A Convenient Proposal(75)

“As expected.” Arden shrugged, hardly bothered by the news. Compared to losing Griff, losing her hearing didn’t matter much. “My acuity is down to about fifty percent. I’ve lost most of the high frequency tones.” She paused as a thought struck her. “Maybe I should play the cello.”

“Or the tuba.” With the puzzle folded into her purse, Lorraine Burke lifted her pale face to the breeze. Her bright blond hair, barely an inch long, didn’t stir. “Contrabassoon? I always enjoyed the bassoon.”

“Bass drum.” Arden pantomimed the sideways strokes. “Boom, boom, boom.” As her arms dropped, she caught sight of her watch. “We have fifteen minutes to reach the clinic.”

Lorraine sighed. “My favorite part of the day.”

“At least you get to sit in a comfortable chair.”

Arden’s mother laughed. “Now, there’s a bright side. Five hours in a recliner.”

Rosalie Campbell would probably have offered a hug with the laugh, but Arden’s reconciliation with her mother hadn’t progressed quite so far. Still, they were living in the condo together until this round of treatments ended, and managed to communicate without arguing most of the time. If Arden had taken the first step—a phone call made one stormy night in late February, when she thought the loneliness might kill her—Lorraine had responded with grace and gratitude.

The daily visits to the chemotherapy clinic, where Arden occupied a folding chair while her mother mostly dozed in the big recliner, had allowed them time together without confronting the past. Knitting had become a new pastime for them both, inspired by posters at the hospital requesting blankets for children and newborns. Arden had already donated the box items from her now-empty closet. So far, she’d knitted and unraveled at least two blankets’ worth of faulty rows. Today, she would start once again.

First, though, she took Griff’s letters out of her bag. She carried them all with her, all the time. His voice came through so strongly, she could almost believe he stood beside her. And she needed him there.

She had kept her promise and answered every question he asked, which meant revealing her childhood, the years spent traveling, the isolated college days. He hadn’t responded with pity, however, which made each confession a bit easier. She’d asked a few questions in return, and the envelopes they sent back and forth were becoming increasingly heavier as their letters stretched to five and six pages. He always made her laugh. Sometimes, she thought they could spend their lives together in correspondence and be content.

Then there were the nights she woke up aching from a frustrated dream, only to lie for hours longing for Griff’s arms around her. His letters became torture, at that point—she could hear him and see him in her mind’s eye. But what she craved was his touch—warm, assured, erotic.

“You’re wearing that expression again,” her mother said in a sleepy voice.

Arden kept her eyes on her hands as she folded the letter and composed her face. Then she looked up. “What expression would that be?”

Lorraine shook her head. “Why don’t you just ask him to come? Haven’t both of you been punished enough?”

“Punished?” The word struck her as completely wrong…and then, in the next moment, completely right.

Of course she deserved to suffer, after the way she’d treated Griff. And maybe she’d wanted to punish him for his anger. For sending her away.

But surely punishment didn’t have to last forever. She and her mother were working to forgive. Was there a chance that Griff could offer forgiveness, too?



GRIFF TIED THE RENTED speedboat to the dock on Chaos Key and headed across the beach to the path through the trees he had followed with Arden four months ago.

At least, he hoped he’d found the same path. He wouldn’t appreciate the irony if he showed up without warning, only to get lost in the jungle and die of snakebite or starvation or alligator attack. Jaguars, maybe. Who knew what wild animals lurked in the underbrush? Besides Igor.

Then he remembered the security system and felt better. She would see him on the monitors at some point and come to rescue him.

He hoped.

Once the old mansion appeared on his right, his sense of direction improved. Or maybe some kind of mystic connection was leading him straight to Arden. At least he was going the right way.

Her little cottage came into sight just a few minutes later, shaded by live oak trees from the late afternoon sun. His gut clenched with nerves and anticipation. With sixty days of desolation behind him, he hated to take anything for granted.