Dana had wondered what it was that came over Doc’s face from time to time. Now she knew. It was grief. And yet, she’d also seen that all it took to wipe the sadness from his expression was one word from Camilla D’ Angelo.
“You’re talking about Cami?” She didn’t wait for John’s response before continuing. “The sexual tension between those two is palpable. But I thoughtCamiwas the one maintaining their distance.I could’ve sworn I heard her tell him she never mixes business with pleasure.”
“Uh huh.” John made a face, and she noticed how the candlelight danced in his eyes, making them look gold instead of hazel. “She’s said that so many times, it’s lost its meanin’.”
“You think it’s reallyDocwho’s keepingCamiat arm’s length?”
He nodded. “Doc carries the memory of his wife around like a damn disease, lettin’ it eat at him. And he refuses to even consider lettin’ anyone try to help him heal.”
For a while, Dana was quiet, thinking about Doc’s sad plight. Then she experienced a bout of conversational whiplash when John returned them to their original topic, “Anyway, to finish answerin’ your question, I guess it’s safe to say that what it all boils down to is the right woman never came along for me. And at this point, Ilikemy life. Findin’ someone who could come into an already good situation and make it evenbetter?” He shook his head and she was momentarily distracted by how thick his salt-and-pepper locks looked. Most men her age had lost their hair decades earlier. John’s was still as thick and as wavy as a young man’s. “Maybe that’s just too tall an order, you know?” he finished.
“But you’re still looking?” she heard herself ask and once again wondered if she should just go ahead and rip her tongue out of her head.
Oh my god! Now he’ll think I’m interested! Think I’m asking for myself!
She blinked.Am I interested? Am I asking for myself?
John was older than she was. But she wasn’t sure by how much because he was still fit and trim, with wide work-rough hands and heavily muscled legs. His face was timeless. He had that whole Sean Connery thing going. And it was only the deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and the gray in his hair that hinted at his number of decades.
“Let’s just say I’m open to the possibility,” he allowed. “What about you? Ever married? Any kids?”
She used to feel like she’d been stabbed in the heart anytime someone asked her those questions. But no longer.
She’d heard it said that the opposite of love wasn’t hate. That the opposite of love was indifference.
It’d taken years, but she could now look back on her marriage—and, more precisely, theendof her marriage—with a complete absence of feeling.
“Divorced for nearly fifteen years. And no. We never had any children.” Slanting him a look, she added, “Maybe this is TMI, but I have what they call an incompetent cervix. I could never maintain a pregnancy past twelve weeks.”
There was sympathy in his eyes, and she noticed how thick and black his eyelashes were. They matched his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry.” His words were low. Intimate.
“Maybe it was fate.” She shrugged. “I was always ho-hum about the idea of kids. I loved my job. I loved living in D.C. I loved my circle of friends. I loved mylife.It was David…that’s my ex,” she clarified, “who was always pushing for a family. And because I loved him, I tried. For over a decade I tried everything the doctors could think of. Then, on my fortieth birthday, I told him I was done trying.”
She stopped and waited for the sadness that used to slap her square in the face whenever she thought of that conversation over a cake that looked like it was on fire with forty lit candles, whenever she remembered David’s expression of betrayal and how it had quickly morphed into rage. But again, there was only indifference.
“He served me with a petition for divorce three weeks later,” she told John matter-of-factly. “Eight months after that he was remarried to a twenty-six-year-old.”
“I’m sorry,” John said again. Sincerity rang in his voice.
“Don’t be. I’m not a victim. I mean, yes, it was hell coming to the realization that the man I’d dedicated sixteen years of my life to loved the dream of having a family more than he loved me. But the heart wants what the heart wants, right?” She shrugged. “Besides, after his young wife gave him two sons, she ran off with her Pilates instructor and left David to raise the boys on his own. Which he has since confided to me is so much harder and less rewarding than he ever thought it would be.” She made a face. “Should I feel bad for feeling just the littlest bit vindicated?”
“I wouldn’t judge you for feelin’ thebiggestbit vindicated.”
She chuckled. “Oh, good. Because I do.”
For a while after that, they were quiet. And the sounds of the storm crept back into her consciousness. Just when she was gearing herself up for another panic/anxiety spiral, he asked, “You never remarried?”
“God, no.” She shuddered. “The last fifteen years have been the best of my life. I’ve learned to ballroom dance and I can throw a mean mug or vase on the wheel.” When he frowned, she explained. “Pottery. I fell in love with pottery. I do hot yoga on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Wednesdays are porch nights with my girlfriends where we sit outside, drink wine, and play board games. And I’m part of an over-fifty adventure group that gets together on weekends when the weather is nice. We go kayaking or take hikes. We host dinner parties and meet up at concerts. And when I come home at night, I’m greeted by someone who loves me unconditionally.”
He arched one of those beguiling black eyebrows, and she explained. “My dog, Rocko.” She pulled her phone from her back pocket and thumbed on the screen. After scrolling through her camera roll, she found her favorite picture of Rocko and handed over her cell.
John took one look at her dog and burst into laughter. “Good lord! Whatishe?”
She grinned. “He’s half bloodhound, half German shepherd.”
John stared again at Rocko’s picture. “He reminds me of something, but I can’t place what.”
