The Keeper of Happy Endings(90)

“So what do we do?”

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For her to call one of us. But we’re on her time. This may only be the halfway point.”

“You promise you’ll let me know if she calls?”

“When she calls,” he corrected gently. “And yes, I promise.”

An hour later, Rory was stretched out on the bed with a slice of cold pizza and a stack of catering menus when the phone rang. She grabbed the cordless so quickly, she nearly dropped it. “Hello?”

“I’ve spoken to her.”

Rory closed her eyes as relief flooded through her. “And she’s okay?”

“Cranky as ever. But that might have something to do with me climbing over the back hedge and sneaking up to the kitchen window. She was making coffee, and all of a sudden there I was. She screamed blue murder, I can tell you. She finally let me in, but she wouldn’t give me any coffee.”

“But she’s okay? You’re sure?”

“She’s looked better, I’ll admit that. But she claims she’s fine. She’s been having some trouble with her hands again, and the pain meds make her sleep.”

“Did you tell her I’ve been trying to reach her?”

“She knows,” he said after a slight hesitation. “She heard you when you came to the door.”

“And the note?”

“She read it.”

“She’s not going to call, is she?”

Another pause, longer this time. “She thinks it would be better if she didn’t.”

“I see.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Daniel said quietly. “I’m not even sure I do. She’s so protective of her past, but I know some of what she’s been through. It wasn’t easy, but she made her peace with what was left of her life after the fire by numbing herself. Then you came along, and she suddenly stopped being numb. She changed. Now something’s happened. I don’t know what. She didn’t say. But she’s crawled back into her shell.”

“It was my fault. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her. That I’m sorry.”

“She isn’t angry, Rory. She just thinks it would be best if she didn’t see you anymore. She asked me to thank you and to wish you well with the opening.”

Rory closed her eyes, absorbing the finality of the words. “Will she change her mind, do you think?”

“Not if you push her. Give her some space. Focus on the gallery for now, and maybe try again after she’s had some time. In the meantime, I’m here if you need anything.”

Rory felt miserable as she ended the call. He was probably right about giving her space, but the thought of losing Soline’s friendship was startlingly painful given their relatively short acquaintance. She’d been a lifeline in the beginning, a kind of mirror in which to see herself, but she’d become so much more. A friend and confidante. Her fairy godmother.

Kindred spirits.

That’s how Soline had described their relationship. Strangers who shared a common past. The words had sent a chill up her spine then. Now they made her sad. It would seem the benefit of their paths crossing had been all on one side. She had received empathy and understanding when she needed it most, but in offering them, Soline had been forced to relive the loss of the only man she’d ever loved. And she’d done it without so much as a photograph for comfort.

Suddenly, the seed of an idea began to form, a way to thank Soline for her many kindnesses. But she was going to need some help.



At nine the next morning, Rory sat sipping her coffee, waiting for Doug Glennon to pick up. He was a sportswriter for the Globe and had married a friend of hers from Tufts a few years ago. He was a great guy, a jock with a heart of gold, and absolutely crazy about Kelly. She didn’t know him well, but they’d hung out a handful of times, and Kelly had assured her he’d be willing to help and had promised to mention it when he came in last night.

“This is Doug.”

“Doug,” Rory blurted, startled after being on hold so long. “It’s Aurora Grant—Rory. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of Kelly’s bridesmaids. I spoke to her yesterday, and she said I should give you a call.”

“Rory. The swimmer, right? Kelly said you called. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could do me a favor. I have a friend who lost someone in the war—an ambulance driver she was engaged to marry—and I found out she doesn’t have a picture of him. I was hoping I could find one and frame it for her as a gift.”

“We’re talking Vietnam?”

“World War II.”

Doug whistled softly. “Forty years. How old is this friend of yours?”

“I know. It’s been a long time, but I thought there might be one in some archive somewhere. I know it’s not your usual thing, but I know reporters have access to lots of old records. He was from a prominent family in Newport. They made boats, I think. Racing boats. So I’m hoping there’s a shot of him in an old newspaper or something.”

“Why not just contact the family and ask for one?”

Rory bit her lip. “Let’s just say they’re not inclined to be helpful.”

“Right. Got it.”