who'd been something of a loner since he was a
child, it was an odd thing to want out of life. After all the years
of emptiness and loneliness, of telling himself that it didn't
really matter, was he going all soft and sentimental? Maybe. Yet,
he sensed that it was all a part of the change he was going
through.
It was odd. Very odd. Here he was, sitting in
a darkened room steeped in solitude, but he didn't feel nearly as
alone as he had all those years in Chicago.
Yes, he was glad he'd made the move here to
Washington. And as his eyes lit on the pair of heels he'd dropped
on the couch, he found himself admitting that Angie Hall was only
one of the reasons.
But certainly not the least.
Filmy streamers of light found their way into
Angie's bedroom the next morning, first in a pale gray haze that
chased away the purple shadows of dawn, then in errant shafts of
gold that filled the room with brightness.
Angie awoke slowly, savoring the sensation of
waking on her own instead of to the insistent blare of the clock
radio. Sleeping in an hour late on weekends was a luxury she'd
indulged in only over the past year or so. The girls had been too
young to supervise themselves before that time, but now Kim was
usually able to entertain Casey by switching on Saturday morning
cartoons. When Evan was alive, he had been the one allowed to
sleep in.
Evan. Angie closed her eyes and steeled
herself against an unwelcome surge of emotion. Then, realizing the
futility of doing battle with the ghosts of her past, she took a
deep breath and let the feelings sweep over her, wondering
hopelessly if she could ever make peace with herself... and with
him.
After all this time she still felt so many
things when she thought of Evan. Pain. Despair. Bitterness. But
love? She had entered their marriage with her heart so full of
happiness she thought it would burst. At the last the fabric of
their love had been so torn and tattered that not even the
slightest thread of hope remained. No, there was no love left in
her heart for Evan, just as there had been no tears shed when she
had learned of his death.
Then there had been only a deep-seated sense
of relief that at least she had been spared his anger. Evan had
died not knowing that she intended to leave him— for good. And
Angie still struggled with a guilt-ridden conscience. Not because
she'd planned to divorce him but because she felt such relief that
she hadn't been forced to tell him.
With a heavy sigh she rolled over, and it was
then that last night's episode with Matt Richardson flooded her
consciousness. His rugged face appeared before her, and she
experienced a tingly sensation, not pleasant but not entirely
unpleasant, either.
The smile that emerged surprised her. She had
encountered Chuck Harris, the city's personnel director, the
minute she'd marched back into the banquet room. She'd completely
forgotten her shoeless state; Chuck's aghast expression had served
as a rude reminder. With the aplomb that had served her so well,
she'd directed a beaming smile at him but made haste to the nearest
exit, thankfully only a few steps away.
Chuckling, she started to throw off the
covers, then became aware of Kim snuggled into the space next to
her. A warm feeling of pride washed over her but mingled with it
was a prickly sense of unease. It wasn't unusual for Kim to steal
into bed with her mother at some point during the night. It
happened perhaps once a month. Angie quietly studied the peacefully
sleeping child. Kim had often been plagued by nightmares following
Evan's death, but they had tapered off during the past year. Had
they started once more?
Kim stirred beneath her mother's thoughtful
gaze. Then, opening her big brown eyes, she rubbed them
sleepily.
"Hi, precious." Tenderly she brushed a
tumbled curl from Kim's flushed cheek. "Have another bad dream?"
Deliberately Angie tried not to sound too worried.
Kim shook her head.
"Was your sister kicking you again?" Angie
forced a teasing note
child, it was an odd thing to want out of life. After all the years
of emptiness and loneliness, of telling himself that it didn't
really matter, was he going all soft and sentimental? Maybe. Yet,
he sensed that it was all a part of the change he was going
through.
It was odd. Very odd. Here he was, sitting in
a darkened room steeped in solitude, but he didn't feel nearly as
alone as he had all those years in Chicago.
Yes, he was glad he'd made the move here to
Washington. And as his eyes lit on the pair of heels he'd dropped
on the couch, he found himself admitting that Angie Hall was only
one of the reasons.
But certainly not the least.
Filmy streamers of light found their way into
Angie's bedroom the next morning, first in a pale gray haze that
chased away the purple shadows of dawn, then in errant shafts of
gold that filled the room with brightness.
Angie awoke slowly, savoring the sensation of
waking on her own instead of to the insistent blare of the clock
radio. Sleeping in an hour late on weekends was a luxury she'd
indulged in only over the past year or so. The girls had been too
young to supervise themselves before that time, but now Kim was
usually able to entertain Casey by switching on Saturday morning
cartoons. When Evan was alive, he had been the one allowed to
sleep in.
Evan. Angie closed her eyes and steeled
herself against an unwelcome surge of emotion. Then, realizing the
futility of doing battle with the ghosts of her past, she took a
deep breath and let the feelings sweep over her, wondering
hopelessly if she could ever make peace with herself... and with
him.
After all this time she still felt so many
things when she thought of Evan. Pain. Despair. Bitterness. But
love? She had entered their marriage with her heart so full of
happiness she thought it would burst. At the last the fabric of
their love had been so torn and tattered that not even the
slightest thread of hope remained. No, there was no love left in
her heart for Evan, just as there had been no tears shed when she
had learned of his death.
Then there had been only a deep-seated sense
of relief that at least she had been spared his anger. Evan had
died not knowing that she intended to leave him— for good. And
Angie still struggled with a guilt-ridden conscience. Not because
she'd planned to divorce him but because she felt such relief that
she hadn't been forced to tell him.
With a heavy sigh she rolled over, and it was
then that last night's episode with Matt Richardson flooded her
consciousness. His rugged face appeared before her, and she
experienced a tingly sensation, not pleasant but not entirely
unpleasant, either.
The smile that emerged surprised her. She had
encountered Chuck Harris, the city's personnel director, the
minute she'd marched back into the banquet room. She'd completely
forgotten her shoeless state; Chuck's aghast expression had served
as a rude reminder. With the aplomb that had served her so well,
she'd directed a beaming smile at him but made haste to the nearest
exit, thankfully only a few steps away.
Chuckling, she started to throw off the
covers, then became aware of Kim snuggled into the space next to
her. A warm feeling of pride washed over her but mingled with it
was a prickly sense of unease. It wasn't unusual for Kim to steal
into bed with her mother at some point during the night. It
happened perhaps once a month. Angie quietly studied the peacefully
sleeping child. Kim had often been plagued by nightmares following
Evan's death, but they had tapered off during the past year. Had
they started once more?
Kim stirred beneath her mother's thoughtful
gaze. Then, opening her big brown eyes, she rubbed them
sleepily.
"Hi, precious." Tenderly she brushed a
tumbled curl from Kim's flushed cheek. "Have another bad dream?"
Deliberately Angie tried not to sound too worried.
Kim shook her head.
"Was your sister kicking you again?" Angie
forced a teasing note
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