“You lost a husband and child in the blink of an eye, and you’ve never had…” He paused as if not knowing what to say.
“Never had closure,” she said, knowing that’s what he meant. “I buried a husband and a tiny empty casket holding some of Mandy’s toys. That was all.” She felt tears surfacing on her lashes, and Joanne knew she had to stop. “If they’d found her body—if only they’d found her, at least I’d believe it happened.”
“I know. I wish I could make it better for you.”
He looked as desperate as she felt, and Joanne’s good sense and social graces returned. This was no time or place to talk about something so heart wrenching. She pulled herself together and drew in a deep breath.
“So how was Seattle?” she asked.
“Wet. Foggy.”
She grinned, and the experience felt wonderful—though it faded too quickly. “I didn’t realize you would be gone so long.” She hesitated and then added, “And with so few visits.”
His expression changed, and she sensed he was avoiding something he wanted to say. “You knew the firm opened a branch there. It took time. I had an opportunity to return earlier, but I decided to stick it out and finish the project.”
“I see,” she said, confused by the look on his face.
After the waiter arrived with their food, Joanne only shifted the pasta around on her plate, curious about Benjamin. He focused on his steak. She had many things to ask him—for one, why he’d kept such a low profile after he moved to Seattle. After attending the funeral, he’d called a couple of times, but as time passed, she rarely heard from him other than an occasional brief call or an e-mail at her office. He’d been Greg’s friend, a fellow attorney, but Joanne had always considered him her friend, too.
As she pondered, the answer fell into her mind. She spiraled the pasta around her fork, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. “Losing Greg was hard on you, too, I guess. Avoidance makes it easier.”
His head jerked upward as if he was surprised at her comment.
“I hadn’t really thought about that before,” she said.
Benjamin held his fork suspended in the air and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Greg was closer than a brother. It hurt.” He lowered the fork and set it on his plate. “But nothing like what you went through, Joanne. I felt lost on how to respond to you. I’d never known the kind of emptiness you had to deal with.”
“I thought you’d come home for another visit after the funeral. I was disappointed.” Disappointment had been her mainstay, she realized. Not only Benjamin, but her whole family had let her down.
He glanced away without speaking, looked back at her, taking a sip of water as he regarded her over the glass. “I wanted to. I wanted to be here more than I can ever explain, but…”
His voice faded, and she tried to read his expression. “But?”
“It didn’t seem right. You were a new widow, and I was a—”
“Friend. I considered you my friend, too, not just Greg’s.”
“You know you are, Joanne. You can’t think differently.”
“But I thought friends were supposed to be there when you needed them.” She heard the bitterness in her words and wished she could take them back, but she’d been hurt by so many people and hadn’t expected him to be one of them. “Benjamin, I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I’m having a pity-party here.”
“No apology necessary. You’re right. I let my own fears stop me.”
Fears? She didn’t know what to say.
“I was afraid people would talk.”
“Talk? I don’t understand.”
“About you and me. I worried about gossip—that Greg had been gone only a few weeks and his best friend was already hitting on his wife.”
She felt a flush crawl up her neckline. Hitting on his wife? She would never have thought that, and no one else would have, either. “You were nothing but a wonderful friend, Benjamin. Mandy loved you. Greg loved you and so did I.” She caught his look. “So do I,” she corrected. “I haven’t changed. You were always there for us. You even baby-sat Mandy once. Remember?”
A crooked grin brightened his face. “How could I forget? It was my first experience changing diapers.”
Joanne laughed, her body relaxing with the lighthearted feeling. “I didn’t know that.”
He set the glass back on the table. “I’m sorry about the past, Joanne. I’m here now, and maybe I can make it up to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, my dear friend.” This time she slid her hand over his. “I was just telling you my feelings. You’re here now, and I feel better knowing that. It’s been lonely. I miss them both so much.”
“I missed all of you.”
He turned his attention to his dinner while Joanne clung to his comment. Being missed felt good. Her family lived out of state, and while they’d been attentive for a short while, their lives had gone on, and they had healed, while Joanne still worked at it. She’d struggled with the resentment until she hardened her heart to them, just as her family seemed to have done to her.
She tore off a crusty hunk of bread and nibbled on the corner as she watched Benjamin devour the rare steak. The red juice ran onto his plate, making her think of her own life juices that had drained away for so long until she’d started to heal.
Her work had saved her. At Solutions, she delved into other people’s problems. It was easier than dealing with her own issues. She could hand over a well-tuned plan to a customer for developing a new company policy or rejuvenating a sluggish business and feel good about what she’d accomplished. She’d started to feel at least halfway alive again—until she heard Mandy’s cry in her head.
After Benjamin finished his dinner and Joanne maneuvered her food to appear as if she’d eaten, he suggested they leave. They spoke little on the ride home, and when they pulled into her driveway, Joanne didn’t want to part company.
“This is the best I’ve felt in a couple of weeks. Come in for coffee?”
He sat without moving, then turned off the ignition. “Sure. Why not?”
Benjamin followed her inside to the kitchen and slipped his jacket over the back of a chair. “So tell me what else is going on in your life. No dating…so what keeps you busy besides work?”
The question surprised her, and she edged around to face him, holding the canister of coffee. “Not much, but I’m doing okay. Really.” She returned to her task and spooned grounds into the basket, poured in the water and hit the brewing button. When she turned back, he stood behind her, so close she stopped breathing.
“You can’t fool me,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“I—I…” She didn’t want to talk about all the old feelings,
