Frank placed the last of the grilled corn on a plate and wiped down the barbecue. After the day they’d had, the meal had gone better than he’d expected. Once the FBI had collected the hard drive, he’d called Isabel and told her what had happened.
She was upset he’d gone to the lake but glad he wasn’t alone. He hoped this would be the end of everything but, knowing Dave, it would only be the beginning.
Frank had invited Isabel to his house for a barbecue dinner to make them feel as normal as possible. Having William here had helped ease her mind about why he’d risked his life to get a confession out of Dave. So far, Isabel seemed to have taken what happened in her stride.
Now, as dusk settled over the lake, William was on the dock with Tommy, using a pair of night-vision binoculars to look for nocturnal wildlife. That left Frank and Isabel alone in the kitchen with the dinner cleanup.
“You don’t have to help,” Frank said as Isabel rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink with soapy water. “You’re a guest.”
She shot him a look of amused exasperation. “A guest who ate your food and enjoyed your hospitality. Besides, I’ve always found dishwashing strangely therapeutic.”
“In that case, I won’t deprive you of the therapy,” he said with a smile, picking up a dish towel. “I’ll dry.”
They worked in comfortable silence. The only sounds were from the gentle clink of dishes and the distant laughter of Tommy and William. Frank saw fireflies beginning to blink through the kitchen window in the gathering darkness. Being here with Isabel felt domestic in a way that made his chest ache with longing and apprehension.
“Tommy seems really taken with William,” Isabel said as she handed him a freshly washed serving bowl.
“William’s good with him,” Frank agreed. “Tommy was really shy when we first moved here. It’s nice to see him opening up to people again.”
Isabel smiled. “Children are remarkably resilient, aren’t they? My husband worked with a lot of at-risk teenagers. He always said that.”
Frank looked at her with interest. Isabel rarely mentioned her late husband, just as he seldom spoke of Theresa. “James must have been good with children.”
“He was wonderful with most people,” Isabel said. “James was a police officer, but he volunteered with the youth programs in our neighborhood. He had a way of making every child feel important, like what they had to say really mattered.” She paused, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a pan. “We tried for years to have children, but it didn’t happen. It’s something that I’ve always regretted.”
Frank placed the serving bowl in a cupboard. “Did you consider adoption?”
“We did.” Isabel reached for another bowl. “But James worked erratic hours in a stressful job. It made our application alittle less attractive. What about your wife? Did she enjoy being a mom and grandma?”
Frank felt the familiar pang that always followed thoughts of Theresa. But it was gentler now, softened by time and Isabel’s company.
“Theresa and Sarah were like two peas in a pod. They did everything together. When Tommy came along, my wife was over the moon.” Frank smiled at the images forming in his mind. “Even when Tommy was a newborn, Theresa would spend every minute she could with him. They’d read books, play on the floor, or spend time in the garden together.”
Isabel’s eyes met his. “Theresa sounds like she was a great Grandma.”
“She was the best anyone could wish for.” Frank picked up the last pot, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. “How did you know you wanted to marry James?”
Isabel didn’t seem startled by his question. She drained the sink and dried her hands, leaning against the counter to face him.
“We were so young,” she said with a small laugh. “Twenty-two. I was finishing my degree in library science, and he was a rookie officer. I thought I was being very practical about the whole thing—making lists of pros and cons, analyzing our compatibility.” She shook her head, amused at her younger self. “Then, one day, I was sitting in a coffee shop, and I saw James through the window. He wasn’t doing anything special—just waiting to cross the street. But my heart did a little flip. Suddenly, I knew all my analyzing was just a way of pretending I wasn’t already in love with him.”
Frank smiled, hanging the dish towel on its hook. “Theresa would have appreciated that story. She was the practical one in our relationship. She said she married me because I was reliableand kind, but then she’d wink and add, ‘and it didn’t hurt that you looked good in a suit.’”
They both laughed, the sound filling the kitchen with warmth.
“What about you?” Isabel asked. “How did you know Theresa was the person for you?”
Frank leaned against the counter beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “I knew on our third date. We went hiking, and it started to rain—one of those sudden summer downpours. We were soaked within minutes. Most people would have been miserable, but Theresa just tilted her face up to the sky and started laughing.” He could still see her so clearly—rain plastering her dark hair to her face, eyes bright with joy. “I remember thinking that I wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of my life.”
Isabel’s expression softened. “And you did.”
“For thirty years,” Frank agreed quietly. “Not long enough, but I was lucky to have that time.”
Isabel nodded, looking down at her hands. “That’s the scary part, isn’t it? Knowing that opening your heart again means risking that same loss.”
The vulnerability in her voice made Frank want to reach for her hand, but he hesitated, unsure if the gesture would be welcome.
“I’ve been afraid of that, too,” he admitted. “After Theresa died, I convinced myself that loving another woman was something I’d never do. I believed I’d had my chance at that kind of happiness.”
