Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(18)

Lucy’s eyes widened at the revelation. She had never known that her father had been married before. That he had loved and lost another woman. Was that the reason for his eternal remoteness?

So many secrets, hidden in a family’s history. Inside a parent’s heart.

“Why are you telling me now?” she finally managed to ask.

“I married Phillip because I still loved him, even though I knew that he didn’t care for me in the same way. He came back to me because he was grieving, and lonely, and he needed someone. But that’s not the same as being in love.”

“He does love you,” Lucy protested.

“In his way. And it’s been a good marriage. But I’ve always had to live with the knowledge that I was his second choice. And I would never want that for you. I want you to find a man who thinks you’re the sun and the moon.”

“I don’t think that guy is out there.”

“He is. And Lucy, even though you said yes to the wrong man, I hope that won’t cause you to say no to the right one.”

Six

After two months of living at Artist’s Point, Lucy had narrowed down a list of potential apartments, but there were issues with each of them. One was out in the middle of nowhere, another was too expensive, another was depressingly dark, and so forth. She would have to make a decision soon, but Justine and Zoë had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed.

It had done Lucy a world of good to stay with the Hoffmans. Their company had been the perfect antidote for her postbreakup blues. Any time she felt gloomy or lonely, she could keep company with Zoë in the kitchen, or go for a run with Justine. It was nearly impossible to stay depressed around Justine, with her raffish sense of fun and boundless energy.

“I’ve got the perfect guy for you,” Justine announced one afternoon, as she, Zoë, and Lucy prepared the inn for a monthly event at the bed-and-breakfast—a silent reading party. It had originally been Zoë’s idea. People could bring their favorite books, or choose from the selection at the bed-and-breakfast. They would settle into the deep sofas or chairs in the big downstairs common room, and have wine and cheese while reading to themselves. Justine had initially scoffed at the idea—“Why would people go somewhere to read when they could do that at home?”—but Zoë had persevered. And it had become a huge success, with long lines forming at the front door, even in bad weather.

“I’d suggest him for you, Lucy,” Justine continued, “but Zoë’s gone longer without a guy. It’s like triage—I have to assign priority to those in the worst condition.”

Zoë shook her head as she set a tray of cheese on a huge antique sideboard in the common room. “I don’t need triage. I’ll meet someone eventually, when the time is right. Why can’t you just let these things happen naturally?”

“Letting things happen naturally takes too long,” Justine said. “And you need to start going out again. I’ve seen the signs.”

“Like what?” Zoë asked.

“For one thing, you spend too much time with Byron. He is so spoiled.”

Much of Zoë’s spare time was spent indulging her Persian cat, who had a mahogany-paneled litter box, a selection of rhinestone collars, and a blue velvet cat bed. Byron was regularly bathed and groomed, and ate his designer cat food from china saucers.

“That cat lives better than I do,” Justine continued.

“He certainly has better jewelry,” Lucy said.

Zoë frowned. “I’ll take a cat’s company over a man’s any day.”

Justine gave her a sardonic look. “Have you ever been on a date with a guy who coughed up a hairball?”

“No. But unlike a man, Byron is always on time for dinner, and he never complains about my shopping.”

“Despite your weakness for neutered males,” Justine said, “I think you’d get along great with Sam. You like cooking, he makes wine … it’s a natural.”

Zoë looked dubious. “This is the Sam Nolan who was so geeky in elementary school?”

Lucy had nearly dropped a stack of books as she heard his name. Fumbling a little, she piled the heavy volumes on a coffee table in front of a flower-upholstered sofa.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Justine protested.

“Please. He was always walking around playing with a Rubik’s Cube. Like Gollum petting his ring.”

Justine began to laugh. “God, I remember that.”

“And he was so skinny, we used to have to hold him down during a strong breeze. Did he actually grow up to be cute?”

“He grew up to be hot,” Justine said emphatically.

“In your opinion,” Zoë said. “But you and I have different taste in men.”

Justine gave her a perplexed glance. “You think Duane’s cute, don’t you?”

Zoë’s soft shoulders hitched in an uncomfortable shrug. “I can’t tell. He’s all covered up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t see his face because his sideburns are the size of my cast-iron skillets. And he has all those tattoos.”

“He only has three,” Justine protested.

“He has way more than that,” Zoë said. “I could read him like a Kindle.”