“She’s gone to the mall with her friends. Shopping.”
“I’m sure it’s good for her to hang out with people her own age.”
David winced. “That’s harsh, Mimi.”
Was it? She felt a flicker of guilt and then remembered what he’d done to her granddaughter. To her Grace.
“Do you expect me to protect your feelings?”
“No. I don’t expect that.” He looked stressed. Tired. Like a man who hadn’t slept a full night in months.
Too much sex, Mimi thought savagely. Or maybe not. Maybe it was something more.
Was it possible that things with Lissa and David weren’t as rosy as they had been?
“Would you like coffee?”
“Yes. I’ll make it.” He moved to the kitchen, as comfortable in her home as he was in his own. Before he and Grace had separated he’d visited Mimi at least once a week on his way home from work. He’d entertain her with ridiculous stories and make her laugh. She’d missed that.
She’d missed him.
It had been six months since he’d left Grace, and she saw the changes. His hair was shorter. The shirt he was wearing fitted him closely. He’d obviously been using the gym. She imagined Lissa dragging him to the store and trying to dress him like a man who wasn’t old enough to be her father.
“Who is Philippe?” There was a roughness to his voice. “She’s never mentioned a Philippe.”
“No? Well, he was in the past, of course. Before the two of you got together.”
Mimi felt her heart pound. She’d never been good with relationships, not her own or other people’s. “She met a lot of people when she was in Paris. That was the purpose of her trip. To improve her language skills.” And to escape. Mimi had pushed her, go, go, get away from this life and see how bright the world is beyond this dark place.
Had she done it for herself? To lessen her guilt?
Did it even matter?
In the end, it hadn’t been enough. Grace had come home. And she’d stayed.
David made coffee in a French press, the way she liked it. He carried it to the low table by the sofa, along with two porcelain cups that she’d brought with her from Paris and which had survived the years. A breeze wafted in through the open doors, and Mimi sat in her favorite chair, which gave her the best view of her garden.
“He’s a pianist? Grace listens to Mozart piano sonatas when she cooks.”
“Does she?” Mimi tried to look vague.
“Was she in love with him? Why has she never talked about him?”
“She married you, David.” Mimi pressed the plunger gently and poured the coffee. For a moment her small apartment smelled like a Paris café. “You were her choice.” She drove the knife home and saw a flush spread across his cheekbones.
“I’m worried that she’s vulnerable right now.”
“Oh?” Mimi sipped her coffee. “Did she sound vulnerable?”
“No.” He ran his hand across his jaw. “She sounded—together. Excited. And what did she mean about not having a plan? Grace always has a plan. She didn’t sound like herself.”
Mimi thought about the image on the screen. Grace hadn’t looked much like herself, either. She’d been wearing a loose, flowing dress. There had been an empty glass next to a bottle of wine.
If David had seen what she’d seen, he’d be asking more questions than he already was.
She was asking a few of her own.
“I’m sure it makes you happy to know she is moving on and rebuilding her life, also.” She noticed that he didn’t look happy. He hadn’t touched his coffee. “You don’t need to worry about Philippe hurting her while she’s vulnerable. You can relax. I know he would be very careful with Grace.”