Free 3 Lies by Helen Hanson Page B

whites cracked with red.
    He huddled with his menu.
    A different waiter returned with his drink. A lanky man, younger than his all-white hair, took their dinner order and left them alone.
    Paige broke the silence.
    “I’m arguing a case before the Massachusetts Supreme Court, a landmark intellectual property rights case, very high profile, cutting edge.” She tried to sound cheery. Instead it came off as smug.
    “Cutting edge. Oooh.” He started in on his next drink. “I have a few of those scars.”
    Her jaw popped. “When are you going to land? There are thousands of people, not to mention shareholders, who count on you, your creativity, your insight, your genius for their livelihood. What about them?”
    He stroked his chin. “You sound like Mother.”
    “That’s not funny, Clint.”
    “Then find a new topic.”
    “I’m sorry.” She wiped at the corners of her mouth. “Your talent is unique. You have a gift, but you don’t seem to appreciate it. You’re like a sculptor who melts down his chisels to make an axe.”
    Clint resisted the urge to say something snide because he knew she meant it. And it had been months since she’d paid him a genuine compliment.
    She softened her voice. “Our baby is due September 24th.”
    He downed the rest of his second double scotch. “Is that so?”
    “Can we try this again?”
    His feet splayed on the floor. “What?”
    “Us.”
    “I waited almost two years for you.”
    She started to say something. But he cut her off.
    “For the baby’s sake, alone, I’d like to say, yes. But it’s not that simple.”
    Paige leaned forward. “Do you love her? What’s her name? Betsy?”
    “She’s not the only issue. I don’t trust you.”
    Her face bleached. Liquid glazed her brown eyes.
    “I’m not trying to be cruel, Paige. I don’t know how else to say it. There was a time when I thought of you as a second skin. Now—” His voice trailed off.
    He reached for his drink, but it was empty. He waved for the waiter, pointed at his glass, and squeezed an imaginary trigger.
    She touched his arm. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Hesitation tempered the edge to her voice.
    She was right, of course. He had drunk more than enough. But he didn’t want to give her any satisfaction as he had none to spare.
    He watched her a moment. She was so completely unlike Beth. He tried to remember what they ever had in common. They moved in lockstep from grade school to high school to college to married. Decisions played little part in their history.
    Paige fidgeted in her seat. “There’s a couple behind you— Don’t look.”
    “Then why are you telling me about them if I’m not supposed to look.”
    “They keep glancing over here as if they’re discussing us.”
    “Brace yourself. I’m turning around now.”
    When he sighted the elegant couple at a table across the room, his heart pounded with hope. Maybe they would know. He laid his napkin by his plate and got up from the table, “Excuse me.”
    Blake and Cecelia Sutton, Beth’s stepfather and mother, sat facing each other, their wine glasses suspended in air. When Clint reached their table, Cecelia, a generally ebullient woman, smiled without conviction. At least Blake stood and shook his hand.
    “Good to see you, Clint.”
    “And you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.”
    Cecelia looked past Clint toward his table.
    “Think nothing of it, Clint. It’s nice to see you. We came straight here from the airport.” Her voice drifted, and she took a sip.
    Blake took over for her. “Back from New York on business. Cessy likes to go shopping, and we take in a few shows whenever I go.”
    “Beth did mention you were heading to New York.”
    Cecelia’s large green eyes sparked at the mention of Beth. “Oh.”
    Even in his scotch-induced oblivion, he now understood her reserve. The attractive, augmented brunette at his table was clearly not her daughter.
    “I’m sorry, normally I would be happy to introduce you