At Close Range

Dinner had arrived.

5

The Chinese food was gone. The first shot of scotch was long gone, too—having been followed by another and then, at some point, straight 7-Up. Too many hours were gone.

Brian was not. Nor did he appear to be in any hurry to leave.

“I’m all right,” she said, rolling her head along the back of the couch, to peer down to the opposite end where he was lounging. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

Don’t go, the little girl in her pleaded silently. I’m afraid to be alone.

“I’ve never, not once, seen you act like a baby. Or treated you as one.”

“You suck at prevarication, Hampton.”

“Well then,” he said, staring her straight in the eye. “How’s this? I’m not babysitting. I’m here because there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

“I’m guessing Cynthia wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

“Cynthia will understand. She knows how long we’ve been friends. She knows I love you like a sister. And…” he added, after a pause “…I don’t think she’d throw a fit even if she didn’t know. I almost wish she would.”

“Why?”

“Because while we enjoy being together, I still don’t quite feel as if we’re really in love. It’s like she doesn’t entirely trust me to love her. Or rather, doesn’t trust herself to be loved. She has no expectations. Counts on nothing. Including the fact that I’m going to come home to her every night.”

Hannah didn’t like the sound of that.

She’d been watching out for Brian—and he for her—more than half her life. She’d known him longer than anyone else. He was family.

That gave her the right to care, didn’t it? Regardless of this new dimension in his life—a woman waiting for him at home. A woman who had first call on his loyalty.

His heart.

“You don’t think Cynthia loves you?” she asked after a long pause.

Brian had suffered enough. Cara’s death had held him captive for more than ten years. Hannah wasn’t going to sit by and watch someone act carelessly with emotions that were only now coming out of storage.

“I think she does,” Brian said.

“But you don’t know it.”

“Right.”

“Does she say she does?”

“Yeah.”

The scotch had relaxed her, possibly too much. Still watching him, Hannah wasn’t sure what was happening—why these intimate feelings were coming out.

“Does she treat you well?”

“Yeah. It just always feels like she’s holding back.”

He’d loosened his tie—a Disney original dotted with Mickey Mouse figures—and unbuttoned the collar of his matching yellow shirt.

Mickey gave her courage. “Maybe she’s not the one holding back,” she said. “Maybe she’s reacting,” she added when he said nothing.

“To what?” he asked, but she thought he knew.

“To you. Maybe you’re the one who can’t give freely and that makes it less safe for her to do so.”

“I’m ready,” Brian said, a frown creasing his forehead. “I know I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” Hannah told him. “But being ready doesn’t mean you’re not out of practice. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Brian. You don’t have to be perfect at everything you do.”

“So you think she’s holding back because I am?”

“I’m saying it’s a possibility. But hey, consider the source. I’m a careful observer, but it’s not like I have any real experience at this.”

“You had the best experience,” Brian said quietly.

By unspoken agreement, they didn’t refer to her life before law school. Her time with Jason.

“Yeah, well, maybe. That was a long time ago.”

Too long ago. Another existence. A very brief idyllic period during which she’d dared to believe she’d finally found a real home.

“And yet, it’s always right there, isn’t it?” His dark eyes wouldn’t let her hide her pain. Because he hurt, too?

“Yeah.” She tried hard not to remember, even while images of Jason’s smile lit her from the inside out.

“He was a great guy, Hannah. One of the best.”

“I know.” Which was partly why it was so hard to accept, even now, that he’d been given such a short time on earth.

“And he loved you.”

Yeah. He had. As much as she’d loved him. A rare gift.

“Do you ever regret marrying him?”

“No.” She didn’t even need to think about that.

“I don’t know if I could’ve done it. Being so young. And knowing he was sick.”

“I was only seventeen,” Hannah said. “But it felt like thirty-seven. I’d been in and out of six foster homes by then, living on the streets for weeks every time I ran away. I felt like I’d been on my own for years. It’s not like I had any childhood left to cling to. Having a real home of my own—that was heaven.”

“But you knew you were going to lose him.”