Free Falling Again by Peggy Bird Page A

town,” Fiona said.
    “Sorry, the out-of-town-excuse is exclusively mine,” Nick said, hugging her. “You’ll have to find another.”
    “Fiona, don’t let them scare you. Dr. and Mr. St. Claire are really nice people,” Sam said.
    “Of course you think they’re nice. My mom adored you before she even met you.” Amanda said.
    “I met her by e-mail first. I’m more impressive in writing, apparently,” Sam said.
    “Your mom is obviously a doctor, Amanda, what’s your dad do?” Tony asked.
    “Mom’s an OB-GYN. Since he retired from business, Dad runs the family trust.”
    “How come I didn’t know you two had a family trust?” Fiona said, looking first at her friend then at her date.
    “Our great-grandfather on the St. Claire side set up a trust to hold real estate and pay for college. On my mother’s side, we had a stockbroker grandfather who set up trusts for us to inherit when we turned twenty-five. All very weird and nineteenth century,” Amanda said.
    “But when you marry into it,” Sam said, leaning over and kissing his wife on the temple, “and gain not only a talented and beautiful wife who loves you but who already owns a home in Alameda and a beach house, it’s not bad.”

Chapter 8
    After the dessert party broke up, Fiona and Nick walked through the Park Blocks toward his hotel. It was a pleasant spring evening and, in a move that reminded her of their walk around the Tidal Basin in Washington, Nick took her hand as they strolled unhurriedly between the beds of red and yellow tulips in full bloom.
    “So, a trust fund baby,” Fiona said. “Must be nice. What’s it like?”
Crap. That sounded bad as soon as it left her mouth
.
What was it about this man that made her forget how to filter her words?
    “The good thing was we could go to any college where we were accepted and had an income when we graduated, so we could get established in careers that aren’t always easy to start in without a safety net. The bad part is the tone in people’s voice when they say ‘trust fund baby.’”
    She dipped her head and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insulting. It’s just so far outside my experience, I’m not sure how to process it.”
    “It’s okay. You’re not alone. It’s why I don’t talk about it. Amanda’s more comfortable with it, I guess. At least she makes jokes about having robber baron ancestors whose wise investments gave us a nice life.”
    “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Look at what the two of you have done with your lives. It’s not as if you’ve been sitting around eating bon-bons and having your nails done.”
    “Maybe. Although sometimes I think the reason I like challenging assignments is because it makes me feel like I’m paying my dues for the good luck of being born into my family.”
    “I begin to see why your sister hovers. You take many chances with your work?”
    “Not really. Are you worried?” He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her in an affectionate hug.
    She slipped her arm around his waist and decided to change the subject rather than answer the question. “So, where did you go to college?”
    He had an amused expression on his face as if her evasion of his question was what he expected. “Columbia.”
    “Good journalism school.”
    “Exactly. The j-school and the chance to live in New York for a few years were the attractions. Where did you go to school?”
    “Washington State University, in Pullman, which is so far east in Washington State it practically qualifies as Idaho. I was a communications major with journalism as my minor.”
    “And what’s your family like?”
    “As different from yours as it’s possible to be. My father was a longshoreman at the Port of Tacoma and my mother was an office manager for a local real estate developer. You ever been to Tacoma?”
    “Yup. One summer while I was in college, I interned with a photojournalist and we covered a strike at the port. You didn’t want to go