Read Online The Next Accident by Lisa Gardner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Gardner
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middle-aged mother. A man like him should be meeting some bubble-gum blonde, some little bit of arm candy.
She got out of the cab, self-consciously fingering her matronly skirt. Tristan turned, spotted her, and promptly beamed. " Elizabeth! I'm so happy you made it."
For the life of her, she couldn't think of a thing to say. She stood there silently, clutching her small black purse while his eyes crinkled and he held out his arm to her. Her breath had caught in her chest.
He was still smiling, his blue eyes patient and kind. He knew, she realized abruptly. He understood that she was nervous and by grinning so effusively, he was trying to make things easier for her.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she managed.
He waved away her apology, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He patted her fingers, which she knew must feel like ice. "Jazz is my favorite," he told her amiably as he escorted her to the doors and the first notes of bluesy horns washed over them. "I hope you don't mind."
"I love jazz," she volunteered. "It's always been my favorite as well."
"Really? Davis or Coltrane?"
" Davis."
"' 'Round Midnight' or 'Kind of Blue?"
"' 'Round Midnight,' of course."
"Ahh, I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were a woman of impeccable taste. Of course, then you agreed to go out with me and cast my whole theory in doubt." He winked.
She found herself finally smiling back. "Well, there's no rule that says you can't enjoy water as well as wine," she said more gamely.
"Dear heavens, have I just been insulted?"
"I don't know. Depends if you're water or wine. I guess I have the whole evening to find out."
" Elizabeth," he said heartily, "we are going to have a smashing good evening!"
And she said with the first real emotion she'd felt in months, "Honestly, I would like that."
Later, over plates of steaming mussels and vegetarian pasta, and a bottle of a very fine Bordeaux, she asked the question that was burning in her mind.
"Does it hurt?" Her eyes drifted to his right side. She didn't have to say more for him to understand.
Slowly, he nodded. "Not as bad as it did, though. Just no more jumping jacks for a while."
"But you're feeling better?"
He smiled at her. "I was born with two bad kidneys, love. The first one failed when I was eighteen. The second one started going last year. I spent sixteen long months on dialysis. That felt bad. Now, as far as I am concerned, things can only feel good."
"Is there… is there still a chance of rejection?"
"In life, love, and organ transplants. But I take my truckload of meds like a good dooby and say my prayers at night. I don't know why God gives second chances to old rascals like me, but as long as I have one, I hate to complain."
"Your family must be very relieved."
He smiled again, but this time she caught a trace of sorrow in his gaze. "I don't have much family, Bethie. One older brother. He went away a long time ago and I haven't seen him since. There was a woman once. She said she carried my child. I was young though, and I'm afraid I didn't take it too well. When I learned I needed a kidney – well, that hardly seemed the time to call. I don't have patience for fair-weather friends, let alone fair-weather fathers."
"I'm sorry," she said honestly. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad times."
"Not to worry. I've made my mistakes and taken my licks and I still think a quiet life is overrated. I'm going to die with my boots on." He grimaced. "Probably once again hooked to a dialysis machine."
"Don't say that. You've come this far. Besides, you still have plenty of things to do. Like finding your child."
"You think I'm going to find my long-lost child?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you brought it up in a conversation with a woman you've just met, so obviously you've been thinking about it."
He grew silent. His fingers thrummed the curve of his wineglass. He said seriously, "You're an extremely astute woman, Elizabeth Quincy."
"No, I'm just a parent,
She got out of the cab, self-consciously fingering her matronly skirt. Tristan turned, spotted her, and promptly beamed. " Elizabeth! I'm so happy you made it."
For the life of her, she couldn't think of a thing to say. She stood there silently, clutching her small black purse while his eyes crinkled and he held out his arm to her. Her breath had caught in her chest.
He was still smiling, his blue eyes patient and kind. He knew, she realized abruptly. He understood that she was nervous and by grinning so effusively, he was trying to make things easier for her.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she managed.
He waved away her apology, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He patted her fingers, which she knew must feel like ice. "Jazz is my favorite," he told her amiably as he escorted her to the doors and the first notes of bluesy horns washed over them. "I hope you don't mind."
"I love jazz," she volunteered. "It's always been my favorite as well."
"Really? Davis or Coltrane?"
" Davis."
"' 'Round Midnight' or 'Kind of Blue?"
"' 'Round Midnight,' of course."
"Ahh, I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were a woman of impeccable taste. Of course, then you agreed to go out with me and cast my whole theory in doubt." He winked.
She found herself finally smiling back. "Well, there's no rule that says you can't enjoy water as well as wine," she said more gamely.
"Dear heavens, have I just been insulted?"
"I don't know. Depends if you're water or wine. I guess I have the whole evening to find out."
" Elizabeth," he said heartily, "we are going to have a smashing good evening!"
And she said with the first real emotion she'd felt in months, "Honestly, I would like that."
Later, over plates of steaming mussels and vegetarian pasta, and a bottle of a very fine Bordeaux, she asked the question that was burning in her mind.
"Does it hurt?" Her eyes drifted to his right side. She didn't have to say more for him to understand.
Slowly, he nodded. "Not as bad as it did, though. Just no more jumping jacks for a while."
"But you're feeling better?"
He smiled at her. "I was born with two bad kidneys, love. The first one failed when I was eighteen. The second one started going last year. I spent sixteen long months on dialysis. That felt bad. Now, as far as I am concerned, things can only feel good."
"Is there… is there still a chance of rejection?"
"In life, love, and organ transplants. But I take my truckload of meds like a good dooby and say my prayers at night. I don't know why God gives second chances to old rascals like me, but as long as I have one, I hate to complain."
"Your family must be very relieved."
He smiled again, but this time she caught a trace of sorrow in his gaze. "I don't have much family, Bethie. One older brother. He went away a long time ago and I haven't seen him since. There was a woman once. She said she carried my child. I was young though, and I'm afraid I didn't take it too well. When I learned I needed a kidney – well, that hardly seemed the time to call. I don't have patience for fair-weather friends, let alone fair-weather fathers."
"I'm sorry," she said honestly. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad times."
"Not to worry. I've made my mistakes and taken my licks and I still think a quiet life is overrated. I'm going to die with my boots on." He grimaced. "Probably once again hooked to a dialysis machine."
"Don't say that. You've come this far. Besides, you still have plenty of things to do. Like finding your child."
"You think I'm going to find my long-lost child?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you brought it up in a conversation with a woman you've just met, so obviously you've been thinking about it."
He grew silent. His fingers thrummed the curve of his wineglass. He said seriously, "You're an extremely astute woman, Elizabeth Quincy."
"No, I'm just a parent,
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