“The night he was killed?”
“Yes,” Susannah said. “If he hadn’t cancelled, Patricia would’ve been with him.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened at the implication and when she spoke her voice was soft. “She might have died that night, too.”
Susannah nodded. “We talked about the twists and turns life takes. I promised I’d let her know when I find out who it might’ve been.”
“Hold on, you just lost me. Who might’ve been what? Are you talking about this other girl he was supposedly seeing?”
“Yes, but in addition to that, someone’s been putting flowers on Doug’s grave. I thought it was Patricia, but she swears it isn’t, so I assume it’s whoever else he was involved with.”
“She’s telling you the truth,” Carolyn whispered. She reached for her wineglass again and got to her feet. Walking back into the kitchen, she replenished her drink.
Susannah followed. “How would you know that?” she asked.
Carolyn stood on the other side of the counter, eyes downcast. “Because it’s me.”
“You?” Susannah asked numbly.
“Doug and I were writing to each other.”
“What?” Susannah said, stunned by this revelation. “While we were in France?”
Carolyn nodded apologetically. “Soon after you arrived in France, Doug wrote to ask me how you were doing. He knew how upset you were with your father, and he was worried. I wrote back and he answered. Pretty soon we were writing regularly.”
“And you never bothered to mention this to me?” Susannah asked, angry that the woman she’d considered her best friend had kept something so important from her. She’d told Carolyn all about her feelings for Jake; Carolyn obviously hadn’t returned the favor. Now that she thought about it, Susannah remembered how eagerly Carolyn had waited for the mail. She had, too. It was what she’d lived for those months in France.
“I’m sorry.” Carolyn shifted awkwardly. She didn’t meet Susannah’s eyes. “I never meant to keep it from you. But the first time he wrote, Doug asked me not to tell you, so I didn’t and then, well…well, one thing led to another and I just never did.”
“The two of you fell in love through the mail? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I guess I am.” Carolyn looked directly at her. “Don’t you remember how frantic I was when Doug was killed?”
Susannah shook her head. She’d been so caught up in her own pain she hadn’t noticed.
“In the last letter I got from him, Doug said he was going to tell Patricia about us. He planned to break up with her that night, I think.”
“You still put flowers on his grave?”
They walked back and sat on the sofa again. “Every few weeks I put flowers on my parents’ graves and Lily’s. I leave some at Doug’s, too. I didn’t realize you’d see them.”
“When you were writing,” Susannah asked, “did Doug—did he say Jake had gone back to Sharon?”
“No. But then, he didn’t write much about Jake.”
Susannah studied her friend. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I do know that Doug was mad at him about something—he just never said what it was.”
CHAPTER 27
Vivian had her good days and her bad ones, and today was good. Many of the bad days were before Susannah and Chrissie had come. Vivian had done her best to hide how defeated she’d felt. In fact, she hadn’t realized how badly she was coping at home until she came to live at this prison place—or hospital or whatever it was.
Not that she was complaining. The food was all right when she had an appetite, and she noticed the meals had improved since her first week there. Granted, most days she didn’t have much of an appetite, but she made an effort to eat. She was growing used to the way they did things here. It worried her some when she discovered that they locked the doors at night, but her friend George—not her husband, the other George—had told her why. The doors were locked to keep the crooks out. She could believe that. She already knew the world was full of people eager to swindle an elderly widow.
Barring the doors to thieves was fine with Vivian, but it kept someone else out, too—her George. She hadn’t known locked doors were a hindrance to the dead, but apparently they were. He hadn’t come to visit—at least not until today. When she woke from her nap, he’d been there, in her darkened room. Oh, he looked wonderful to her. Vivian had been overcome with joy. It’d been so long since his last visit that she’d nearly given up hope.
She asked why he’d taken all those weeks to find her. He couldn’t answer, but that was all right. None of that mattered when he was with her. For a while they sat and looked at each other in silence. Tears had come to her eyes and although they didn’t speak, Vivian felt his love for her and their children.
Once she’d composed herself, she told him how upset Susannah was, although she still couldn’t recall exactly why. Poor George didn’t know what to think. He’d frowned and shaken his head, and Vivian wished she’d kept it to herself. All too soon he was gone.
Invigorated by the visit, Vivian joined Sally and a couple of other women for dinner. Earlier in the afternoon, they’d also met for tea, which was becoming a regular occurrence, and one she had to admit she enjoyed. Then she’d had her nap, followed of course by dinner. Afterward as she started back to her suite, she felt disappointed that she hadn’t seen her friend George, even though she knew he ate in his room. Vivian was proud of herself. She’d finished her entire salmon cake and small salad, but she didn’t much care for the rice dish. No flavor whatsoever.
Leaning on her cane for balance, Vivian walked past the pool room. Sure enough, her friend was there, using his crutch as a pool cue just as he had the first night she’d met him. George glanced up when he saw her.
“I wondered if you’d swing by,” he said in that gruff way of his.
“Well—here I am.”
George made a dismissive grunt. “What’s put you in such a good mood?”
“My husband visited this afternoon.”
George lowered his crutch to the floor. “Did he now?”
Vivian nodded. “He stayed for a while, too.”
The other man’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t see him.”
That made perfect sense to Vivian. “Of course you didn’t. He only appears to me. He’s dead, you know.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. I don’t suppose he talks much, either.”
“Can’t. He’s dead.”
George rubbed the side of his face, as if testing to see whether he needed a shave or not. “Did he let you know what he wanted?”
The question gave Vivian pause. “I think he was just checking up on me. I was mighty glad to see him, I’ll tell you that.”