Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(70)

“Oh, Robin, I think—”

“The minute you left on Friday I clammed up like a … a … clam,” she said, cutting her friend off. “I don’t know what Roy thought because he grew quiet, too. We tried to talk but every subject returned to his wife, Sally. It was Sally this and Sally that. I don’t stand a chance; I’m never going to be Sally.”

“Did you try to talk about the wine?” Libby asked.

Robin rolled her eyes. “I tried, but there’s only so much to be said about pinot noir, and I’d … I’d said all I knew, which took up maybe thirty seconds. Do you know what Roy added? Well, of course you don’t. His comment was to tell me that Sally preferred white wines.”

“Could you bring up office gossip?”

Robin shook her head. “Roy isn’t the type to gossip and I don’t really know any. I tend to mind my own business at work.”

“You and I are too much alike,” Libby muttered, and leaned against the back of the chair, crossing her legs. Robin was glad at least one of them could relax.

Libby was right, too: they were a lot alike. Robin didn’t take time at the watercooler to hear juicy tidbits; she had work to do, meetings to attend, criminals to prosecute. Gossip simply didn’t interest her.

“Does he have children?” Libby asked, leaning forward slightly. “I was just with Martha Reed and she talked nonstop about her children and grandchildren. You could always ask Roy about his family.”

Robin shook her head. Libby was trying to help but all she was doing was proving how utterly useless it was. “Sally couldn’t have kids.” She wiped her hand beneath her nose again. “By the time I finished our second glass of wine I realized that Roy will never view me as anything but a weak substitute for his beloved Sally.”

“Robin, you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“What else am I to assume?” Libby had been with them only a short while and after she left everything had gone so quiet … so awkward and uncomfortable. Every word out of Roy’s mouth had been about Sally. It must be nice to be that loved. All the evening had proven to Robin was that she didn’t stand a chance with Roy. She couldn’t compete with a dead woman.

Libby’s eyes widened with what looked like disbelief. “He seemed happy enough to hear from you on Friday night. He was the one who suggested you meet, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but …”

“Robin—”

“I was there,” she cut in a second time. “I’m not a complete dunce, Libby. I can read the signs. He isn’t interested. He’s polite and friendly, but the bottom line is obvious even to me. Roy respects me and thinks I’m a good attorney but he isn’t interested in developing any kind of relationship.”

Libby’s shoulders sagged with defeat. “I’ve never seen you this distraught; I want to help.”

“I know,” Robin whispered. “I’m just so disappointed. I’ve carried this romantic fantasy around in my head for months. It’s time I face facts. That’s all it is … a fantasy. Make believe. And it will never be anything more.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes while Libby apparently mulled everything over.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked, glancing at her watch.

Robin couldn’t remember precisely. “Yesterday around lunchtime, I guess. Why?”

“Because everything will seem better with food in your stomach.” Libby started for the kitchen.

“Good luck,” Robin called after her. “I haven’t gotten groceries in weeks. The milk is so old it has a picture of the Lindbergh baby on the carton.”

“Okay, fine, I’m going out to pick up dinner for us. I’m famished. What sounds good to you?”

Robin shook her head. “I don’t really care. You pick.”

“Okay, I will.”

After Libby left, Robin took a quick shower and changed clothes. She was combing out her wet hair when the doorbell chimed. It certainly hadn’t taken Libby long to find dinner.

When she opened the door it wasn’t Libby who stood on the other side of the threshold. It was Roy.

Once more she went completely mute. Robin couldn’t have said a word to save her soul.

After a stilted, awkward moment, Roy asked, “Would it be all right if I came in for a few minutes? I promise I won’t stay long.”

Still unable to find her tongue, she stepped aside to allow him into her condo.

Once the blood returned to her brain, Robin gestured for him to sit down. Embarrassed by the stash of used tissues that littered the top of the coffee table, she immediately stuffed them inside the empty tissue box. The pillow from her bed and a blanket were sprawled across the sofa. She reached for the blanket next, intent on folding it.

“I came because I heard you’d phoned in sick,” Roy said. “Your assistant gave me your address. Are you okay …? I mean, you look like you’re feeling better.”

“I am better, thanks.”

He remained rooted to the carpet just inside her front door, hands buried in his pockets. “I’m not good at this sort of thing,” he murmured.

“What sort of thing?” she asked. She folded the blanket and held it tightly against her stomach.