Come Fly With Me (83 page)

"It
sounds
like
he
wants
you
as
a
St.
Bernard
rescue
dog
standing
at
the
ready
in
case
of
emergency."

"I
have
a
feeling
anything
I
tell
you
about
Michael
would
be
treated
with
utmost
suspicion.
Is
it
because
I'm
older
than
him?
It
doesn't
bother
either
of
us."
She
smoothed
her
hair
as
she
spoke.
"Is
it
because
of
your
father?
For
the
first
few
months,
I
walked
around
in
a
fog,
all
my
effort
was
expended
simply
on
putting
one
foot
in
front
of
the
other.
I
spent
a
lot
of
time
with
myself,
way
too
much."
She
took
a
breath
and
continued,
"Slowly,
I
began
to
notice
there
was
still
a
world
around
me.
I
began
to
enjoy
my
glass
blowing
again,
I
joined
a
reading
club,
but
it
still
felt
empty—I
felt
empty.
But
I
woke
up
every
morning
and
kept
with
it,
anyway."
She
straightened
her
shoulders,
fixing
her
gaze
on
the
server
at
the
adjoining
table.
"Friday
night,
when
I
met
Michael
it
was
like
a
blindfold
had
been
lifted
off
my
eyes.
I
began
to
see
in
color—for
the
first
time
in
a
very
long
time.
Surely,
you
can
understand
that.
I'm
still
a
young
woman,
and
I'm
entitled
to
live
a
little.
Maybe
it's
too
soon
to
be
spending
time
with
another
man,
but
Michael
is
intelligent
and
charming,
and
he
makes
me
feel
alive.
And
it
sure
as
hell
beats
spending
the
evening
at
home,
alone,
watching
the
news."

"I'm
sorry."
Allison's
eyes
welled
with
tears.
"You're
absolutely
right,
and
I'm
ashamed
you
had
to
spell
it
out
for
me.
I
don't
know
what
got
into
me.
I'm
surprised.
I
just
never
thought
you'd
be
dating
someone,
that's
all.
Michael
is
a
good
person,
an
amazing
father.
He
was
left
with
a
toddler
to
raise,
and
rather
than
pass
off
the
responsibility
to
a
team
of
nannies,
he
rolled
up
his
sleeves,
adjusted
his
schedule
and
made
Kaitlin
his
priority.
Not
many
men
in
his
position
would've
done
that."

"Thank
you,
honey.
It
means
a
lot
to
have
your
approval.
I
bought
a
cute
outfit
at
Bergdorf's
earlier.
After
we
have
our
cheesecake,
I'll
show
it
to
you."

"Only
you
would
be
willing
to
try
on
a
new
outfit
minutes
after
you
ate
a
slice
of
cheesecake.
I
pray
my
figure
looks
like
yours
when
I'm
your
age,"
Allison
smiled.

Her
mother
smiled
right
back,
"Cheesecake
is
one
of
my
guilty
pleasures
that
I
refuse
to
feel
guilty
about."

Later
that
day,
Allison
headed
to
the
Starbucks
on
Fifth
and
Forty-Sixth
and
positioned
herself
facing
the
door.
She
sipped
her
latte
as
she
collected
her
thoughts.
Her
mother
had
laid
a
bombshell
on
her
with
the
Michael
thing,
and
she
wondered
if
their
shared
interest
in
powerful
men
was
a
function
of
genetics.

She'd
last
seen
Ritchie
Patrick
a
week
ago
when
they'd
had
a
quick
bite
after
work,
and
now
she
rehearsed
what
she'd
say
when
he
arrived.
They'd
had
a
great
time
at
the
James
Taylor
concert,
but
the
fact
was,
even
at
fifty-eight,
Mr.
Taylor
was
more
of
a
turn-on
than
Ritchie.
His
kiss
at
the
door
only
confirmed
it,
and
as
bad
as
she
felt
about
it,
there
was
only
one
thing
to
do
about
it.
A
couple
of
minutes
later
he
walked
in,
holding
the
door
for
a
young
mother
with
an
unwieldy
stroller,
helping
her
maneuver
over
the
step.
There
he
was,
the
king
of
affability,
not
a
threatening
bone
in
his
body,
and
she
was
bored
to
tears.
Hating
herself
for
what
she
was
about
to
do,
she
smiled
and
waved
as
he
took
a
seat
across
from
her.

"Hey,"
she
said.

"Uh,
oh,
I
know
what
that
means."

"A
casual
greeting?"
She
raised
her
eyebrows.

"The
big
brush-off
isn't
too
far
behind,"
he
said
as
he
fingered
his
chin.
"Your
smile
doesn't
reach
your
eyes,
and
as
much
as
you'd
love
to
like
me
because
I'm
incredibly
nice,
you
just
can't.
I
felt
it
in
the
kiss.You
can
release
the
death
grip
on
your
cup,
now,
I'm
not
mad."