The Old Deep and Dark by Ellen Hart Page B

that she was preoccupied, only half listening. “I’ve followed your career,” he said, marveling that she wasn’t a girl anymore. “I saw your first play when it was produced in Houston.”
    â€œDid you?” she said absently. “Did you like it?”
    â€œVery much. Saw your next play in Chicago. I thought that one was even better.”
    Her hand drifted to her stomach. “I wrote that right before I got married. It was a happy time for me. There’s a lightness in the play. I’ve never been able to capture that again.”
    Booker hadn’t heard she’d gotten married. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
    Her mouth twisted. “Turns out, neither one of us was very lucky. We divorced last year.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” And he was. The thought that she’d been in pain, perhaps still was, upset him.
    â€œIt’s the way the world works. I’ve found some small success as a playwright, while my personal life is pretty much a mess.”
    â€œWhere are you living these days?”
    â€œSeattle. I like it there. Like the cloudy days. You ever been?”
    â€œOnce. The clouds depressed the hell out of me.”
    She glanced over at him, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
    â€œHow long will you be in town?”
    Looking back out at the street, the smile faded. “I’m not sure. A few days. Maybe more.”
    â€œTo meet with Cordelia.”
    â€œWhat? Oh, right. Yes, Cordelia.”
    He had the sense that he’d just been lied to. “Chloe’s here. I’m sure she’d love to see you. Why don’t you stop by the house?”
    â€œI should do that,” she said. “What about you?” Her tone sounded more polite than truly interested.
    â€œMy father called a family powwow. We’re supposed to have dinner together tonight.”
    â€œI hope it’s nothing serious.”
    â€œYeah,” he said, his voice trailing off. When he came out of his reverie, he saw that she was looking him full in the face. This time, she actually did seem concerned.
    â€œI always liked your parents,” she said. “Your dad was so sweet and funny. And your mom doted on you and Chloe.”
    Booker supposed it may have looked that way. Maybe it was partly true. Booker felt certain his parents cared about him, but also certain that they had never wanted him to bother them with anything too difficult. They’d already had their hands full with Chloe.
    â€œListen,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I need to get out of here, but I was wondering. Would you like to have lunch? Maybe tomorrow? It would be great to catch up. Where are you staying?”
    She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It would have to be a late lunch.”
    â€œSure. Fine.”
    â€œI’m staying at the Heidelberg Country Club on King’s Bay. It’s—”
    â€œI know where it is. It’s about twenty minutes north of our summerhouse. But it’s a private club. How did you get a room?”
    â€œA friend booked it. What if we meet at the Rhineland Grill in the main Gasthaus?”
    â€œPerfect.”
    â€œTwo?”
    â€œThat sounds great.”
    This time her smile encompassed the whole of him. “You’ve changed.”
    â€œGod, I hope so.”
    She laughed at his vehemence. It was a bright, beautiful sound.
    â€œTomorrow,” he said, reluctantly backing away.

 
    8
    Shortly before five, Kit tipped the small bronze statue of a greyhound back and removed the hidden key. From the empty state of the rounded driveway in front of the house, she assumed she and Beverly were the first ones to arrive.
    â€œI thought Cordelia said there was a butler,” said Beverly, standing under the massive stone portico, banging impatiently on the front door with the brass door knocker.
    Even on her best days, she was a glass-half-empty kind of person. She also had