“This is Annie’s.” Alec touched the stained glass peacock feather hanging in the window over the sink.

“Yes,” she said. “I bought it the first time I stopped in the studio.” If Alec knew it was Annie’s, Paul would certainly know as well. She would have to move it someplace where he would be unlikely to see it if he came over. “Let’s eat out on the deck,” she said, lifting the tray. She led him out the sliding glass doors to the covered back deck overlooking the sound.

“This is very nice,” Alec said, setting the cartons down on the glass-topped table. He stood up straight and put his hands on his hips as he took in the view. “My house is on the sound, too.”

Olivia sat down and started opening cartons. “I was shocked when we came down here and discovered we could afford something like this, right on the water. I felt as though I’d found my spiritual home.” She smiled ruefully. “I was so optimistic that this was where we would settle down and raise our family.”

Alec sat down across from her. “How are the twins?” he asked.

“What?” Olivia had not heard anyone ask that question in a very long time, and yet immediately she was transported back to the tiny, one-bedroom house she grew up in. She could hear people asking her mother, how are the twins, and her mother’s slurred reply.

Alec nodded toward her middle.

“Oh.” Olivia laughed. “Please, Alec. Twins I don’t need.” She opened the carton of rice, her fingers shaking.

“Are you okay?” Alec asked. “Or are you just hungry?”

He had graciously given her an out for her nervousness and she opted not to take it. “It feels strange having you here,” she said. “Like I’m doing something wrong.”

“Oh.” He stopped a spoonful of rice midway to his plate. “Would you like me to go?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I was just wondering how I would ever explain this to my husband if he decided to pick tonight to stop over.”

Alec shrugged and passed her the carton of rice. “We’d just tell him that we’re two lonely people who get together from time to time to ruminate over our losses. Does he come over often?”

“Hardly ever.” She spooned rice onto her own plate. “There’s something I have to tell you about him.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, first of all, you’ve met him. His name is Paul Macelli and he’s working on your lighthouse committee, although I didn’t know that the last time I saw you.”

Alec set his fork down and stared at her. “Paul? The journalist? He’s your husband? God, I didn’t picture your husband anything like Paul.”

“What do you mean?”

“I figured your husband would be someone…I don’t know, brawny. Dark-haired. In need of a shave. A Neanderthal type. A little mean-spirited and thick-skulled. Someone stupid enough to leave someone like you for a fantasy.”

Olivia laughed.

“Paul seems very…cerebral.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Very sensitive. He interviewed the old lighthouse keeper and sent me an essay of sorts on what he’d learned. It’s…I don’t know…moving. Captivating. I expected something interesting, but dry, you know, just a few paragraphs to get the facts across. He’s very talented.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“He’s quiet, though. Reserved.”

“Not always.” She could imagine, though, how reserved Paul would be around Annie’s husband. “There’s something else,” Olivia said. She would say this carefully. She did not want Alec to be able to put the pieces of this puzzle together. “Did you know he wrote that article on Annie in Seascape Magazine?”

“He did? I never even noticed the guy’s name. I know Annie had a few interviews with him…that was Paul?”

“Yes.” She tensed. Please don’t figure this out.

“It was a terrific article. I was a little worried about how it would come out, because Annie just wasn’t herself last fall. She was in one of her down moods.” Alec shuddered. “I hadn’t seen her quite that withdrawn in a long time, so I was relieved when I read the article and saw that he’d managed to capture the real Annie.” He took a swallow of tea, then looked up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Why didn’t he tell me he wrote it?”

“Well, it’s like you said. He’s reserved. Modest.” She ate a little of the spicy hot Hunan chicken. “He and I wrote a book together,” she said. “Do you remember that terrible train wreck in Washington back in 1981?”

“When most of the cars went into the Potomac?”

She nodded. “That was how we met. Paul worked for the Washington Post and he was covering the story in the ER at the hospital where I was a resident.”

She hadn’t even noticed Paul, but he had certainly noticed her. He’d introduced himself to her when the crisis was over, two full days after it had begun. He was in love with her, he said. She was so coolly confident, so skillful with the patients, yet compassionate with the families. He showed her the articles about the crash in the Post, the factual articles other reporters had written, and the articles he’d written himself about the amazing young female doctor in the ER. She was taken aback by his romantic idealism, but she could not deny the thrill of knowing he had observed her being herself and had fallen in love with her.

