mayor.”
The name sent her back to the high school classroom, where she watched the only person who understood her love for art packing up his belongings. As Mr. Van Zandt taped his last box closed, her art teacher had looked up at her and said, “This placedestroys people like you and me. If you want to survive, get out of Sanctuary.”
It took years before she found out why he had left so suddenly; George Wickline had been the cause.
“Claire? Do you want another glass of iced tea?”
“Oh, sorry!” She shook her head apologetically at the hovering waitress. “I got caught in a time warp for a minute there.”
“My fault.” Paul’s smile was rueful. “I shouldn’t have brought up such an unpleasant memory at our reunion lunch.”
“Don’t apologize. Sometimes it’s useful to be reminded of harsh reality.”
“Not today, though,” Paul said. “This meal is about happy times.”
Shaking off her dark mood, she pointed the conversation back to him. “I didn’t see any family photos in your office. Why hasn’t some smart woman snapped you up?”
The spoon ceased spinning. “I guess the women around here aren’t that smart.”
She was taken aback by the irritation in his voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so personal.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, but he looked away. “What about you? No smart men?”
“I was married briefly,” she said, “and divorced at length.”
“You should have hired me as your lawyer.”
“Tell me about it! How does it look for Holly?”
“I can’t really talk to you about it. Attorney-client confidentiality,” he said with a regretful gesture. “However, I’m going to make it as painless as possible.”
“For Holly. Make it agonizing for Frank.”
He laughed, and the discussion turned to former high school classmates; Paul kept track of virtually everyone. Not all the histories were happy ones.
“Okay, I think you should run for
president
,” she said. “The way you keep everyone’s life stories straight is truly impressive. You’d be a natural campaigner.”
“Actually, I’ve been approached about running for the state senate.” The spoon was in motion again.
“Go for it. You’d be the best senator the state’s ever had.”
“I’d take that as a compliment if I didn’t know so many senators personally.”
Claire chuckled. “It’s so great to see you again.”
“Same here. I should have come to the gallery sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
The spoon went still. “The same reason you didn’t come to my office.”
Claire considered why she hadn’t looked him up. “You mean because you were afraid we’d say hello and a long awkward pause would follow?”
“Yeah,” Paul said with a half smile. “And because I was afraid New York would have changed you deep down, but you sure seem like the same Claire I knew way back when.”
She traced a path around the checks of the tablecloth with her fingertip. There were aspects of her younger self she wanted back, and some she couldn’t seem to shed.
“Claire?” Paul was slouching down in his chair in an effort to see her expression.
“I was wondering if I really am the same Claire,” she said, looking up. “There’s been an awful lot of water under various bridges in my life.”
“You are.” Paul’s pale-silver eyes were locked on her. “You’ve got a lot of big-city polish with the sleeked-back ponytail and the mile-high heels—which I like a lot, by the way. But I see my old friend behind it all.”
“If you say so.” Claire caught sight of the time on Paul’s big wristwatch. “Oh Lord, I have to get back to the gallery. I have acouple coming in to look at the Len Boggs exhibition. They flew in to have lunch at the Aerie first.”
“They could buy three Boggs paintings with what lunch will cost them,” Paul said, taking the check out of the air before the waitress could lay it on the table.
“You’ve still got the quickest hands in the
The name sent her back to the high school classroom, where she watched the only person who understood her love for art packing up his belongings. As Mr. Van Zandt taped his last box closed, her art teacher had looked up at her and said, “This placedestroys people like you and me. If you want to survive, get out of Sanctuary.”
It took years before she found out why he had left so suddenly; George Wickline had been the cause.
“Claire? Do you want another glass of iced tea?”
“Oh, sorry!” She shook her head apologetically at the hovering waitress. “I got caught in a time warp for a minute there.”
“My fault.” Paul’s smile was rueful. “I shouldn’t have brought up such an unpleasant memory at our reunion lunch.”
“Don’t apologize. Sometimes it’s useful to be reminded of harsh reality.”
“Not today, though,” Paul said. “This meal is about happy times.”
Shaking off her dark mood, she pointed the conversation back to him. “I didn’t see any family photos in your office. Why hasn’t some smart woman snapped you up?”
The spoon ceased spinning. “I guess the women around here aren’t that smart.”
She was taken aback by the irritation in his voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so personal.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, but he looked away. “What about you? No smart men?”
“I was married briefly,” she said, “and divorced at length.”
“You should have hired me as your lawyer.”
“Tell me about it! How does it look for Holly?”
“I can’t really talk to you about it. Attorney-client confidentiality,” he said with a regretful gesture. “However, I’m going to make it as painless as possible.”
“For Holly. Make it agonizing for Frank.”
He laughed, and the discussion turned to former high school classmates; Paul kept track of virtually everyone. Not all the histories were happy ones.
“Okay, I think you should run for
president
,” she said. “The way you keep everyone’s life stories straight is truly impressive. You’d be a natural campaigner.”
“Actually, I’ve been approached about running for the state senate.” The spoon was in motion again.
“Go for it. You’d be the best senator the state’s ever had.”
“I’d take that as a compliment if I didn’t know so many senators personally.”
Claire chuckled. “It’s so great to see you again.”
“Same here. I should have come to the gallery sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
The spoon went still. “The same reason you didn’t come to my office.”
Claire considered why she hadn’t looked him up. “You mean because you were afraid we’d say hello and a long awkward pause would follow?”
“Yeah,” Paul said with a half smile. “And because I was afraid New York would have changed you deep down, but you sure seem like the same Claire I knew way back when.”
She traced a path around the checks of the tablecloth with her fingertip. There were aspects of her younger self she wanted back, and some she couldn’t seem to shed.
“Claire?” Paul was slouching down in his chair in an effort to see her expression.
“I was wondering if I really am the same Claire,” she said, looking up. “There’s been an awful lot of water under various bridges in my life.”
“You are.” Paul’s pale-silver eyes were locked on her. “You’ve got a lot of big-city polish with the sleeked-back ponytail and the mile-high heels—which I like a lot, by the way. But I see my old friend behind it all.”
“If you say so.” Claire caught sight of the time on Paul’s big wristwatch. “Oh Lord, I have to get back to the gallery. I have acouple coming in to look at the Len Boggs exhibition. They flew in to have lunch at the Aerie first.”
“They could buy three Boggs paintings with what lunch will cost them,” Paul said, taking the check out of the air before the waitress could lay it on the table.
“You’ve still got the quickest hands in the
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