Liz colored. “I’m not — I wasn’t — it will be nice to see him again.” She took another sip of wine. They’d helped each other make it through Plebe Year. They’d just been friends then, of course, but theirs had been a partnership, the kind of partnership that should have lasted — if only she’d given it a fighting chance.
She looked down at her left hand. The engagement ring and matching wedding band sparkled up at her. Her conscience prickled, and she covered the rings with her other hand.
James was kind, attentive, a good partner. Sure, he worked too much, but what successful person building his career these days didn’t work too much? She didn’t even need to work and she worked too much. Besides, their extended separations actually helped their marriage by letting her see his good qualities anew each time they reconnected.
But for all James’s many good qualities, he lacked the one she needed the most: Liz did not love him.
What is wrong with me?
Liz took another sip of wine. The sound of a car crunching down the gravel drive got her attention, and her heart gave a little jump.
“Why don’t you get the door, Liz?” Marjorie’s silver-gray hair gleamed as she jerked her chin toward the front of the house. She smiled. “Just remember, it might be Don.”
Liz stepped into the front hall and smoothed her skirt over her thighs. She’d selected this outfit carefully: a plum-colored pencil skirt that hugged her in all the right places and a creamy silk blouse, open at the neck, that did wonderful things for the olive tone of her skin.
She could hear him on the porch, waiting. She took a deep breath and pulled the door open.
His dark hair was still wet from a recent shower, his face leaner than the last time she’d seen him.
“Bren… hi,” she said. Her voice sounded breathy to her ears, as if she was gasping for air.
Brendan was having his own troubles. She felt his eyes sweep over her and he swallowed hard. He pointed over his shoulder at the BMW. “The car… I thought… Don.”
Liz gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, even though the FBI rents me a car for work, James — my husband — insists that I drive a BMW when I travel for more than a day or two. He’s like that.” She winced as she said it. Why bring up James in the first sentence?
“Come here, you big lug. Give me a hug.” She stepped into him, burying her face into his shoulder. The scent of him took her back to a simpler time, a time when she’d felt more in control, happier. His arms circled her, completing the feeling. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
Brendan didn’t say anything. Behind her, the phone rang and she used that as an opportunity to break their embrace.
Liz stepped away and snatched the flowers from his grip. “I’ll put these in water.”
She took time in the laundry room to compose herself before she reentered the kitchen.
“Don called,” Marjorie announced. “He says he’ll be late and to start without him.” She nodded to the stack of plates and silverware on the counter. “Would you and Bren set the table for me, please?”
Brendan seemed anxious to keep the table between them while they laid out plates and silverware. Then Marjorie called out for him to carve the turkey and Liz to carry the food in. She poured the wine while he carved the bird, and before she knew it, they were seated for dinner and Brendan had not said another word to her.
Marjorie sat at the head of the table, flanked by Liz and Brendan. Brendan raised his glass toward Mark’s picture on the wall. “To absent friends,” he said, with a catch in his voice. They all took a sip of wine.
Marjorie wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I still miss him so…” She took a deep breath and sat up in her chair. “But enough of that — Liz, tell me about the FBI.”
“Well, I’m with JTTF in LA—”
“English, please. I’m a civilian, Liz,” Marjorie cautioned.
Liz laughed. “Okay, JTTF is the Joint Terrorism Task Force. We lead a multiagency group in charge of responding to any sort of terrorism threat. I — we — took the assignment because of James’s work.” She looked at Brendan. “My husband’s a maxillofacial surgeon at Cedars-Sinai in LA. He travels a lot, so we don’t get much time together.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’m just glad I was in DC for this little shindig, Marje. James is in South America for the next month, so this is my Thanksgiving.”
Marjorie looked over at Brendan. “And what about you, Bren? How’s the knee?”
“Good enough for government work, I guess,” Brendan said. “I’m over at the naval station, refitting sailboats for the Academy sailing team.”
Liz shot him a meaningful look. “Nice work if you can get it, I guess.” She didn’t believe for a moment that a decorated SEAL was a Program Manager for refitting sailboats, but she knew better than to ask.
Liz took another sip of wine and relaxed, letting the sound of Marjorie’s voice flow over her as she told a Mark story, one they’d heard a hundred times before. Brendan laughed at the expected punchline, a deep belly laugh. With a pang, Liz realized she didn’t laugh much anymore.
“Liz?”
She jolted in her seat. “I’m sorry. What?”
Marjorie smiled at her. “I’m going to clear the table. How about you take Brendan into the study and pour some drinks, please?”
She stood up. “Can I help you clear, Marje?”
Marjorie was already stacking plates. “No, I insist. You two kids run along and I’ll be in with coffee and pie in a minute. Have a Baileys ready for me.”
Liz followed Brendan into the study. She could detect a familiar scent in the air, like a lost memory. “Are you wearing Old Spice?” she asked.
Brendan blushed and gave a nervous chuckle. “It was a gift from a friend at work. He swears it’s the only way to get women.”
Liz turned on the gas fireplace and took a seat on the sofa. “Is that what you want, Bren? To get women?”
Brendan set a shot of Baileys on the side bar for Marjorie. “Can I get you something?” he asked.
“How about an answer to my question?” The words came out more sharply than she’d intended, causing Brendan to look over. She softened her tone. “Why didn’t you come to the wedding, Brendan? I sent you an invite, but it came back marked ‘return to sender.’”
Brendan busied himself at the bar. “I was deployed, I think.”
“I checked. You were in the States. That really hurt me, Bren.”
He looked at the fireplace, refusing to meet her gaze. The flickering light played across his features, casting his eyes in shadow.
She patted the cushion next to her. “Come over here, Bren. Please.”
The leather on the sofa creaked when he sat, the sound loud in the small room.
Liz’s heart thundered in her ears as she slid a few inches closer to him. “Why did we let it get so difficult, Bren?” she whispered. “We were good for each other, and then we just walked away…”
Her hand was a fraction of an inch from his, so close she could feel the heat from his fingers. One twitch of his hand and he would be touching her.
“We just walked away, Liz?” His hand moved away. She almost reached out and grabbed his fingers. “It was what you wanted, remember? ‘You’re a SEAL, I’m a Marine, we’re going different places… and we’re not going to get there together.’ I believe those were your exact words, right?”
Liz sat back as if she’d been slapped. “I meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant, Liz. And you got exactly what you wanted—”
“I don’t love him, Bren,” Liz interrupted.