“So, a few years later we decided to write a book about it,” Olivia continued. “We followed the wreck from different perspectives—the passengers and the rescue workers and the hospital staff. It turned out pretty well. We did the talk show circuit and won a couple of awards.”

“I’d like to read it.”

She got up and walked into the living room, where she pulled her worn copy of The Wreck of the Eastern Spirit from the bookshelf. She carried it back to the deck and handed it to Alec.

“Oh, my God,” he said as he studied the cover. It was an aerial view of the wreck, taken from a great height so that at first it was difficult to see that between the two cherry blossom-covered banks of the river lay a wreck that had taken forty-two lives. He opened the book and read the jacket, then turned to the back page to read the little blurb about her and Paul.

“He’s had a book of poetry published?” Alec asked.

“Yes. It’s called Sweet Arrival.”

“Sweet Arrival.” Alec smiled. “What’s that refer to?”

“Me.” Olivia blushed. “He said his whole life fell into place when I came into it.”

Alec looked at her sympathetically. He reached across the table and softly squeezed her hand, his gold-braided wedding band catching the light from the kitchen. Then he returned his eyes to the book jacket. The small black and white picture of her and Paul was upside down from Olivia’s perspective. Their smiles looked like frowns.

Alec shook his head. “That must have been a nightmare. How do you do that kind of work without falling apart?”

“You get used to it. Hardened a little, I guess. I cry at sad movies and that sort of thing. And sometimes in restaurants over lunch, but I almost never cry at work.” She looked down at the book cover where it rested next to Alec’s plate. “I did cry a little the night Annie died, though.”

“Why?” Alec asked. “With all the horrendous things you’ve seen in emergency rooms, why would that get to you?”

“It was you,” she said, telling him only half the truth. “Your eyes. You were so devastated. I was just losing Paul, and…I don’t mean to compare what I was going through to what you went through…but I felt your sadness. For the longest time I couldn’t get your face out of my mind.”

Alec looked down at his plate. He started to lift his fork to his mouth, then rested it on the table, raising his eyes once more to Olivia’s. “Do you remember my daughter?” he asked.

Olivia smiled. “She tried to beat me up.”

“Did she? I don’t remember that.” He turned his head to look out at the sound. “She’s changing. I didn’t notice it because I’ve just tuned my kids out since Annie died. My son’s done all right. He’s working and getting ready to go to Duke in the fall. But Lacey…” He shook his head. “She’s started smoking—I guess that’s no big deal. Most kids her age try it. But she cries so easily now. The other night she came home in tears with her blouse buttoned wrong. I don’t want to read too much into…”

“How old is she?” Olivia interrupted him.

“Thir—fourteen. Just.”

Olivia set her own fork down and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a vulnerable age for a girl,” she said. “Especially one without a mother.”

“Well, I’m trying not to be too naive. She’s always been a very good kid, very responsible, and I’m sure she’s not having sex or anything but…”

“Maybe against her will.” She spoke carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she was crying. Disheveled. Maybe someone…I don’t mean she was raped out on the street, but you know how boys can be and maybe she was at a party, and someone…took advantage of her.”

Alec’s eyes had widened. “You’re certainly reassuring.”

“Sorry. Working in an ER gives you a warped view of the world. Why don’t you talk to her about it? Be straightforward.”

“She won’t talk to me. I tell myself it’s typical adolescent stuff, but Clay never acted this way and I’m not sure how to handle it. Annie and I just let them be. There were no rules they had to follow. We trusted them, and they were basically perfect.”

“What do you mean, no rules?”

“No curfew, no restrictions. They made their own decisions about where they wanted to go and what they wanted to do.” He pushed his plate to the center of the table. “Even when they were little, we let them decide what to wear and what to eat. Annie was big on making them take responsibility for themselves, and they did a good job of it. But now Lacey sits at the table with a radio headset on. I want to say, take that radio off and listen to me, damn it.” He struck the table with his fist. “And don’t curse at me. Talk to me. But Annie would never have made those kinds of demands on her. I can’t figure out what Annie would have done if Lacey had acted up like this when she was alive.”