Free Memory Tree by Joseph Pittman Page B

Knights,” she said. “You know, I spoke with Cynthia yesterday; we met for coffee across the street at Martha’s. And we were introduced to the most charming young woman, actually. You’d like her.”
    Brian was half listening while he poured a bucket of ice into the large sink before him, readying it for the case of warm beer at his feet. He stopped, bucket in midpour and some cubes missing their target, and looked up at his friend. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Wait a minute—is that what you meant by a new life? Nora, please tell me you didn’t . . . uh, initiate anything.”
    â€œOf course I didn’t,” she said.
    â€œGood. That’s the last thing I need . . .”
    â€œCynthia did,” she said, an amused look crossing her face.
    He set the bucket down, leaned over the bar. His fingers toyed with the stem of her glass, the thought of polishing it off within easy reach. Yet, aside from one beer he’d had two summers ago, Brian Duncan hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since before his bout with hepatitis a few years back. It was an illness that had started him off on this journey, and while he was physically fine, its yellowing effects lingered long in the mind. He’d moved on from that life in New York, from Maddie Chasen, whom he’d once loved until her betrayal, and found a new life in Linden Corners. And now that carefully constructed foundation of his was seeing its first crack.
    â€œCynthia did. How interesting,” he remarked. “Is that what the two of you do when you get together? Talk about my love life?”
    â€œIt would be a quick conversation if we did,” she said with an easy laugh. “And, no, Brian, what happened all came about innocently enough. We were simply talking about her and Bradley’s big announcement. I mean, this is a whopper, a whole new life change for them.”
    â€œOne Cynthia really didn’t want to get into much after Bradley told us all.”
    â€œMaybe it hasn’t sunk in with her yet,” she said, “though we’re going to have to face facts, Brian. They are leaving, first of the year. Cynthia’s been a rock for Janey and someone’s going to have to pick up the slack. And you know that I’ll do what I can, and so will my mother, but Cynthia’s different; she knows her so well, and she also knew . . .”
    â€œAnnie,” Brian said. “I know, Cynthia was Annie’s best friend, Janey’s last link to her past.”
    Nora emptied her glass, pushed it forward for a refill. Brian took care of her, then poured himself a glass of seltzer and splurged by dropping a slice of lime into the bubbles. “So you think the solution to this dilemma is to find me a new mother for Janey, and this supposedly charming young woman you met at the Five-O is the answer to my prayers?”
    â€œWe’re certainly not planning a Christmas wedding—we did that last year,” she said. “Nor are we looking to replace Annie in Janey’s heart. But, Brian, when’s the last time you went on a date?”
    â€œWhen was the Truman administration?”
    â€œYou’re hardly that old,” she remarked.
    â€œI know, that’s why I asked you.”
    â€œOuch. Brian Duncan takes off the gloves,” she said, amusement in her voice.
    â€œLook, Nora, I appreciate you two looking out for me, but conspiring to set me up just isn’t what I need right now—and it’s not something Janey needs either,” he said. “Why is it that people in relationships always think everyone else should be in one? Look at you and Nicholas.”
    She drank her wine again. Brian knew this was her way of avoiding not just his question but also providing an answer. He’d sensed something was not totally right between them on Thanksgiving, and he had to wonder if it was Nick or Nora. Knowing his friend, it was probably her, as Nicholas