they had tumbled together at every opportunity. As hello, as goodbye, as good-morning and good-night. As an apology. As exercise. As entertainment. Anytime they got within three feet of each other. They’d mistaken it for belonging together.
“I don’t mean to be offensive,” Ian said. “It was one time only. By definition that’s a blip.”
“Why are you going on and on about it? You’re protesting a little too much. The blipness of last night getting to you?”
He took a few bills from his wallet, tucked them under his cup, stuck his laptop into its case and started out of the restaurant.
She wasn’t going to be left behind, not again. Loading up her parcels, she hurried outside, too. By the time she reached the sidewalk he was half a block ahead, waiting at the curb for the light to change.
Just as it did, she caught up with him. He crossed the road and turned right. That was the direction she’d come from in the morning, so she went that way, too, nearly stepping on his heels.
He responded by taking bigger steps. Over his shoulder he said, “Sarah, I have work to do.”
“So do I.”
“Work?”
“Sure. What did you think, that I dropped everything? I’m in contact with the office. A big, fat, profit-draining problem has already landed on my lap.”
“Then why don’t you stop following me?”
“What makes you think I’m following you? How arrogant is that?”
“You’re behind me, going in the same direction.”
“Whither thou, darling.”
“It’s a bit late for that.”
Sarah gave an exasperated groan. “Honestly, your sense of humor could fit on a flea! I’m not following you. You’re not the center of everything, you know. I’m going to my hotel.”
He pointed behind them. “Your hotel’s that way.”
She swung around, ready to argue, but there it was, the tallest building around, easy to see if only she’d looked.
“Come on, I’ll take you.”
“I don’t need you to take me!”
He ignored her, his whole body expressing his aggravation. He couldn’t be half as aggravated as she was, because now she really was following him.
He stopped in front of the hotel’s big double doors. “Okay?”
“It was okay before. And just so you know, I don’t like you when you’re sarcastic.”
His irritation seemed to evaporate and he looked at her with something approaching gentleness—tanned, hard-edged gentleness. It completely threw her. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”
As soon as he said it she was sorry, too, although she didn’t know exactly why and, in any case, wasn’t willing to say so.
“What a pair we are.” He checked his watch, muttered that he was late, and headed back down the street.
CHAPTER SIX
SARAH EASED HER PACKAGES out of her arms and onto the bed, then pulled off her sweater, relieved to feel cool air on her skin.
Nobody made her angry the way Ian did. It was as if she had a hidden switch only he could find and flick on. It never stayed on for long, though.
The telephone’s message light was blinking. She lifted the receiver and pressed the retrieval button.
“You have—one—message,” the robotic voice said. “Nine—forty-five—a.m.” After a click, she heard Ian’s voice.
“Don’t know about you, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.” There was a pause, long enough for her to slip off her shoes and sit on the side of the bed. When he continued, she was surprised how genuinely disappointed in himself he sounded. At lunch, he hadn’t seemed sorry or disappointed at all.
Then he ruined it, talking about same old problems and provocations.
Still, it was nice that he’d tried.
Why hadn’t he told her in the restaurant that he’d called? Nine-fifty, soon after she’d left the hotel. She wouldn’t have been angry at lunch if she’d known about the message. Not very angry, anyway.
“We aren’t good together,” she told the wall. “Simple as that.”
SARAH CHANGED INTO LIGHTER clothes and began to pack the presents she’d bought. There was no way they’d all fit in her luggage. She’d have to send most of them home by mail.
A few things could take the place of the wine she’d brought with her. She set the bottle on the desk. It was a Grand Cru burgundy, meant to celebrate a special occasion. She’d pictured drinking it under the northern lights while belugas leaped out of the sea.
Belugas were a long way from Yellowknife, though, and it turned out northern lights and midnight sun couldn’t happen at the same time. Who knew?
Her laptop beeped. A message had come in.
Sender, Liz McKinnon. Aka Elizabeth Robb.
Not this time.
Sarah had to scroll down to remind herself what she’d said that morning. It was a question about images coming before text.
Not this time? That was it? Where was the explanation? The urgency? The realization that faraway bookstores were already lining up readers?
Instead of typing HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?, the uppercase letters denoting a shout, Sarah confined herself to asking,
What’s different this time?
Liz’s answer arrived ten minutes later.
I’m married. I’m a mother. I’m a Wife and Mother.
Sarah understood. New commitments, busier days. That didn’t mean her old commitments had disappeared.
Poor Liz! Things not going well?
A few minutes passed.
This place should be called Robbtown. More people come in and out of the house than I ever saw in Vancouver—to talk to, anyway—and almost all of them are relatives who think because I’m at home I’m not working. Then there are the diapers.
It was hard to imagine Liz dealing with diapers. Hard to imagine anyone dealing with them.
I’m sorry about the crowds of Robbs. Sorry about the diapers, too.
Sarah hesitated
