a factor if they were to continue seeing each other. In a flash Julie understood; it was more than dinner he was asking her about. He did want to see her, get to know her, and he was asking if she felt the same way about him.
The look in his eyes was intense. “I like what I know about you, Julie.”
She was bewildered and a little shaken. Roy Fletcher was interested in dating her, a thirty-year-old teacher with few marriage prospects. “Other than your tendency to be arrogant, I like you, too.”
He grinned. “You have your faults.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“The word stubborn comes to mind.”
“I’m stubborn when I happen to be right.” She wasn’t letting that one pass.
He smiled. “I think that’s a conversation we should reserve for another time,” he said, echoing her earlier remark. “Agreed?”
She nodded. “I can go to dinner dressed like this?” She had on a nylon blue-and-white running suit—the Abraham Lincoln school colors. Her name was printed across the back with the silkscreen of a wolf, the team symbol.
“Sure,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me and then I’ll drive you back here to pick up your car when we’re finished.”
“Sounds good.”
Once they were in the neighborhood, it took Roy fifteen minutes to find the café. The restaurant had moved in the eight years since he’d last eaten there. They sat in a booth in a far corner, ordered clam chowder and coffee and discussed movies, politics, the stock market, the state of the economy and a thousand other things. Before she realized it, the café was closing.
As Julie undressed for bed that night, she could hardly believe they’d had so much to talk about. For three hours, they’d chatted nonstop, as if they’d known each other their entire lives. She felt genuinely comfortable with him, enjoying his warmth and wit, qualities she wouldn’t have guessed he had a couple of weeks ago. After a quick e-mail to Emily, she went to bed.
If anything surprised her, it was the fact that Roy didn’t kiss her when he dropped her off at the school to get her car. He wanted to—she was sure of it—and she wanted him to, but …
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” he’d asked.
Julie was looking forward to it more than ever. “Yes. As far as I’m concerned. What about you?”
“Oh, yes.”
That was when she thought he might kiss her. He didn’t, but she had the distinct impression he intended to make up for it while they watched the Christmas ships.
Fifteen
Anne Fletcher strolled leisurely along the Seattle waterfront on her way to Pike Place Market. Julie Wilcoff was meeting her at the seafood stand at noon. Christmas was only two weeks away, and the city was festive with holiday decorations and full of contagious excitement. Even the leaden sky couldn’t dampen Anne’s spirits. Despite being alone, she felt the goodwill and joy of others as they went about their business.
Walking up the tiered stairway called Hill Climb from the waterfront area to the market, Anne paused to look back over Elliot Bay, watching as the green-and-white Washington State Ferry glided toward the pier. On a clear day she’d be able to see the snow-crested tops of the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascade Mountains to the east. Until the divorce, California had been Anne’s only home. She’d loved living on the ocean; her daily routine had included long walks on the beach. That was a habit she’d continued when she came to Washington.
The move north had been a financial necessity, as well as a practical choice. Roy lived close by, and while she treasured her independence, she needed the security of having her only child near at hand. It was a plus that property values in the more sparsely populated San Juan Islands were low enough to allow her to purchase a small cottage. The contentment she derived from her daily walks had rejuvenated her spirits and helped her recover in those first dreadful months after the divorce.
Seattle and the Puget Sound area were beginning to feel like home. Anne had told Roy she was reasonably happy, and it was true. She’d found satisfaction in her art, and seeing her son fall in love again brought renewed hope for the future.
As Anne made her way through the tide of shoppers and tourists, she discovered Julie waiting for her. The girl was as tall as her father, whom Anne had met the afternoon she’d painted the company window. She’d be a good match for Roy, physically and mentally. She smiled as she recalled her first meeting with Julie, a memory inextricably connected with her painting on the window. That painting had created something of a stir, according to Eleanor Johnson, Roy’s assistant. Fletcher Industries employees had reacted to the angels over Bethlehem the same way Marta had responded to her portrait of the angel. Ms. Johnson claimed the artwork was the talk of the building. Everyone loved it, she said. Knowing her art pleased others filled Anne with a sense of joy.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fletcher.”
The greeting caught Anne unawares, involved in her thoughts as she was. “Julie, hello!” Anne leaned forward to kiss Julie on the cheek. “Call me Anne, please.”
“All right.”
She slipped her arm through Julie’s, and they strolled into the market. “I can’t resist taking a peek, can you?” The aisles between the vendors’ stalls were crowded with customers buying seafood, vegetables and flowers, both fresh and dried. Arts and crafts shops were located downstairs.
“I love it here,” Julie told her. “My mother used to bring my sister and me to the market on special occasions when we were little. She’d purchase a fresh salmon just so we could see the young men toss them back and forth.”
“You must have a wonderful mother,” Anne said.
“I did. She died earlier this year.” Julie paused as though it was difficult to speak of her mother. “Dad and I miss her so much.”
Anne gave the girl’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s harder around Christmas, isn’t it? Especially the first Christmas.”
Julie nodded. “Dad and I don’t have the tree up yet. We just can’t seem to muster the spirit. I’m hoping we can do it this weekend.”
Anne tried to think of a way to introduce her son into the conversation. “Roy isn’t much for celebrating Christmas. He’ll come to my place for the day, but only because he knows I want him to. If it was up to him, he’d be just as happy to go to the office and appreciate the fact that he isn’t likely to be interrupted.” It hurt a little to admit that, but it was the truth.
“Ebenezer Scrooge, is he?”
Anne smiled and matched her steps to Julie’s. “Yes, I do believe he is.”
“Oh, my!” Julie exclaimed, stopping abruptly. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Anne looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“A fish just flew!”
“A fish flew,” Anne repeated,
