Returning to Shore by Corinne Demas Page A

that, though.
    Richard studied the menu. “Should we get a whole pizza each or share one?” he asked.
    â€œAren’t they kind of big?”
    Richard caught the attention of the girl behind the counter. “How large are the pizzas?” he asked.
    The girl’s name was Maureen. Her dark hair was held up on her head with a plastic clip as big as a lobster claw, but half of the curls had escaped, and she kept pushing them off her damp face with the back of her arm.
    â€œRegular size has eight slices. It would feed a family of four if you each had two pieces.”
    â€œOr a family of two, if you each had four?” asked Richard.
    Maureen looked puzzled. “I guess,” she said.
    â€œIn that case,” said Richard to Clare, “I think we should share a pizza. Are you a traditionalist? Or do you want to try some exotic toppings?”
    â€œYou can get it half and half,” suggested Maureen.
    â€œA workable solution,” said Richard. “Ready toorder?” he asked Clare. She nodded. “I’ll have mushrooms and extra cheese.”
    â€œAnd I’ll risk the clams and pesto.”
    They found a table near the side window that looked out on a miniature golf course. It had a lighthouse and a windmill that were so detailed you could imagine that they were real, just far in the distance. Clare watched a family that had little twin daughters who kept pushing each other to get ahead. Behind them, an older brother was taking his shots very seriously.
    â€œInterested in playing?” Richard asked her.
    Clare shook her head. “No, that’s OK,” she said.
    â€œThat’s a relief,” said Richard. Clare was glad she hadn’t said she wanted to play. If she had, he probably would have done it just to please her.
    When their number was called, Richard got up and claimed their order. He placed the plates carefully on their table and slid back onto his seat.
    â€œYou might want to check for a souvenir of Maureen’s tresses before you take a bite,” he said. Clare couldn’t tell from the expression on his face whether he was teasing her or not. It was like that commentabout the miniature golf. He might have been joking, but she couldn’t be sure.
    The pizza wasn’t especially good, but Richard didn’t seem to notice. “I haven’t had pizza in years,” he told Clare.
    â€œThey have pizza in California, don’t they?”
    â€œThey do. They have every imaginable configuration of the species, but I think the last time I had pizza it was nothing fancy, at a place near campus where your mother and I liked to go.”
    Clare, with a piece of pizza half dangling from her mouth, looked up at him suddenly. This man, with the sun-bleached grey hair and the frayed work shirt, who was sitting across the table from her, had dated Vera. Had actually been married to her.
    â€œYou seem surprised,” said Richard. “I guess Vera eats only gourmet pizza these days.”
    â€œShe doesn’t really eat pizza much anymore,” said Clare. “She used to eat it a lot. Sometimes Peter made it for dinner, from scratch.”
    Richard’s face was down, looking at his plate.
    â€œPeter, Vera’s second husband,” added Clare.
    â€œI know Peter,” said Richard.
    â€œYou do?” asked Clare, brightly. “I didn’t know you knew him.”
    Richard looked up at her slowly. “Peter was on the scene before I moved to California.”
    â€œOh,” said Clare. “I thought Vera met him in a workshop she was taking after you had moved away.”
    â€œWorkshop, yes,” said Richard. This time he was looking straight at Clare, waiting for her next question. But what could she ask?
    â€œDon’t worry, Clare,” he continued. “Peter’s not to blame for the end of your parents’ marriage. And he was a good stepfather to you, wasn’t he?”
    Clare wanted to say