house. No sign of Veronica. She willed herself calm, started the car and backed carefully down the driveway instead of nicking the Camry or driving through Veronica's front door.

By the time she reached the street, she knew she could manage the drive home. Automatic pilot. A mode she had used often in the weeks and months following Anthony's death.

When she got home from Veronica's, Rae sat in the kitchen, dry-eyed, remembering, wondering when it had happened.

The age of the boy made that obvious. But, it wasn't the act, but the when that precipitated the act that eluded her.

She ground coffee beans in her electric grinder. The dark Italian roast she used had been her grandmother's mainstay. Somehow, Rae's brew never achieved that bitter-sweet, almost syrupy taste and texture of Grandma's.

Had it been Rae's preoccupation with pa.s.sing the CPA exam? The whir of the grinder rang in her ears. Grandma had ground her beans by hand.

Out of context, bits and pieces of the past returned. The whir of numbers, computations and accounting rules buzzed in her head. Six weeks of intense Becker CPA Review had left her a bundle of raw nerves.

Anthony and the kids tiptoed around her during that time. No one asked ”How was your day?” They already knew that the sound of asking would set her off, and she'd fly out the back door into the postage stamp sized yard. Their first house in a Denver suburb had been really tiny, hardly room to breathe. No room to dream.

Rae spooned three scoops of ground coffee into the basket of her Krupps, poured in water and flipped the on switch.

Then she remembered the balm of Anthony's humor. One night after a particularly grueling Becker session, as she lay in bed with her back to Anthony, she felt his hand on her shoulder. Her muscles had tightened involuntarily as she'd pulled away from his touch.

”Hey, you,” he'd said, ”I just want to feel your nose.”

She'd scrounched down further into her self-imposed, info-loaded dungeon, but Anthony wouldn't give up. He'd turned her toward him, felt her nose with the back of his hand and then declared, ”Cold and moist. Yep, you're healthy.”

She'd laughed till the tears came. Looking back, it wasn't all that funny-being reminded by your husband that you'd been acting like a b.i.t.c.h. But it had done the trick. Rae had relaxed and fallen asleep in Anthony's arms.

No, that couldn't have been the when.

Rae poured herself a mug of coffee and thought of Grandma's intricately flowered demita.s.se cups that now sat with their saucers on a shelf in the dining room. She yearned for the comfort of her childhood, remembering Grandma's anise-laced almond biscotti.

Rae made biscotti herself according to Grandma's verbal instructions. Recipe? What's that? A pinch of this, a spoonful of that. Teaspoon? Tablespoon? Just a plain old spoon, Rae. You tell by what it tastes like, how it feels when you stir.

Rae's efforts had never tasted the same, though Anthony and the kids had praised them elaborately.

The when still eluded her. Why should it be important? Knowing couldn't change things.

Rae nibbled on a store-bought biscotti dunked in fresh coffee that was too bitter.

She'd met Anthony at a Sons of Italy dance.

”Come on, Rae, humor your grandma.”

”Ma, only old people go to those dances.” Rae was nineteen.

”It won't kill you, this once.” Even her German-American dad had joined in.

So she'd gone with Grandma and Grandpa in their old Buick station wagon. Her hair was cut short even then. No seventies sprayed, teased-to-death look for her.

They wouldn't let her wear jeans. ”Please dress like a girl, Rae. The sky won't fall.”

The minute she'd spotted him, Rae knew they'd been set up. Black hair towering above a sea of gray heads and stooped shoulders. Maybe not all gray-but n.o.body there was under forty except the two of them. G.o.d, forty was old back then.

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