A Proper Wife

He lifted her, his mouth finding hers as her legs locked around his waist, and then there was only the patter of the water and the sighs and murmurs of two people making love.

“So,” Ryan said, “this is what New York is like on a holiday weekend, hmm?”

Devon looked up at him and smiled. They were in Central Park, strolling hand in hand through the Sheep Meadow. It was a hot, sunny day and the grassy field was alive with New Yorkers taking full advantage of the first long holiday weekend of the summer.

“What kind of question is that, coming from a native New Yorker?”

“Well, for openers, I’m not really a native New Yorker. I was born here but I went to live on Long Island, with James, when I was just a kid.”

Devon nodded. “I know. I wondered about that. Did your parents die?”

“No, it was nothing as dramatic as that,” Ryan said with a tight smile. “My mother decided it would be more exciting to traipse through jungles than to raise sons. And my father figured that with her gone, he might as well say to hell with responsibility and start enjoying la dolce vita.”

Devon’s smile faded. “You mean, they abandoned you?”

“It sounds a lot worse than it was, sweetheart. By then, I’d already lived more of my life with my grandfather than with my parents. They were forever going off somewhere—somewhere that didn’t involve me.”

“So you and Gordon both went to live with James?”

“Gordon was already away at college. He was twelve years older than I was.”

“Mmm,” Devon said. “You know, I wonder...”

“What?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that—well, one time, when I was home on vacation, Gordon as

ked me if I was happy being away from... from home. He said he knew another kid who’d been shunted off.”

“You think he meant me?” Ryan asked in surprise.

Devon shrugged. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

It was more than possible, Ryan thought slowly. It was absolutely logical; it would explain why Gordon had been so determined to provide for Devon, why he’d said he felt guilty about having neglected her.

I would never neglect her, Ryan thought suddenly. He watched as a soft breeze blew Devon’s hair back from her face. She put up her hand and pushed it away from her eyes; it was the simplest of actions yet it somehow made his heart turn over.

Ryan laced his fingers through hers.

“What about you?” he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “What about me?”

“What was your childhood like?” He smiled. “I’ll bet you were a solemn little girl with a sweet, shy smile.”

“Well, the shy part is right.” Her smile seemed tinged with sadness. “The only thing I really remember about my childhood is moving a lot, from San Francisco to Los Angeles, from Los Angeles to Reno and then to Las Vegas.”

“Why?”

Devon shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose because my mother—because Bettina was always chasing after a... a better future. She was a waitress.”

“A cocktail waitress,” Ryan said.

“Yes.” She looked up, caught by a certain flatness in his voice, and her expression grew defiant. “She did the best she could,” she said. “Her choices may not have always been perfect, but it wasn’t easy, raising a child by herself.”

“And I’m sure she told you that, every chance she got.”

“No! Well, yes. She did, but she was right. I mean...”