A Bend in the Road

In the kitchen, Sarah opened the cupboard above the sink, pushed aside a couple of bowls, and pulled down a small crystal vase, which she filled with water.

"This is a nice place you've got," he said.

Sarah looked up. "Thanks. I like it."

"Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Pretty much. I brought some things from Baltimore, but once I saw all the antique stores, I decided to replace most of it. There are some great places around here."

Miles ran his hand along an old rolltop desk near the window, then pushed aside the curtains to peek out. "Do you like living downtown?"

From the drawer, Sarah pulled out a pair of scissors and started angling the bottoms of the stems. "Yeah, but I'll tell you, the commotion around here keeps me up all night long. All those crowds, those people screaming and fighting, partying until dawn. It's amazing that I ever get to sleep at all."

"That quiet, huh?"

She arranged the flowers in the vase, one by one. "This is the first place I've ever lived where everybody seems to be in bed by nine o'clock. It's like a ghost town down here as soon as the sun goes down, but I'll bet that makes your job pretty easy, huh?"

"To be honest, it doesn't really affect me. Except for eviction notices, my jurisdiction ends at the town limits. I generally work in the county."

"Running those speed traps that the South is famous for?" she asked playfully.

Miles shook his head. "No, that's not me, either. That's the highway patrol."

"So what you're really saying is that you don't really do much at all, then...."

"Exactly," he concurred. "Aside from teaching, I can't think of any job less challenging to do."

She laughed as she slid the vase toward the center of the counter. "They're lovely. Thank you." She stepped out from behind the counter and reached for her purse. "So where are we going?"

"Right around the corner. The Harvey Mansion. Oh, and it's a little cool out, so you should probably wear a jacket," he said, eyeing her sleeveless dress.

Sarah went to the closet, remembering her mother's words on her message, wishing she hadn't listened to it. She hated being cold, and she was one of those people who got cold very easily. But instead of going for the "big long green one" that would keep her warm, she picked out a light jacket that matched her dress, something that would have made her mother nod appreciatively. Classy. When she slipped it on, Miles looked at her as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

"Is something wrong?" she asked as she pulled it on.

"Well...it's cold out there. You sure you don't want something warmer?"

"You won't mind?"

"Why would I mind?"

She gladly switched jackets (the big long green one), and Miles helped her put it on, holding the sleeves open for her. A moment later, after locking the front door, they were making their way down the steps. As soon as Sarah stepped outside, the temperature nipped at her cheeks and she instinctively buried her hands in her pockets.

"Don't you think it was too chilly for your other jacket?"

"Definitely," she said, smiling thankfully. "But it doesn't match what I'm wearing."

"I'd rather you be comfortable. And besides, this one looks good on you."

She loved him for that. Take that, Mom!

They started down the street, and a few steps later--surprising herself as much as Miles--she took one hand from her pocket and looped it through his arm.

"So," she said, "let me tell you about my mother."

At their table a few minutes later, Miles couldn't stifle a laugh. "She sounds great."

"Easy for you to say. She's not your mother."

"It's just her way of showing you that she loves you."

"I know. But it would be easier if she didn't always worry so much. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose just to drive me crazy."

Despite her obvious exasperation, Sarah looked positively luminous in the flickering candlelight, Miles decided.

The Harvey Mansion was one of the better restaurants in town. Originally a home dating from the 1790s, it was a popular romantic getaway. When it was being redesigned for its current use, the owners decided to retain most of the floor plan. Miles and Sarah were led up a curving set of stairs and were seated in what was once a library. Dimly lit, it was a medium-size room with red-oak flooring and an intricately designed tin ceiling. Along two walls were mahogany shelves, lined with hundreds of books; along the third wall, the fireplace cast an ethereal glow. Sarah and Miles were seated in the corner near the window. There were only five other tables, and though all were occupied, people talked in low murmurs.

"Mmm ...I think you're right," Miles said. "Your mother probably lies awake at night thinking of new ways to torment you."

"I thought you said you'd never met her."

Miles chuckled. "Well, at least she's around. Like I told you when we first met, I hardly even talk to my father anymore."

"Where is he now?"

"I have no idea. I got a postcard a couple of months ago from Charleston, but there's no telling if he's still there. He doesn't usually stay in one place all that long, he doesn't call, and he very seldom makes it back to town. He hasn't seen me or Jonah for years now."

"I can't imagine that."

"It's just the way he is, but then, he wasn't exactly Ward Cleaver when I was little. Half the time, I got the impression he didn't like having us around."

"Us?"

"Me and my mom."

"Didn't he love her?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, come on...."

"I'm serious. She was pregnant when they got married, and I can't honestly say they were ever meant for each other. They ran real hot and cold--one day they were madly in love, and the next day she was throwing his clothes on the front lawn and telling him never to come back. And when she died, he just took up and left as fast as he could. Quit his job, sold the house, bought himself a boat, and told me he was going to see the world. Didn't know a thing about sailing, either. Said he'd learn what he needed as he went along, and I guess he has."

Sarah frowned. "That's a little strange."

"Not for him. To be honest, I wasn't surprised at all, but you'd have to meet him to know what I'm talking about." He shook his head slightly, as if disgusted.

"How did your mother die?" Sarah asked gently.

A strange, shuttered expression crossed his face, and Sarah immediately regretted bringing it up. She leaned forward. "I'm sorry--that was rude. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay," Miles said quietly. "I don't mind. It happened a long time ago, so it's not hard to talk about. It's just that I haven't talked about it in years. I can't remember the last time someone asked about my mother."

Miles drummed his fingers absently on the table before sitting up a little straighter. He spoke matter-of-factly, almost as if he were talking about someone he didn't know. Sarah recognized the tone: It was the way she spoke of Michael now.

"My mom started having these pains in her stomach. Sometimes, she couldn't even sleep at night. Deep down, I think she knew how serious it was, and by the time she finally went in to see the doctor, the cancer had spread to her pancreas and liver. There was nothing that anyone could do. She passed away less than three weeks later."

"I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"So am I," he said. "I think you would have liked her."

"I'm sure I would have."

They were interrupted by the waiter as he approached the table and took their drink orders. As if on cue, both Sarah and Miles reached for the menus and read them quickly.

"So what's good?" she asked.

"Everything, really."

"No special recommendations?"

"I'll probably get a steak of some sort."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

He glanced up. "You have something against steak?"

"Not at all. You just didn't strike me as the tofu and salad ty

pe." She closed her menu. "I, on the other hand, have to watch my girlish figure."

"So what are you getting?"

She smiled. "A steak."

Miles closed his menu and pushed it off to the side of the table. "So, now that we've covered my life, why don't you tell me about yours? What was it like growing up in your family?"

Sarah set her menu on top of his.