you better give him a call. Find out what he wants. Or maybe you can just talk to him tomorrow when he stops by. I assume he usually drops in when I’m at the station.”
“Don’t do this, Bram. Nathan doesn’t stop by. There’s nothing between us but friendship.” That wasn’t entirely true. Nathan did drop in from time to time, even sent flowers occasionally, though Sophie rarely spoke to him for more than a few minutes, never alone in her office—and she always made it clear that it was over between them. She tried to be tactful, hoping he’d get the message, but he never seemed to give up. He’d been dating one of Sophie’s friends for a while, but he still couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that, one day, he and Sophie would be together. It was starting to worry her a little, although Nathan was a good, sensible man. She put it down to simple stubbornness.
“Then I guess Margie saw an apparition this afternoon,” said Bram.
“Maybe she did.” It wouldn’t be the first time Margie had brought up Nathan just to sour her father’s mood.
“Oh, right,” said Margie, tossing her cigarette over the rail. “I’ve got twenty-twenty vision, you know. I know who I saw. But hey, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Dad, chill the hell out, okay? Sophie didn’t do anything wrong.”
Just what Sophie needed. Margie torpedoes the evening, then comes off looking like a saint by defending the guilty party.
Bram took a deep breath, then let it out. “Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry, Soph, but I just get a little crazy when that guy’s name is mentioned.”
“Kind of like Pavlov’s dog,” said Margie.
“You can shut up now,” said Bram.
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Bram, grabbing the cordless off one of the glass tables. “Baldric.” He listened for a moment. Then, glancing at Sophie, he handed her the phone. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Who else? Your boyfriend.”
This couldn’t be happening. “Bram—”
“Take it!” he ordered, shoving the phone at her. “Margie, why don’t I buy you dinner. There’s a place I’ve been wanting you to see.”
“Bram, no,” pleaded Sophie. “This will just take a second.”
“Oh, no,” said Bram, opening the screen door and waiting until Margie walked through. “I wouldn’t dream of rushing you. And this way, you two will have complete privacy.”
“I don’t want privacy.”
“Well, you got it.”
10
Bram and Margie walked the six blocks to the Rookery Club in total silence. Margie tried to introduce a couple of subjects on the way down in the elevator, but Bram couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what had just happened. He loathed himself when he responded like a jealous jerk. He knew Sophie loved him, but what he didn’t know—what he’d never really known for sure—was how deep her feelings went for Nathan.
It was hard for Bram to shake the sense that Sophie wasn’t being totally honest with him. From what Bram could tell—and he’d talked to Nathan personally only a few times—he appeared to be everything Bram wasn’t. Rough around the edges, but appealingly rough. A poet in his youth who’d become the picture of the rugged outdoorsman. An internationally respected chef. And more to the point, Sophie’s first love. First loves, especially when they were never resolved, still had power. And it was that power, the lure and romance of unrequited love, that Bram feared.
As they passed Rice Park, Margie slipped her arm through Bram’s and said, “I hate Sophie for what she’s doing to you.”
“Don’t hate her, honey. We’ll work it out.”
“Why doesn’t she just make a clear decision about Nathan and then let it go?”
“She says she has.”
“Then why’s he always hanging around?”
“I don’t know that he is.”
“Well, I’ve seen him twice in the last week. That must mean something.”
“Was he with Sophie?”
“No. But why else would he come to the
“Don’t do this, Bram. Nathan doesn’t stop by. There’s nothing between us but friendship.” That wasn’t entirely true. Nathan did drop in from time to time, even sent flowers occasionally, though Sophie rarely spoke to him for more than a few minutes, never alone in her office—and she always made it clear that it was over between them. She tried to be tactful, hoping he’d get the message, but he never seemed to give up. He’d been dating one of Sophie’s friends for a while, but he still couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that, one day, he and Sophie would be together. It was starting to worry her a little, although Nathan was a good, sensible man. She put it down to simple stubbornness.
“Then I guess Margie saw an apparition this afternoon,” said Bram.
“Maybe she did.” It wouldn’t be the first time Margie had brought up Nathan just to sour her father’s mood.
“Oh, right,” said Margie, tossing her cigarette over the rail. “I’ve got twenty-twenty vision, you know. I know who I saw. But hey, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Dad, chill the hell out, okay? Sophie didn’t do anything wrong.”
Just what Sophie needed. Margie torpedoes the evening, then comes off looking like a saint by defending the guilty party.
Bram took a deep breath, then let it out. “Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry, Soph, but I just get a little crazy when that guy’s name is mentioned.”
“Kind of like Pavlov’s dog,” said Margie.
“You can shut up now,” said Bram.
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Bram, grabbing the cordless off one of the glass tables. “Baldric.” He listened for a moment. Then, glancing at Sophie, he handed her the phone. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Who else? Your boyfriend.”
This couldn’t be happening. “Bram—”
“Take it!” he ordered, shoving the phone at her. “Margie, why don’t I buy you dinner. There’s a place I’ve been wanting you to see.”
“Bram, no,” pleaded Sophie. “This will just take a second.”
“Oh, no,” said Bram, opening the screen door and waiting until Margie walked through. “I wouldn’t dream of rushing you. And this way, you two will have complete privacy.”
“I don’t want privacy.”
“Well, you got it.”
10
Bram and Margie walked the six blocks to the Rookery Club in total silence. Margie tried to introduce a couple of subjects on the way down in the elevator, but Bram couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what had just happened. He loathed himself when he responded like a jealous jerk. He knew Sophie loved him, but what he didn’t know—what he’d never really known for sure—was how deep her feelings went for Nathan.
It was hard for Bram to shake the sense that Sophie wasn’t being totally honest with him. From what Bram could tell—and he’d talked to Nathan personally only a few times—he appeared to be everything Bram wasn’t. Rough around the edges, but appealingly rough. A poet in his youth who’d become the picture of the rugged outdoorsman. An internationally respected chef. And more to the point, Sophie’s first love. First loves, especially when they were never resolved, still had power. And it was that power, the lure and romance of unrequited love, that Bram feared.
As they passed Rice Park, Margie slipped her arm through Bram’s and said, “I hate Sophie for what she’s doing to you.”
“Don’t hate her, honey. We’ll work it out.”
“Why doesn’t she just make a clear decision about Nathan and then let it go?”
“She says she has.”
“Then why’s he always hanging around?”
“I don’t know that he is.”
“Well, I’ve seen him twice in the last week. That must mean something.”
“Was he with Sophie?”
“No. But why else would he come to the
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