Free The Next Accident by Lisa Gardner

too."
    "Ah, I don't know…" He backed off from the conversation, picking up his glass and taking a sip. "I don't even know if the child is a boy or girl, let alone if it's mine. And even at my age… I'm running around the world most of the time. Hardly father-of-the-year material."
    "What is it you do?"
    "I specialize in doohickeys."
    "Doohickeys?"
    "Doohickeys," he chuckled. "I scour the globe for the cute, the strange, the interesting, and most of all, the cheap. Wooden boxes from Thailand, black lacquer from Singapore, paper kites from China. You go into a gift shop, fall in love with some hopelessly overpriced, crudely carved figurine, and that's me, Bethie. I found that just for you. At a hundred percent markup, of course."
    She shook her head in mock protest. "And you can make a living at this?"
    "I make a very fine living at this. Bring things in by the container loads. Volume is the key."
    "You must have a fine eye."
    "No, just lots of experience as an impulse shopper." He grinned at her. "And yourself?"
    He'd meant the question kindly. He had just volunteered more than a little about himself. Still she flinched, and the instant she did, the smile faded from his face.
    "I apologize," he said immediately. "I'm sorry, Bethie. I have this habit of speaking before thinking. I swear I've been meaning to quit – "
    "No, no. It's a logical question and you've been very generous about sharing your life – "
    "But things are difficult for you, now. I know and I shouldn't have pried."
    "It's not… it's not that," she ventured.
    He nodded for her to continue, his expression patient, his crinkling blue eyes sincere. It was easy to talk to him, she discovered. Much easier than she would've thought.
    "I was raised to be a wife," she told him. "A high-society wife. To create a beautiful home, throw lovely parties, always wear a smile when my husband is at my side. And be a good mother, of course. Raise the next generation of high-society wives."
    Tristan nodded gravely.
    "And then… then I got divorced. It's funny, I didn't notice it right away. I had Kimberly and Amanda to think about, and in all honesty, things had been rough for them. They needed attention. I needed to give it. I guess I went from being an extension of my husband to being an extension of my daughters. It seemed so natural at the time."
    "Except little girls don't stay little girls forever," Tristan filled in.
    "Kimberly went away to college three years ago," Bethie said quietly. "Things haven't been the same since."
    She looked down at her lap. She couldn't help it. The music was blues jazz tonight, some older woman belting out the aching strains of "At last, my love has come along…" and Bethie felt the melancholy all the way down to her bones.
    Her beautiful, empty brick town house. Room after room of so much silence. Four separate phones that rarely rang. Hallways lined with framed photographs that were all she had left of the people she loved.
    And standing on that hillside a month ago, staring at that freshly dug, gaping black grave.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
    She was forty-seven years old, and she didn't know who she was anymore. She was forty-seven years old, no longer a wife, no longer Mandy's mother, and she didn't know where she belonged.
    Tristan's hand reached over, tangled with her own. He drew her gaze up and she saw he wasn't grinning anymore. Instead he wore a somber expression, not unlike her own. For an uncanny moment she had an image of him, waking up in the hospital after his transplant surgery, and discovering no one at his side. No wife or children to hold his hand. He knew, she thought. He knew.
    Her fingers curled around his. The woman continued to sing, "My love has come along…" and the moment went on and on.
    "Bethie," he said gently, "let's take a walk."
    Outside, the air was heavy and hot, but the sun was beginning to set and Bethie had always loved this time of day. The world became muted, velvety, offering less color but