A Different Blue(86)

the Cancer Institute her father had left England to work for. Tiffa could have stayed in England

when her parents and Wilson moved to the States. Alice was married by that time and had remained

in England. But instead, Tiffa had taken a job at a small art gallery on the upper east side of

Salt Lake City, anxious to stay close to her family and gain new experience. She and Jack had

been engaged and were married in a matter of six months. And six years later, they were still

obviously giddy about eachother. They had moved to Vegas when Jack had taken a permanent

position with the oncology unit at Desert Springs Hospital, and Tiffa had been hired as a

curator for The Sheffield.

[page]My eyes swung to Jack, tan and handsome in a pale blue polo and khaki cargo shorts,

manning the barbeque like a true-blue American man. Alice's husband Peter wasn't contributing

much to the preparation, but he hung close to Jack, listening to him talk and laughing at

something Jack said. The two men seemed nothing alike, but I had liked them both immediately.

Peter was the nephew of an Earl – I was stunned to discover there were still Earls and such in

England – and, according to Tiffa, richer than the Queen. I didn't know what Earls did, but

apparently when your wealth rivals that of royalty, there is a lot to manage, which Peter was

reportedly good at. Maybe that was what had attracted Alice, although he had other qualities

that endeared him to me. He was homely while Alice gleamed, quiet while Alice scolded, and

gentle while Alice seemed harsh. His smile was shy and his manner unassuming. And his hair was

as red as that of his offspring. I sincerely hoped they were all wearing sunblock. I was

naturally brown, and even I had slathered on the 50.

I climbled out of the pool and walked quickly to where I had removed my sundress. I had made

Wilson stop at a Target on the way, and I had grabbed a boring blue one piece that drew as

little attention as possible. I hadn't wanted to wear the black string bikini that had survived

the dumpster heap six weeks ago. Somehow, pregnancy and string bikinis didn't appeal to me. Some

women worked it, I supposed. To me it just looked tacky, like those horrible facebook pictures

where expectant women bared all and their husbands kissed their bellies awkwardly. I was five

months along, and my stomach was a neat little mound, but compared to what it had been, it felt

gigantic. I wondered if it would be sleek and concave ever again.

Wilson and his mother were still deep in conversation, sitting on deck chairs under blue striped

umbrellas as they had been every since we'd arrived. Wilson had introduced me to his mother as a

“friend and a tenant” and had not embellished further. Joanna Wilson seemed to accept my

status, though she had raised her eyebrows slightly and asked about Pamela when she thought I

wasn't listening. Apparently, Joanna was good friends with Pamela's parents.

I tried to keep my back to them as I exited the pool, but when Joanna stopped talking

midsentence, I knew I hadn't hid my stomach well enough. I pulled my sundress over my head and

tried to pretend I hadn't noticed the telling pause. She resumed her conversation a half-beat

later, as if she'd never stopped, but when I stole a peek at Wilson he was looking at me with an

indecipherable expression on his face. He hadn't misunderstood her reaction either.

“Tiffa? These steaks are done, baby. Let's eat,” Jack called out to his wife, who was cackling