Never Too Late by Robyn Carr Page A

sinking into the sofa and picking up a drink of amber liquid that was not apple juice. For a moment she just stood there, looking like a lawyer. She wore one of her many navy-blue suits, pumps, and held her briefcase. She glanced at her watch—two-thirty. For all his crimes, he was not an irresponsible drinker.
    Roger sipped. “What’s this all about?” she asked. “You’re a wreck. And you’re drinking in the afternoon?”
    â€œThings haven’t been exactly stress free around here,” he said, taking a final sip and putting down the empty glass.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong? ” he bellowed. “My wife damn near dies, then when she does recover she won’t even talk to me, my son doesn’t want to spend time with me, and what am I supposed to do? Huh? Huh?”
    â€œOh damn it, you’re drunk.”
    â€œI’m not drunk. I want to be drunk, but I’m hopelessly sober.”
    Maggie walked into the room, but she didn’t want to get too close to him. He was disgusting at the moment. So she took a superior position at the breakfast bar, leaning more than sitting on the high stool. “You andClare are separated and she tells me there will be a divorce. This isn’t news. I’ve seen you probably a dozen times since she moved out. You were holding up as your usual perky self.” And then she added sarcastically, “Like you always do during your separations.”
    â€œOh yeah? Well this is a little different, don’t you think? She’s hurt! I want to take care of her. Help her. And Jason.” Then he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head dejectedly.
    â€œLook, Roger—I know what happened between you and Clare the night of the accident, so don’t get all pitiful on me. You were doing some blonde when Clare stopped by the house.”
    He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes mean. “I’m not at all surprised you know about that. Clare usually can’t wait to air my indiscretions.”
    â€œDon’t make this about Clare! I don’t believe she did anything wrong.”
    â€œWe were separated. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. I didn’t think it was against the rules. Besides, don’t you see how that makes it even worse? I keep letting her down, over and over. All I want is a chance to help her. To make amends.”
    Breckenridge was a small town. It rested in the valley a mere half hour from Carson City, just eleven miles beneath Lake Tahoe and the snowy peaks of the Sierras. There were only fifteen thousand people though a lot of tourists passed through on a regular basis en route to Reno, Tahoe or the Capitol. Residents ran into each other all the time and it was a damn hard place to keep a secret. Roger, despite his shabby marital habits, happened to be popular. He was extremely social. He was a respected insurance guy; he took goodcare of his clients. Sometimes too good, especially the women.
    But this was a Roger she’d never seen before. He looked pathetic. She wished she could feel sorry for him.
    â€œWell, Roger, as it happens you can help her. That’s why I’m here. She sent me on an errand.” He lifted his head. “Clare’s been with my dad, as you no doubt already know, and she can’t handle the town house she was leasing, so we let it go. The stairs, you know. She’s going to be struggling with things like that for at least a couple more months.” He dropped his head as though in agony. She tried to ignore him but found herself saying, “Hey, she’s doing very well! Her physical therapy is coming along great! But—and you can probably understand this—she doesn’t want to stay with Dad much longer. I think maybe Dotty is driving her nuts. She wants to be on her own. And she just isn’t up to searching for and renting a single-level house. So she asked me to ask you if