Regrets Only by Nancy Geary

my game, but she’d be gone before I had a chance to talk to her at the end.” He paused for a moment and then added, “You’ll get the longer version when I know you better. I don’t want to drive you away with boring details.”
    “I doubt that would happen,” Lucy said as images of her own mother flashed into her mind: Mary O’Malley in a stained apron, scrubbing Lucy’s back with oatmeal when she had chicken pox; hand-stitching lace on her First Communion dress and pearls on her white gloves; driving her out to the Chestnut Hill Mall to buy her a push-up bra at Bloomingdale’s; making her hot tea with lemon and honey when her high school boyfriend stood her up for the senior prom. Since she’d moved out of the house on Washington Street, they spoke nearly every day. A motherless life seemed inconceivable.
    “Anyway, suffice it to say that she broke Dad’s heart,” Archer said, obviously wanting to close the subject. “The sixth of March is the one day he still allows himself to mourn his loss.”
    “Astounding,” she mumbled. “I couldn’t control my emotions that well.”
    “You’re not my father. Thank God, I might add. He seems to be able to control how quickly the lawn grows. Chaos theory is his greatest nightmare.” Archer lifted his drink to his lips and drained his glass. “Let’s look around. Although I may not find it in this tropical paradise, I’m on a quest for mistletoe.”
    Lucy gave him a quizzical look.
    “I’ve been waiting since long before Christmas to kiss you.” He smiled and took her hand. “If I can find the perfect sprig, or even a close relative, maybe I’ll have an excuse to plant one on the finest of Philadelphia’s finest.”
    9:12 p.m.
    “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation. Not here. Not now,” Tripp Nichols whispered as he glanced over Morgan Reese’s shoulder, scanning the crowd for his wife. In the distance he thought he saw the bright turquoise of her floor-length dress. Although he could safely assume she was absorbed in conversation with one of the many patrons she knew at the preview dinner, the last thing he needed was for her to notice him alone in a corner with a beautiful woman, especially one whose professional accomplishments had recently filled the media.
    “If you had returned one of my calls, I wouldn’t have to hunt you down at a charity event,” Morgan said.
    Tripp said nothing. He couldn’t deny that his secretary had faithfully handed him nearly a dozen messages in the last week, or that he’d heard her voice on his voice mail and felt a mixture of emotion and fear. Morgan had been out of his life for almost seventeen years, and he’d done his absolute best to forget her. Even if he’d failed at the latter, he’d kept his thoughts—and fantasies—to himself.
    “I’m here with my
wife
,” he said, although Morgan would hardly need reminding. He’d been the adulterer. He’d removed his thick gold wedding ring and never once mentioned his wife of five years, their toddler, or their second baby who was due in a few months. She’d been a resident who, because of her relatively older age, no doubt had difficulty making friends among her peers. But her fabulous figure was impossible to overlook and he hadn’t cared if she was fifteen or fifty. He’d done everything in his power to seduce her. “If it’s that important, I’ll call you next week.”
    He started to walk away when he felt the firm grip of her slender fingers on his forearm.
    “Please don’t make this more difficult than it is. I . . . I don’t know quite how to phrase this other than to be blunt. But I need you to listen.” She loosened her hold.
    He took a gulp of his drink and felt the vodka burn in his throat. Given the intensity of her stare and the tremble in her voice, he had the creeping suspicion he’d need several more before this conversation ended.
    “I know it’s been a long time,” she began.
    Yes, he thought. And as the four