didn’t bark. He didn’t growl. He just sort of—talked—made some sort of noise that had her looking at him in astonishment. So he poked her again.
“Right,” she said. “Yes. Of course.” And she fetched another treat out of the bag she’d bought. He accepted it with the same gravity with which he’d accepted the first one. But he didn’t eat it. He simply carried it down the hall.
Sophy followed. She thought he was going to take it into the living room, which indeed was at the end of the hall. But instead Gunnar turned and went down the stairs. He obviously knew better than she did what she was supposed to be doing and was showing her where to go to open the door to the garden.
She let Gunnar out into the back garden with its cedar deck and table and chairs and the bucket of tennis balls that George must toss for Gunnar. Even though it was small and utilitarian, it was still far more appealing than the parking lot behind her apartment in California. She left Gunnar there and went back inside because she was more curious about George’s office.
What would have been billed “the garden apartment” in a split-up brownstone, obviously served as George’s office. One big room contained a wide oak desk, a sleek state-of-the-art computer with what was probably the biggest computer screen she’d ever seen. There were file cabinets, a worktable and shelf after shelf of scientific books. There were papers in neat stacks on the desk and worktable, and a few spread out that were filled with equations in George’s spiky but very legible handwriting. When they’d been together, he had made out shopping lists in the same precise way.
Feeling a bit like a voyeur, though goodness knew she couldn’t understand any of whatever he was working on, Sophy deliberately went back out into the garden and threw some tennis balls for Gunnar.
She made a friend for life. He was tireless. She was even more exhausted by the time she said, “Last one,” and threw it across the small yard. Gunnar caught it on the rebound from the wall and trotted back to look at her hopefully. “Later,” she promised him.
She could have sworn he sighed. But obediently he followed her back into the house, up the stairs and on up the next flight where there was a spacious yet homey family room that looked decidedly lived in—right down to the toys in one corner.
Toys?
Surprised, Sophy looked closer. Yes, there were toys. Blocks, LEGOs, Lincoln Logs and a fleet of scratched and dented Matchbox cars. Boy toys, Sophy thought. But it was clear that Tallie’s boys were welcome at Uncle George’s. Or did George have a lady friend with children? Not that she cared.
The family room was on the back of the house, just above the living room. Sophy found it cozy and friendly, drawing her in. There were books on the shelves, not only scientific tomes, but also popular mysteries and sailing magazines. She picked them up, noting that they weren’t pristine. They had obviously been read.
She scanned the shelves curiously, then spotted a photo album as well. She opened it before she could think twice—and was quite suddenly confronted by memories that seemed almost like a blow to the heart.
The album was full of pictures from the reception after their wedding. Not the more formal portraits, but lots of casual family ones. She and George laughing as they fed each other cake. She and George dancing on the deck of his parents’ home. She and George surrounded by his whole family, all of them smiling and happy.
Numbly she turned the pages. After the ones from the reception, there were others of the two of them. On the beach. In a small cozy house before a fire.
Sophy’s throat tightened at the sight. At the memories of their honeymoon.
Well, it hadn’t been a honeymoon—not really. There hadn’t been time to plan one because the wedding had been so hastily arranged and George couldn’t take time off work.
All they’d had was a weekend in a tiny groundskeeper’s cottage behind one of the Hamptons mansions near his parents’ home by the sea.
But for all that it had been impromptu, it had been memorable. They had, she’d thought, forged a bond that weekend. They’d talked. They’d laughed. They’d cooked together, swum together, walked on the beach together. They’d slept together in the same bed—though they hadn’t made love.
Her pregnancy was too far along for that.
Still, for all they’d had a less than orthodox beginning, she’d dared to hope, to believe …
Now she shut the album and stuck it back on the shelf. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to remember the pain of dashed hopes, of lost love.
No, she corrected herself. It hadn’t ever been love—not really. Not to George.
Deliberately she turned away. “Come on, Gunnar,” she said to the dog. “Let’s take a look at the guest room.”
That’s the most she was in George’s house, in his life. A guest. She needed to remember that.
“I didn’t change the sheets,” Tallie had apologized. “I figured I’d either be back there tonight or George would be home. There are other rooms up above. There’s a room for the boys up there, but George probably hasn’t changed the sheets since the last time they were there. And that’s where George’s room is, of course.”
Sophy felt enough like Goldilocks eavesdropping further in a house where she didn’t belong. The last place she wanted to look at was George’s bedroom.
George’s bed. She didn’t want to remember the nights she’d spent sharing a bed with George. Making love with George …
“I’ll just take the room where you were,” she’d told Tallie. “It will be fine.”
It was Spartan—but perfectly adequate. It had a bed, sheets, a blanket and two pillows. What more could she ask?
Sophy kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jacket, already heading for the bed when she remembered that she needed to get on the computer and put through a video call to Natalie and Lily.
She opened her laptop on the bed and was glad she often used the video program to help out and advise the “wives” in the field who worked for her and Natalie. So she was quickly up and running, and felt an instant pang of homesickness when the call went through and she could see Lily at home with Natalie in her living room.
“Mama?” Lily demanded, sticking her face right up against Natalie’s laptop. “Are you in the computer?”
Sophy laughed. “No, darling. I’m in New York. I had to come here last night, just for a couple of days. I’ll be home soon. Are you being good for Auntie Nat?”
“‘Course I am,” Lily said. “I’m helping.”
“Great.” Though whether Natalie would think the help of a four-year-old was such a blessing, Sophy wasn’t sure. “What are you going to do today?”
The three-hour time difference meant that Natalie and Lily were just getting started on their day. But clearly Natalie had given some thought to what they would do. Lily rattled off an entire list of things that included “after lunch going to the beach with Uncle Christo,” undoubtedly so Natalie could get some real work done.
“Is that a dog?” Lily demanded, abruptly breaking off her recitation.
“Dog?” Sophy was confused, then realized that Lily wasn’t just seeing her. Her daughter could see at least a part of the bedroom behind her. And Gunnar was standing by the bed looking equally curiously at the computer screen.
“Um, yes,” Sophy said. “That’s Gunnar.”
“He’s big,” Lily said solemnly. “An’ really, really black.
Would he like me?”
“Oh, I think so,” Natalie said. Gunnar, for all his ferocious barking while she was on the doorstep, had been an absolute gentleman since she’d crossed the threshold. He actually seemed to be looking at Lily.
“Hi,