Ransom

He invited her out to lunch, but she said she had some errands to do, and a dentist appointment that afternoon. In truth, the time she spent with him was so stressful, talking about how dire her situation was, that after seeing him, she felt as though she needed a breather and some time to herself. Inevitably, if they went to lunch, they would talk about her problems and Allan's debts. She knew Jack felt sorry for her, which was kind of him. But it made her feel waiflike and pathetic. She was relieved when she said good-bye to him, and drove back to Pacific Heights on her own. She heaved an enormous sigh, and tried to get rid of the sensation of panic in her stomach. She had a knot in it the size of a fist whenever she left his office, which was why she had declined his invitation to lunch. Instead, he had volunteered to come to dinner the following week, and promised to call her. At least seeing him with the children would buffer the horror of facing the grim realities with him. He was a very pragmatic person, and he spelled things out much too clearly. She would have been shocked to realize he had romantic intentions toward her. It had never even occurred to her in the course of their many meetings. She had always thought Jack was wonderful, and as solid as a rock, and she had been sorry for him that he had never remarried. He always claimed to her and Allan that he hadn't met the right person. She knew how much he had loved his wife, and Allan had warned her several times not to bug him about fixing him up with friends, so she hadn't. It never even dawned on her that she might wind up with him one day. She had been deeply in love with Allan, and still was. And for all his failings, and the mess he'd made of things in the end, she thought he was a great husband. She had no desire to replace him, in fact the reverse. She could imagine herself feeling married to him for the rest of her life, and never dating anyone else. And she had said as much to her children, which in some ways comforted them, particularly Sam, but it also made them sad for her.

Ashley had talked to Will about it several times when they were alone, if her mother was out with Sam, or busy doing something else.

“I don't want her to be alone forever,” Ashley had said to her older brother, who was always startled when she brought it up. He tried not to think of his mother involved with someone other than his dad. Ashley was a born matchmaker, like her mother, and far more romantic.

“Dad just died,” Will always said, looking upset when she talked about it. “Give her time. Did Mom say something?” Will had asked, looking worried.

“Yeah, she says she doesn't want to go out with anyone. She wants to be married to him forever. That's so sad.” She still wore her wedding band. And she never went out at night anymore, except with them, for a movie or a pizza. And a couple of times they had gone to Mel's Diner after Will's ballgames. “I hope she meets someone and falls in love one day,” Ashley concluded as Will rolled his eyes.

“It's none of our business,” Will said sternly.

“Yes, it is. What about Jack Waterman?” Ashley had suggested, being far more perceptive than her mother. “I think he likes her.”

“Don't be stupid, Ash. They're just friends.”

“Well, you never know. His wife died too. And he never remarried.” And then she suddenly looked worried. “Do you think he's gay?”

“Of course not. He's had a bunch of girlfriends. And you're disgusting,” Will said, and stormed out of the room, as he always did when she brought up the subject of their mother's nonexistent love life. He didn't like thinking of his mother in that context. She was his mother, and he didn't see anything wrong with her staying alone, if she was happy that way, and she said she was. That was good enough for him. His sister was far more astute, even at her tender age.

They spent the weekend engaged in their usual pursuits, and while Fernanda sat in the bleachers, watching Will play lacrosse in Marin on Saturday, Peter Morgan was on his way to Modesto on a bus. He was wearing some of the new clothes he'd bought with the money Addison had given him. And he looked respectable and discreet. The person who had answered the phone at the halfway house told him Carlton Waters was registered there. It was the second one he had called. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got there. He needed to feel Waters out and see how things were going for him. And even if Waters didn't want to do the job himself, after twenty-four years in prison, with a conviction for murder, he would certainly know who would. How Peter was going to get the information from him was another story, particularly if he didn't want to do the job himself, or took umbrage at being asked. The “research,” as Addison had referred to it, wasn't as easy as it looked. Peter was thinking about how to approach it, as he rode to Modesto on the bus.