The Lost Years

72

Greg was waiting when Mariah pulled into her driveway. He jumped out of his car and stood ready to open her door when she braked and released the lock. He put his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You look beautiful,” he said.

She laughed. “How can you tell? It’s dark out.”

“Your outside lights are pretty bright. Anyhow, even if it was pitch-dark and I couldn’t see you, I’d know you couldn’t look anything but beautiful.”

Greg is so shy, Mariah thought. He’s so sincere, but a compliment from his lips somehow sounds awkward and rehearsed.

Not spontaneous, and teasing, and fun—the way it would be if Richard said it, a sly voice whispered in her mind.

“Do you want to go inside for a few minutes?” Greg asked.

Mariah thought about how she had sat in the hospital parking lot sobbing after she left her mother and opened her compact to pat away the traces of smeared mascara under her eyes. “No, I’m fine,” she said.

She got into his car and sank back against the soft leather passenger seat. “I have to tell you this feels a lot more luxurious than the interior of my car,” she said.

“Then it’s yours,” he told her as he started the engine. “We’ll switch when we get back from dinner.”

“Oh, Greg,” she protested.

“I mean it.” His tone was intense. Then, as if he realized he was making her uncomfortable, he said, “Sorry. I’ll keep my promise not to crowd you. Tell me about Kathleen.”

He had reserved a table at Savini’s, a restaurant ten minutes away in the neighboring town of Allendale. On the way there she told him about her mother. “Greg, she didn’t even recognize me today,” she said. “It was heartbreaking. She’s getting worse. I just don’t know what will happen after she’s released to come back home.”

“You can’t be sure she will be released, Mariah. I saw the news about that so-called witness. That guy has a record, a whole bunch of other charges, and he’s looking for a deal. I think he’s probably bluffing when he says that he saw someone running out of the house the night your father was shot.”

“That was on the news?” Mariah exclaimed. “I was told to say nothing about it. After I started to tell you about him, when you called me as I was arriving at the hospital, I stopped because I realized I was supposed to keep quiet.”

“I only wish you had wanted to trust me and confide in me,” he said sadly.

They were at the entrance to Savini’s and the valet was opening the door, saving her from the need to answer. Greg had made a reservation for the cozy fireplace room of the restaurant. One more place where I’ve had so many pleasant evenings with Dad and Mom, Mariah thought.

A bottle of wine was already chilling at the table. Anxious to dispel the strain between her and Greg that was quickly becoming apparent, when the maître d’ had poured the wine, she held up her glass. “To this nightmare ending soon,” she said.

He clinked his glass with hers. “If only I could make that happen for you,” he said tenderly.

Over salmon and a salad, she tried to steer the conversation to other topics.

“It felt good to get to my office today—I swear I love being in the investment business. And getting to my apartment felt so good.”

“I’ll give you money to invest,” Greg answered. “How much do you want?”

I can’t do this, Mariah thought. I’ve got to be fair with him. He’s not going to be able to keep our friendship on an even keel. And I know I’ll never be able to give him what he wants.

They drove back to Mahwah in silence. He got out of the car and walked her to the door. “A nightcap?” he suggested.

“Not tonight, Greg. I’m awfully tired.”

“I understand.” He did not attempt to kiss her. “I understand a lot, Mariah.”

The key in her hand, she unlocked the door. “Good night, Greg,” she said. It was a relief to be inside and alone. From the living room window she watched him drive away.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. It has to be Lloyd or Lisa, she thought as she looked through the peephole. She was startled to see Richard standing there. For a moment she hesitated, but then she decided to open the door.

He stepped in and put his hands on her shoulders. “Mariah, you’ve got to understand something about that phone message you overheard. When I tried to buy that parchment from Lillian, I did it for you and your father. I was going to give it back to the Vatican. You have got to believe me!”

She looked up at him and, as she saw the tears glistening in his eyes, her intense feelings of anger and doubt evaporated. “I do believe you,” she said quietly. “Richard, I do.”

For a moment they stared at each other, then with joy and relief she felt his arms wrap around her.

“My love,” he whispered. “My dear love.”