Free Failure to Appear by J. A. Jance Page B

do parents cope with something like that? The man is dead. Nothing's going to fix that. I mean, Mom and Dad can't kiss it and make it better."
    She paused. For several minutes, we lay in silence while an occasional car drove past on the street outside. There are lots of things in life parents can't fix. I didn't speak because I couldn't, not with the huge lump back in my throat.
    "You're so quiet. Are you asleep?" Alex asked.
    "No."
    She turned toward me, snuggling her head under my chin. "What about you, Beau? What would you do if something like that happened to Kelly or Scott? How would you handle it?"
    Alex was only making conversation, but this was the worst-possible time for her to ask that particular question.
    "Kelly's pregnant," I answered. That response was both unforgivably abrupt and totally indirect, but it covered the bases. Alex propped herself up on my chest and stared thoughtfully into my face, her concerned frown visible in the pale moonlight.
    "Oh," she said. "So that's it. I'm so sorry."
    "Me, too," I mumbled. "Kelly doesn't seem to be, though. She's happy as a clam, and so's that damn fiancé of hers. The wedding's set for Monday afternoon at two-thirty. Since I'm invited, I suppose you are, too, if you want to go, that is."
    I made no effort to disguise the hard edge of bitterness in my voice. Why should I? My eighteen-year-old daughter was pregnant and throwing her life away for some jerk of a two-bit actor.
    Wordlessly, Alex lay back down and once more snuggled her head under my chin. The soft heat of her breath warmed my skin. My nostrils inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her hair. As gentle fingers began stroking my breastbone, some of the aching tension drained out of my body.
    "What about your ex-wife?" Alex asked softly much later when I was almost asleep. "Is she coming?"
    "I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. Karen doesn't know about this, and I don't think it's my place to tell her."
    "Oh," Alex said, and that was all.
    I had meant to ask Alexis Downey about the denouement of the donor party and exactly how things were going in the theater-development wars. I meant to ask her if she had been able to keep Monica Davenport's grubby little paws out of Guy Lewis' wallet, but before I had a chance, the comforting touch of her caressing fingers lulled me to sleep.
    It wasn't at all how I had imagined spending the first night of our romantic weekend away from the man-hating Hector and Alex's damnable futon, but in lots of ways it was much nicer.
    And it was probably far better than I deserved.
    When I woke up, brilliant rays of warm morning sunlight streamed in through the window. Alex—wide awake, showered, and wearing a terry-cloth robe—was curled up in a rocking chair by the window. She sat with a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose and with a thick, leather-bound volume tucked under her face.
    "What are you reading?" I asked.
    "Shakespeare," she replied. "The complete works. We're scheduled to see Shrew tonight. The dialogue's great. I wanted to review it for myself. By the way," she added, "breakfast is in fifteen minutes. You'd better get a move on."
    Sniffing the air, I savored the mouth-watering aromas that drifted upstairs from the kitchen. "I think that's what woke me up," I said, crawling out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
    "Hope you don't mind baths," Alex cautioned. "Showers are out. Oak Hill was the only place in town with a last-minute cancellation, and this was the last available room. Consider yourself lucky."
    As soon as I walked into the bathroom, I understood what Alex meant. Space for this recently added bathroom had been carved from an attic area directly under the slope of the eaves. The tub-enclosure alcove wasn't tall enough to accommodate a shower stall. In fact, I couldn't even stand up in it without bumping my head on the ceiling. With my arm bandaged, though, showers would have been out of the question anyway.
    I missed my morning shower, but breakfast